Where there is cake, there is hope. And there is always cake. (Dean Koontz)
So when I was a kid growing up in a tiny farm at the end of a gravel road in the north woods of Minnesota, I was terribly uninteresting. I didn’t care much for serious farm work or even riding my horse or playing with other kids (well…there was only one other kid within six-seven miles besides my brother…and, as we all know, little brothers are of the pest family, not real people).
What I did like to do was read, roam around in the woods AND BAKE CAKES. From about age 10 on, I was obsessed with cake baking. Chocolate, cherry, white with layers/raspberry Jello-enhanced/brown sugar icing/lemon-filling, pineapple upside down, angel food, gold cake, raisin spice… One a week at least. Every possible kind of cake, mostly recipes from the West Nidaros Ladies Aid cookbook.
I had no interest in any other kind of cooking or any media or creative outlet than reading books. Books were of course my downfall…that fateful geography book, leading me straight into life as a travel addict…but this is a cake story because I baked a cake last Sunday.
Cake (Noah Eli Gordon)
you devour it
and then, then
good as it was