Alternately entitled: Why I don't make my cakes from scratch!
About 10 years ago (which makes for a good start to a story, and at the same time makes me feel incredibly old) it was my husband's birthday. We lived in south-central Texas, just outside of a sweet town with our two sweet kids. He was, and still is, a musician, and a teacher. A music teacher. I've learned that means that while school is in session there is simply no "down time" to be had and we rarely get to see the guy.
Where was I? Oh, yes. His birthday. That particular year was a very busy one. For some reason "we" decided we weren't going to really do much for his birthday. Then, on his way out the door to work he says:
Him: Are we going to have a cake or anything?
Me: Ummmmm.....sure. What kind of cake do you want?
Him: My grandma always made me a German chocolate cake.
That was all I needed to know. There *would* be a German Chocolate Cake on the table when that man walked in from work that night. Enter Betty Crocker.
I quickly jotted down the list of the essentials that I didn't already have, loaded up my sweet children, and off to the store we went.
When we returned I fed the kids a snack and I got to work. Now, keep in mind that I was still growing into my role as domestic genius (hmmm...actually it appears that I still am) so Betty Crocker and I were a little bit at odds.
Mix this and this. Set aside. Blend this. Boil this. Let sit. Sift, flour, etc....
About an hour into the process my cherubs were not longer playing nicely and I was nowhere near finished with my masterpiece. What's a mom to do? Well, I'll tell you what I did!
I dumped about 6 cups of flour on the table, got out the hot wheels, and told the kids to go to town. They contently played "cars" in the flour for the rest of the cake-baking-episode.
Finally! The cake is done, the frosting is done, the kids are bathed, the kitchen cleaned. The man arrives home.
The cake is not beautiful, but I present it to him with a smile. Not saying a word about the fact that the stinkin' thing literally took me all...day....long.
Finally it comes up, and I tell him a little bit about the process, apologize for it's appearance, but am hopeful that it will taste like he remembers it.
Me: Well, I just wanted to make it special for you, since your grandma used to make your cake.
Him: Yeah, that's sweet. My grandma just made it from a box. She never made anything from scratch!
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Thus concludes my tale of why I will never again make a cake from scratch!
1 comment:
Great story! I'm laughing aloud (I'm anti-LOL) here. :) Are you making it from a box then, this year, or will it be chocolate brownies? Happy birthday to Brett this week!!
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