No Bake Choco-chip Yum Balls

Let's face it: Vegan eating can be amazingly delicious, packed with vibrant colors of raw veggies, fruits, nuts, greens. Natural desserts make our bodies feel AMAZING throughout the day.

But sometimes, once in a while, perhaps at the end of a long, long Tuesday, that primitive little part inside of us lets out a monstrous roaring demand:

JUNKY. CHOCOLATE. NOW.

And so the Yum Balls were born. I made the first batch one single dozen. Foolish. Never do that. The kids and the hub "tried" one and when I turned, the plate was gone and my littlest was laying on the floor wailing that he didn't get a second.

Pop two of them, and you'll be craving a tall, cold glass of almond milk, all the past woes forgotten, and your sweet tooth monster satiated. No junky, lots of chocolate, and quite frankly, the savior you probably need at the moment.

Grab This Stuff

2 1/3 cups of creamy nut butter (peanut butter, almond butter, nut it up)

1 cup of mini chocolate chips (Enjoy Life chocochips at Walmart, $4)

2 cups of old-fashioned or rolled oats (don't use steel-cut. Been there, ugh.)

6 tbs of honey (or agave, or maple syrup, or mashed banana - stick it!)

1/2 cup coconut flakes *OPTIONAL*

Then Throw It In Like This

Step 1: Measure and dump all of the ingredients into a mixing bowl

Step 2: Fold the stuff in together at first, then use a spatula to mix it well

Step 3: Eat way too much of the batter in little pinches. Kitchen trials!

Step 4: Pop the whole bowl in the refrigeration. Chill for 30 minutes.

Step 5: Remove cold batter. Roll into 24 delightful balls of yum

If by some chance you have leftovers, they can live in the fridge and not lose deliciousness for 5 days, covered and airtight. Enjoy!

And now, a warm, fuzzy story about why chocolatey balls always win my heart. My grandmother was an Italian ball of sass, brimming with snarky comments to my uncles, carefully plucked eyebrows arching mischievously, brilliant red like her hair.

When I was small, she would lay out the makings of a peanut butter ball-fest with a surgeon's precision. Wax paper lining allll the countertops. Perfectly placed bowls in a row: mixing bowl, dipping bowl, finger washing bowl. The silver cooling racks lined up in marching order, waiting for the just-drenched bundles of peanut butter to be placed there to drip-dry and harden.

The dough, she chilled in the refrigerator, and it's peanut butter goodness was repulsive to me without the chocolate bath. She would tie the tulip apron around my waist and hand me a fork.

"Go 'head," she would say, commencing.

In her kitchen, she was the composer, the conductor, and the fat lady singing. A WW2 nurse turned hobby chef, she turned her kitchen into a gourmet restaurant slash bakery. Well, if a gourmet restaurant has to duct tape the freezer closed because it can no longer close on it's own, bursting open with tupperware and old CoolWhip containers and Saran-wrapped logs of mozzarella cheese. And chocolate balls.

Into the melted chocolate abyss they would go, one peanut butter ball at a time. I pretended I was an actual forklift operator, carefully placing the dough ball on the fork before lowering it, dunk, dunk, lifting it.

"Just a little shake!" she would scold me, her porcelein pale hands, dotted with light copper freckles, expertly shaking off her own melted chocolate. "Tap your hand, not the fork."

It was her who taught me to tap my own hand, rather than my cooking utensil, to avoid the loose ball rolling its way to a messy escape. I would pat my thumb knuckle, gripping the fork, and watch as my own ball turned into a perfect chocolate orb.

"There you go," she would say, nodding her head. Her greatest praise.