Nothing says "I love you" and "I hope we have decades upon decades ahead to share" like a big old confectionery plate of death.
I baked Tim his favorite: German Chocolate Cake. But this time, I spared no expense. I cut no corners. I made it from scratch. No Betty Crocker crap for my birthday boy.
I got the recipe for the cake and the accompanying coconut-pecan frosting from the inside of the Bakers Sweet German Chocolate Baking Bar box, in case you're interested. I don't have time to share right now. I'm too busy recovering from the sugar coma.
Among the highlights of this decadent treat, the cake and frosting combined contain eight eggs, a cup of buttermilk, four cups of sugar, three and a half sticks of butter, a package of coconut, two cups of pecan pieces, three quarts of crack and a dash or two of heroin (to taste).
I spent several hours fussing over this concoction, lining the bottoms of the pans with circles of waxed paper, separating eggs, beating eggwhites silly, whipping and folding and stirring the ingredients "constantly" during their mixing and simmering stages, finally frosting each of the cake's three luscious layers.
I swear this mass of goo weighed as much as a full-term newborn.
Each of the three of us ate a small slice (after our meal of slices of sausage-and-spinach quiche...I sense a wedge-licious theme...) and it's like we barely made a dent in our deadly dessert. I think this one will be with us for a while, subjecting us to its caloric sinfulness for days, if not weeks, to come.
Unless we get a craving for a midnight fix and binge with abandon.
I baked Tim his favorite: German Chocolate Cake. But this time, I spared no expense. I cut no corners. I made it from scratch. No Betty Crocker crap for my birthday boy.
I got the recipe for the cake and the accompanying coconut-pecan frosting from the inside of the Bakers Sweet German Chocolate Baking Bar box, in case you're interested. I don't have time to share right now. I'm too busy recovering from the sugar coma.
Among the highlights of this decadent treat, the cake and frosting combined contain eight eggs, a cup of buttermilk, four cups of sugar, three and a half sticks of butter, a package of coconut, two cups of pecan pieces, three quarts of crack and a dash or two of heroin (to taste).
I spent several hours fussing over this concoction, lining the bottoms of the pans with circles of waxed paper, separating eggs, beating eggwhites silly, whipping and folding and stirring the ingredients "constantly" during their mixing and simmering stages, finally frosting each of the cake's three luscious layers. I swear this mass of goo weighed as much as a full-term newborn.
Each of the three of us ate a small slice (after our meal of slices of sausage-and-spinach quiche...I sense a wedge-licious theme...) and it's like we barely made a dent in our deadly dessert. I think this one will be with us for a while, subjecting us to its caloric sinfulness for days, if not weeks, to come.
Unless we get a craving for a midnight fix and binge with abandon.
Comments
It wounds utterly scrumptious!!
mom