Oh lordy you guys. Friday’s deep-frying adventure was no bueno. I mean, it started out fine. There’s nothing wrong with this, right?
You’re goddamn right there’s nothing wrong with that plate of bountiful goodness. From left to right we have: Snickers, tiramisu, cupcakes, a slice of cheesecake, and oatmeal creme pies. For the record, I had a friend over to help with taste-testing, so all that junk food wasn’t for me; I did give him a slice of the tiramisu… the smaller slice.
I wish I could say that everything was deep-fried deliciousness, things worthy of the years of heart trouble I’m probably going to have, but I’m not here to lie to you, folks. I don’t know what I did wrong, but I must have done something wrong, because nearly all our fried treats were a letdown.
We started with the oatmeal creme pies. (I used a generic cinnamon batter that would compliment everything.) They fried up the easiest and cleanest, but when we bit into them, they were basically liquefied inside the batter shell. That’s not to say it tasted bad; it was actually quite yummy, but you could make a bowl of instant oatmeal, stir in a cup of sugar, and get the same result with a much smaller risk of second-degree burns.
Next up was the cheesecake slice. I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to fry the entire slice at once but… no. It fell apart in the batter and on its way into the fryer so we made do with deep-fried cheesecake balls, which were AWESOME. Deep-fried cheesecake balls will definitely be going on the menu of my future restaurant (if you can call a roadside BBQ shack a “restaurant”).
It was all downhill from here. I can’t even bring myself to post any more photos because everything looks the same: an indistinguishable beige blob. The Snickers was a loss– the batter didn’t bond with the candy bar in the fryer and the end result looked like a poo with dandruff. (Good imagery, no?) Of course a meltey Snickers bar never tastes bad, but the presentation killed it for me.
The cupcakes? More like failcakes. For someone with a decent intelligence level, I don’t know why I didn’t think about the reality that frosting may melt when in contact with hot oil. I’ll chalk it up to a blonde moment; I hear I’m allowed three of those per year. The tiramisu met the same fate as the cupcakes.
… Maybe I can redeem myself this weekend when I dip a fully-dressed hamburger.