A couple of weeks ago I went home for my mom’s birthday. Well, okay. I went home the weekend before her birthday because she asked me to go to a flower show with her, but I maneuvered out of that one by not feeeeeeling like it on that day.
So I made this cake instead! It was a win-win, because I got to get a full twelve hours of sleep, which is the exact amount I need to not do murders on anyone near me. I think in the time it took me to get out of bed, my mom woke up, fed the cats, went to the gym, ran errands, picked up some extra groceries, solved global warming, and performed liposuction on the fattest of our two cats.
My mom, when I asked her what cake she wanted for her unbirthday, said she wanted a spice cake, which is the ugliest cake ever. You cannot make it attractive. But my mom does things like mail me cans of soup that I like, even though I am an adult and can buy my own soup, and so I owed it to her.
This recipe is from the Bentley Farm Cookbook by Virginia Williams Bentley. She wrote the gripping self-help book LET HERBS DO IT. Haven’t heard of it? Yeah, me neither. But she seems like a nice lady. Note at the bottom how pissed she is that people use box mixes. Guilty as charged, ma’am!
Steal your dad’s raisins from the fridge, measure out a cup. The next day, when he asks if we’re out of raisins, yell, “Eat something other than oatmeal for a change, old man!” But only if you are in the murdering, less-than-12-hours-of-sleep mode. My dad. A man of habit.
When it comes to a boil, yank it off the burner and move it aside to cool. Do you like our stove? And our IKEA salt and pepper grinders? In this family, we GRIND our salt! I don’t know why, either. It’s awesome for popcorn, though. And heart disease.
BOTH of those pill containers are my mother’s. We use them to weigh down the “dishes are clean” paper on the counter above the dishwasher.
Oh, and here is where I remembered that the first step was to add the “salad oil” with the raisins and water when I brought that to a boil. I added it here, because to get the oil, I would have to bend down to reach the corner cabinet.
And as a massage therapist once told me, “Wow, you have serious issues for someone your age.”
BACK issues, mind.
Also, it was dirty, and I didn’t feel like doing laundry.
Bake your cake in a 13×9 inch pan at 375 degrees F. Mrs. Bentley says to use a 12×9 inch pan, but I don’t have one of those. What I have is this Pyrex that I nabbed off my poor ole grandma when we were moving her to the new assisted living place. That’s also how we got our juicer, and our old microwave! And my electric kettle, which had been boiled empty so many times it was black inside.
I made a boiled icing for this cake, but it didn’t turn out so well- mostly because the only milk we have in our house is skim milk, which just didn’t want to combine with the butter and sugar. It came together okay, but it looked kind of gross so I didn’t take any pictures.
I saw the back of Ned Lamont’s head once at a wedding.
My boss at the time yelled out, “We love you, Lamont!”
And then I got to drive a GOLF CART!
Well, you know. I’ve learned to prioritize my excitements.