Nutella Frosting

The boys (ages 7 and 10) show me a box of cake mix, and announce that they want to make a cake to surprise their mother. The 7 year old takes the lead, carefully reading the ingredients and double-checking that "preheat" doesn't mean "heat and then shut off the oven."

The cake comes out beautifully, and and mingles with the smells of cumin and lemon already in the kitchen. The boys call Mom to see what time she'll be home - 20 minutes, she says - and slide the cake into its hiding spot in the refrigerator. Suddenly, Robbie (age 10) begins to jump up and down with excitement.

"We should frost it!" he crows. His little brother, Eddie, glances at me, and runs for the little drawer of cake decorating supplies. Unfortunately, there isn't any frosting to be had - just sprinkles and food coloring.

I check the pantry, and - yes! - a whole, unopened box of powdered sugar. I haven't made frosting in years, but I run a constant patter, showing the boys exactly what I was thinking.

"Okay, so there's a recipe on the back of this box, and we have all the things it says - butter, sugar, and milk - but we don't have an electric beater, so we'll have to do it by hand which will make it take longer. And beating cold butter down into soft butter is going to take a long time, so maybe we need to do something else. If we use something high in fat, but soft, we should be able to get the consistency right."

(At this point, I return to the pantry.) "Peanut butter! That should do the trick. Lots of fat, but already soft. Do you think your mom will be okay with peanut butter frosting?"

Robbie cheers and volunteers to man a post at the front window, to watch for oncoming headlights. Eddie nods and set about grabbing the milk from the fridge. I take a bowl, whisk and rubber spatula, and then I hear Eddie say, in in the high-pitched fevered shriek of a 7 year old on the verge of a great discovery -

"DANE! What about this? Mom loves this stuff!"

I turn around. The kid's holding up a jar of Nutella. Brilliant. Fantastic. I tell him as much.

I toss him the peanut butter jar; he throws me the hazelnut chocolate spread. Eddie perches over my shoulder, cheering me on as I furiously spoon the Nutella into the bowl.

Robbie's counting down the time, hollering from the next room - "TEN MINUTES!"

as I splash an unmeasured amount of milk into the bowl and Eddie starts dumping powdered sugar

"EIGHT MINUTES!"

as I am switching from whisk to spatula, beating and beating, and watching the sugar easily absorb the milk, Eddie offering advice - "It's too runny! we need more sugar!"

"FIVE MINUTES!"

mix mix mix mix mix, finally the frosting starts to come together, forming stiff peaks ("see how it whips up when I lift the whisk, Eddie? That's called peaks, and we want them.")

"FOUR MINUTES!"

"KEEP STIRRING, DANE!"

some of the frosting is spattering out of the bowl - "grab a towel and get those drips, Eddie, we don't want any evidence!"

"THREE MINUTES!"

and I am pouring the icing straight on the the cake; it's a little runny, but that's perfect because it means we don't have to use anything to spread it around

"I SEE HEADLIGHTS! SHE'S COMING! SHE'S COMING!"

and we are all breathless, shrieking, laughing.

Eddie throws the evidence into the sink and turns the water on, washing the dishes as fast as a kid who can barely reach the sink can scrub, and Robbie is coming in to add the finishing touch - a smattering of colorful star sprinkles - and then the cake is in the fridge and the boys leap into the front hall to provide the necessary diversion -

"hi Mom, hi Mom, let's go play with the puppy!" - and I close the fridge door and collapse against it.

One of the joys of working in a kitchen is those moments - when time is of the essence, and the team works together to pull off a last-minute save - is often hard to come by in a home kitchen, when things like timing tend to be more relaxed. I'm so glad the boys got to experience it - and I with them. This was the Hail Mary Pass of desserts. And, of course, Mom was delighted.

Recipe for Nutella Frosting

1/4 cup milk

2-3 cups powdered sugar, depending on how stiff or runny you want your frosting

4 heaping tablespoons of Nutella or other chocolate hazelnut spread

If you have electric beaters, save yourself the forearm workout; if you don't, build yourself up by using a stiff wire whisk or wooden spoon to beat the Nutella and sugar together, while adding milk a little bit at a time until you reach the desired consistency.

This post is part of the Vocal Cooks Collaborative.

Click here for an index of all story-recipes.

Previous posts in this series include: The Gorgeous, Gluten-Free Bread You've Been Waiting For