Yes, my cakes continue to look like dog-doo, mostly because I make them at night and then have to frost them while they're still hot so the girls can have a piece before bed, and the frosting mudslides off onto the plate. This makes it look bad, but also creates an opportunity for fully-sanctioned frosting-stuffed-in-the-cakehole action later.
E. didn't like the cake. He kept asking if I had used apple sauce in it. "Nope! Vinegar!" I said cheerily. But you can't taste the vinegar. I think it's just the active ingredient, since I can't use egg. Either way, he was unimpressed, and didn't finish his slice. But this particular cake took five minutes to whip up and 30 minutes to bake. Can't beat that. Thank you Vegan Kitchen.
E. can't be much trusted with "health" foods, anyway. My theory is that anything that isn't meat and potatoes smacks of times in his childhood when carob chips were offered up as "chocolate." He still hasn't recovered. What's most important is that both girls really dug this cake (and Nolie doesn't do cake--only icing), so that's a sign that we're on to something.
I also want to report that I had a very successful encounter with the Spicy Indian Potatoes dish in the Working Parents Cookbook, and I also like cauliflower steamed with lemon, capers, parsley, olive oil, and salt.
While we're talking about food, though, it seems most important that I pay homage to this little dish:
To most of you, this looks like the makings of a humble peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
You would be wrong.
This is homemade bread. Soon to be toasted and smothered in organic peanut butter (thank you Costco). But, most importantly, said peanut butter will then be topped with--wait for it--huckleberry jam. From Idaho. Which is most certainly proof that all is well with the universe and that God loves us.
As usual, Gloria and my dad sent down a boatload of treasures for us to unpack for Christmas. We loved everything they sent, but the last package to be opened was Eric's, and it was the jam. He took the paper off and, I kid you not, my nose twitched and I pointed. I knew instantly what it was--G's homemade jam from McCall huckleberries--and I snatched it out of his hands. It was like Lord of the Rings, but with condiments instead of jewelry. "Mine, mine!" I shrieked, and ran into the kitchen, petting it and muttering about how pretty it was.
Luckily, E doesn't know much about purple gold, and he let me have it. I can't say what I would have done had he resisted. He's lucky to still have all his digits.
Oh, and head over to N.'s place, if you have a minute. She has a very good post up today that captures exactly what's been going on in my head recently.