An apple for a birthday girl

I have undeniably defied the international codes of the Baker's Union.

What did I do?

I baked myself a birthday cake.

and a mighty fine one it was...





Debating the various ideas I had for the special cake, the illuminated path of choice was pretty clear. Banana cake? That I had a penchant for but it was just too normal. Ice cream cake? nah.. too cold a season for that now. How about an apple spiced cake with dredges of toasted walnuts, brandy soaked raisins and cream cheese frosting? Now we're talking...

It's winning edge, the drizzle outrageous swizzle of caramel sauce over the top. I would have licked the bowl dry without reservations had it not been for the naked cake relentless pleads.

and there is was, a cake that was clearly a symbol of everything I stood for. Beauty in imperfection. Character in its unfinished touches.

It wasn't anywhere near professional. Lopsided by a mile with a curtain of frosting barely touching the toes of the giant, too-tall cake. Patchy with a frequent crumb catastrophe showing, it was plainly rustic. But I didn't care. It was my cake. And it was delicious.



Sold the instant I sliced thru its moist innards to find a kaleidoscope of jewels.

It had now officially stolen my heart. Sorry my dearest carrot cake, it had been a pleasure having you on the pedestal. Please could you move down a notch?



That said, I'm a year older now. Probably could do being a year wiser, not that I doubt the development of my capacities but I guess maybe more so in the coming year? Only time will tell.