30 januari 2006 Archives

Last week, I got a craving for cake. Just plain ol' cake. You know what I mean. The kind of cake that you bought or sold at a marching band bakesale in high school. From a box. Topped with frosting from a can.

Do you know how hard it is to find cake in San Francisco? I didn't, until I started looking. Sure, you can find croissants and muffins and fruit breads and squares and triangles and bars, but not just cake.

So I did what any red blooded American male would do: I baked! It was from a mix. I could blame it on my convalescence or my own laziness, but really? The need for speed. So I bought the box of cake mix and a can of frosting, and, about 40 minutes later, cake!

Turns out, the expediency paid off. The taste of bakesale cake really took me back. And? At the risk of starting a gay-card recall from those who read my humble little blog? I liked it.

So much so, I made another one. This one was made with white cake mix, but I couldn't be bothered to separate the egg whites.

Time is the enemy who stands between you and your cake, chil'ren.

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