Just kickin’ down the cobble stones
Feeling groovy yet?
Last week was hectic for me. Lots of running back and forth combined with crappy weather. The cherry on top involved the delays and rerouting of the train Saturday morning while I tried to get Art Child to her art class. On time was blown by the time the train arrived, it was a scramble and bonus cab fare to get her there before her class left for their field trip. Luckily it started snowing after I did my shopping, so by the time I walked into the lobby of my building, the handles of the grocery bag tore off. I didn’t really need the entire dozen eggs, did I?
I declared yesterday a day of rest. For me, anyway. Prepped breakfast the night before, and Husband ordered and picked up a birthday cake for Man Child’s girlfriend. Also, the night before. If you haven’t ever had Dominican cake, I recommend it highly. Extra heavy, often sold in terms of how many pounds (as opposed to inches) and yet delicious.
Over the top in every way, and so worth it.
These can be found and purchased in certain neighborhood bakeries, but the best ones come from an abuelita’s kitchen. The drawback to this is they often aren’t available in the summer–these little inner city kitchens get hot, and you’re getting whatever decorations and colors they feel are appropriate. Oh yeah, sometimes they don’t have anything to contain it.
Did I mention the icing is not so much frosting as it is meringue?
Yup, Husband walked in Saturday night with a 7 pound, 26″ round frilled and frosted cake. No box. I don’t have a container large enough. I checked the cake domes, my Tupperware cupcake transporter-thingie, I even checked the Thanksgiving roasting pan. Needless to say, it sat on Husband’s desk overnight, and I encouraged an early cake cutting in the morning. “Hurry up and finish your hash browns, Miss Music–it’s time for your cake!”
The best part is the guayaba in between the layers. Some misguided souls think pineapple is an acceptable alternative. Trust Mama Fringe, guava is the way to go.
I stayed in pj’s for most of the day, consumed enough sugar to get me off the couch and down to the laundry room–did only enough laundry to be sure clean underwear can be found this week. A perfectly slow Sunday crowned by the divine absurdism of Shameless. Appropriate, no?
