A couple of weeks before I left Toronto, my (step)grandmother, Anro, came to town to see a play with me one Sunday afternoon. We went for lunch beforehand and had a great time catching up on all the family doings. She ranted about how she wants to start a clothing line for seniors (Tagline: "Not all seniors want to look like 15 year old hookers"). I ranted about how hotels SHOULD give us a deal on a block of guest rooms for our big gay wedding but they DON'T because they are ass, all of them, ASSSSSSSSSSSS! Somehow, perhaps in an attempt to relax, we ended up talking about reefer.
While my grandfather was alive, I visited him and Anro one fine Easter. My grandfather was an avid gardener and keen to show off his prize daffodils. We wandered about the yard until we came upon a patch of herbs and tiny vegetables in a back corner bordering the neighbours' yard. Grandpa told me that their neighbours ran a nursery and had arranged with my grandfather to help with the upkeep of the yard in exchange for a chunk of the garden. Then my grandfather took off in pursuit of a marauding squirrel and I took a closer look at the neighbours' plot. And I saw a lot of these.
Because the neighbours were growing weed in my grandfather's yard.
Fortunately, the neighbours are generous types and have been hooking my step-grandmother up fairly regularly since my grandpa passed last year. Sadly, it seems that Anro was having some issues enjoying her time with Mary Jane.
"I have trouble rolling my own," she said to me, "because of my arthritis. It's VERY frustrating. Maybe I should get a bong?"
"Well," I said to her, "I don't know from bongs. But I know you like chocolate."
"I DO," she said, emphatically, then patted her silver bob back into place.
"Well, then do I have an idea for YOU."
She was all ears.
"First," I told her, "you're going to want to get yourself two boxes of Duncan Hines Brownie Mix. Or Betty Crocker. Whatever. Set one box aside. Take your weed and give it a good grind, with a mortar and pestle if you have them. Then you're going to take a couple of big pats of butter and heat 'em up in a frying pan. Then you're going to take about a tablespoon of your weed and you're going to LIGHTLY sautée the weed in the butter. LIGHTLY, though, don't overdo it. Then you're going to add the sautéed weed to the brownie mix along with all of the other wet ingredients and bake it, as you would normally do."
"Alright," she nodded, "I'll give that a try. But what's the other box of brownie mix for?"
"Well, here's the thing," I said. "While the first batch is in the oven, you'll want to make up a pan of pot-free brownies. See - sautéeing the weed in butter actually releases MORE of the THC than smoking does, so you may be dealing with some very powerful brownies and you shouldn't have too many at once. But of course, after you've had a few of the 'special brownies', you might feel the need to eat a WHOLE PAN OF BROWNIES. So that's what the second pan is for."
"Of COURSE," she said, "how smart."
"Aw, shucks," I said, "you have to say that, 'cause you're like my grandma."
Anro promised to whip up some of the brownies before my next visit the following week. Lunch at her place a week later was delicious and delightful but, sadly, there was no loot-bag of two-bites for the ride home. Ah, well. I assumed that, like me, Anro liked to TALK pot brownies, but not actually follow through. So you can imagine how I laughed when I got this e-mail from her:
"It was great to see you both times. I was mad at myself for forgetting to give you the special brownies I'd made for you to take on the bus. I had a few after I baked them and was glad it was evening & I wasn't going anywhere but the ceiling for awhile! They'll go back in the freezer for the next time."
Ah, Anro. Just knowing that you might be high on pot brownies and laughing hysterically at your cats the next time I call is reward enough for me.
Now that I'm back on the west coast, I'm looking forward to doing more baking myself. Katr's been carefully nursing the stick of peace and relaxation that she refers to as "The Joint" for many months now (fretting over its whereabouts, cooing to it, etc.), but yesterday we had a visit from the Ganja Fairy, who brought us a housewarming gift! What shall we make with it? Brownies? Banana bread? Flan? All I know for sure is that I'm stocking up on Cheetos. They may not be the most healthful snack when you've got the munchies, but at least the orange cheese powder lets me track where I've been.
