You know what isn't easy in prison besides staying out of trouble, keeping the phone funded, and oh, I don't know, everything else?
Cooking.
I'm not talking about my job in food service where I battle mice, boredom, and systemic incompetence. I'm talking about preparing something decent and different from the odd array of semi brand named items found in our commissary.
Ingredients aren't often the problem. We've a large enough assortment of choices to invent clever substitutes from. Seriously, ramen and saltines *can* make a functional, even tasty, pizza crust and Rick's tartar sauce is better than anything I've ever had off any shelf.
No, the biggest obstacles are hardware related. For instance, the only two sources of heat are a microwave and a hot pot. And when I say hot pot, I mean a little five cup container that wins, if anything, a participation trophy in the race to make coffee every morning. And when I say microwave, I mean the industrial sort engineered without a single variable save how much time you get to nuke your concoction for.
So when my dearest shared the recipe for the peanut butter bars she's so fond of, my mind did not first latch onto the requisite ingredients or what substitutions may be required (alas, no almond flour for me), but instead, to *construction*.
The recipe calls for an 8x8 shallow pan into which we'll be pouring our delectable mix. That's wonderful and perfectly standard. However, the largest container I possess is my trusty BPA-free, Microwave, Freezer, and Dishwasher safe bowl with a capacity of 3 whole cups (that's 730 ml for those who abide by a better math). My roommate has a bowl twice that size, but with the same footprint. I'll be using that to mix in, but I'm still lacking a *pan*.
That's okay. I have the ingredients to *make* a pan. Here's what you'll need:
1 pair of 5 inch blunt nosed scissors typically found in a kindergarten activity pack. You must have a permit for these or you are in violation of policy and will be infracted for an Unauthorized Tool or, if they're feeling dickish, a Weapon. No, I’m not kidding.
4 cardboard "boats" salvaged from what your breakfast comes in. You likely kept this in favor of what it contains, as its much more useful and tastes marginally better. Think of it as a paper plate with gunwales.
1 plastic bag from the aforementioned "boat". Be careful not to tear this when removing the yellow security tape used to seal the opening. It's there to ensure no unauthorized components find their way into your breakfast. The fact this is clear plastic is irrelevant. Any color will do.
12 inches of tape. New, Scotch tape is preferable, as it's far more dependable than your alternative sources, but reclaimed box tape, address labels, and even dental floss can be substituted when necessary. This pan doesn't go in the microwave, so even those metallicized stickers on your deodorant will work in a pinch.
Instructions:
With your blunt child's scissors, cut the boats into four, 7 inch squares and the bag into a sheet by cutting off the bottom and slicing up one side.
Assemble your boat squares so you have an outside dimension of 12x12 inches. Let the overlap accumulate interiorly. Secure this all with whatever sticky medium you've managed to acquire. I use Scotch tape.
Cut a 2 inch, square notch out of each corner.
Wrap your cardboard with the plastic you've, so far, kept out of the ocean and secure it on the reverse side with approximately a third of your remaining adhesive agent.
Fold all your edges up, bending at the interior corner of each notch to form the walls of your pan. Make sure all your inside surface is sheathed in plastic.
Tape, tie, or fasten your corners and viola!
You now have a custom pan.
Now that you have a serviceable vessel to contain your mixture, you need to assemble your ingredients.
Peanut butter. Check, readily available.
Sugar. Mm-hm, got that.
Chocolate. Yup, no problem.
Salt. Roger.
Almond Flour. Hmm... Graham cracker dust will work just fine.
Vanilla extract. Huh... Well. How about some cappuccino coffee creamer?
Butter. About that...
They sell a squeezable substance of the same color, but it shares little else with this necessary component. Luckily, margarine is supplied in pat form with most dinners. I should be able to save up enough in two weeks to make this recipe.
Or.
Roam around the unit like some medieval monk begging for alms. "Butter? Butter for the poor? Can you spare a pat of margarine, good sir?" Thankfully, the population as a whole must do this, so it's not uncommon and even people you never talk to will place a yellow rectangle or two in your offering bowl.
Once you've assembled your ingredients, it's off to the microwave. The first bit is easy, it's all but the chocolate and a small glob of margarine. All that melts into a savory, sweet puddle of yummy, peanut butter lava in no time and easily pours into your Phoenix Foundation approved pan. It's the chocolate that's tricky.
Microwaves work by vibrating water molecules at insane speeds. Chocolate works by Netflix and chill. If you're not careful, melting chocolate with this ubiquitous modern marvel will see your projected syrup, turn instead, into muddy clay. Every try to pour clay? Spoiler alert: It doesn't work.
Still, with a little mindfulness, a lot of "Ow! That's f#% and hot!" and a dash of patience, you can do this and even do it well. But Mike, how will you cool this amazing dish down? You've no refrigerator. Doesn't it need to set and cool?
Glad you asked. Though we have an ice machine, I've certainly no pan to put *my* pan into that would contain melt water. What we *do* have is plenty of frigid concrete. Its a cardboard dish, the floor leaches heat like a champ. Give it about two hours and its like you took it right out of the fridge.
Ta-da!
Peanut Butter bars!
And let me just say, they are *DELICIOUS*.
Oh wait, I've gotta cut them up into squares. I've no knife so... Where did I leave my 18 inch typesetter's ruler at?