Even with my best intentions, my diet has not gone well. As a matter of fact my scale has gone in the wrong direction!
It really wasn’t completely my fault; I had forgotten my husband, Mark’s, birthday. It happens every year so you’d think I’d remember the cake, but alas I forgot.
He has to have a German chocolate cake, a deliciously tempting tradition. I understand it‘s a tradition and I am all for tradition, but this cake is too good to resist.
Three layers of light chocolate cake filled with a frosting that is loaded with coconut and chopped pecans, it’s simply delicious. It is as good raw, as it is cooked, and before the cake is even out of the oven I’ve already eaten a full serving!
Losing weight with this cake in the house is impossible! This year I got smart and brought the cake to my brother in law’s house, and left most of it with them; damage controlled.
Alas, this was the birthday that never seemed to end. First we celebrated with the cake the weekend before at his brothers’ house, then on the day of his birth. We celebrated again with friends the following weekend. All was good until he looked at me and said, “You are going to bake another cake aren’t you?” Honestly, I hadn’t planned on it!
I’m a sucker for birthdays so, of course, I had to indulge him. To further control the damage I suggested our guests take some cake home with them; they politely refused giving me that knowing look that says, “We’re on a diet, and we simply couldn’t!”
It looks like February is going to be the month of my weight loss; thank goodness we have an extra day this year!
When you are not trying to lose weight, you really should try this cake . . . it’s worth it!
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I was with my mother in her room at her new abode.
As I sat facing her, I began to read last week’s post, Cooking through a Child’s Eyes, about the time we baked a marble cake together. I wondered if she remembered the event that. . .
The first time I saw magic happen in the kitchen I was six years old and wanted to help my mother cook. I’d follow her every step and move, clinging like her shadow, struggling to see what she was doing. Inevitably, she’d turn around and trip over me. It wasn’t optimum for either of us, so when she told me we were going to bake a special cake and I could help … “there is a surprise at the end,” she promised…
I beamed with joy…
Cooking is full of mystifying moments that are…
The last time I took a train that had a dining car was right after I graduated from high school.
Walking into the dining car, I was flooded with memories of childhood trips. It looked exactly as I remembered: the tables were set with clean white tablecloths, cloth napkins, china, silverware, and gleaming glasses—just like in an old movie.
I was excited and hungry for French food. My first taste was . . .