Home Sweet Home

The tuba guys from Tennessee arrive in 2 days to share in the madcap milieu that is Texas-OU Weekend, so now it's time to marshal those "do ahead" recipes that are the lifesaver of pearl-wearing moms everywhere.

I wouldn't think of opening the front door without a big supply of chili, barbecue, queso, cold drinks, salty chips and bacon standing by. When my Young Prince and his friends march in, there'll be a new batch of what I call "Ooey Gooeys," my son's favorite sweet treat. Every kid has one, and this "bar type" confection is Hunter's. I use the recipe from Bon Appetit, called "Chocolate Caramel Oat Squares," a name which accurately describes the thing but fails to capture the rich, chewy, ooeeness of this little gem. What's not to love when you introduce chocolate to caramel and throw them on a buttery brown sugar and oatmeal bed? This is a Tailgate Treasure.

A word here about recipe permissions: Jeanne and I have publishing backgrounds, so we always strive to respect the creative intellectual property of others - that is - we publish recipes here that belong to us, we've received permission to use or are available to you online via links to sites we trust. The actual brown sugar crusted, sticky, chocolaty recipe in my July 1992 Bon Appetit is not available as of this writing (what I'm saying is, the pages are stuck together, even if I DID have permission to use the recipe). But I've located virtually the same approach for Ooey Goeys on Cooks.com.

Get to know this crowd-pleaser. It stores brilliantly in the fridge or freezer and travels well if you keep it out of El Sol - it really goos out if you make this misstep.

I carried a box of Gooeys up to Tennessee (do not confuse them with Goo Goo Clusters, available in every Cracker Barrel wherever you roam) one Saturday in the fall and handed them off to my son, to take to the band hall. What a joy it was to walk into a rehearsal room and have the tubas spontaneously shout "Thank you, Mrs. Mamma Mia," in that delicious, obsequious Eddy Haskell tone. Seriously, they polished them off.

This is the treat that mysteriously vanishes the moment you make it known you've got some. My mother had a culprit she used to blame in these occasions. She called these nameless brigands the "Poco Pico Mites." I'm already suspecting these snatchers are circling the kitchen, and the guys aren't even across the state line yet.