let us eat cake

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Greg Flanagan…devouring his sister’s wedding cake

I am almost finished with one of my $1 clearance reads from the bookstore, Let Us Eat Cake.  This book has most certainly been successful in wetting my whistle as it traces the author’s food experiences from the 50’s on.  It is amazing how taste buds change from generation to generation…I wonder what will be the “in” food when I am in my 60’s and beyond.  Without a doubt, the book has reinforced my appreciation for good ol’ Midwestern casseroles and jell-o as well as the “California” trends and organic, local foods and makes me think about what food sharing experiences I have had with family and friends. 

Let me return to the purpose of this rambling (if there is ever a purpose)…the book is entitled “let us eat cake.”  The one moment at a wedding when I realize, “Wow, we are taking the photos for people we don’t know and they are going to have these for ages and will show them to their kids and grandchildren” is when they cut the cake.  Perhaps this is because the one image I have in my head of my parent’s wedding is of the cake-cutting.  For some couples, the cake-cutting event is not a big deal or they choose to have something that is not so traditional (which I love).  For others, it is a central focus of the wedding and an important component to the night.  Hands down my favorite wedding cake experiences is shown in the photo above.  For some reason, or perhaps intentionally, the wedding cake was not cut for the guests and was left without plates/forks for people to cut a piece out of.  Instead, as the night came to a close, all the “happy” folks attacked the cake using the serving pieces and shared found forks.   Reminiscent of late nights in college or high school when a crowd would share a bucket of ice cream and talk about the memories of the night, this was an unforgettable end to a perfect wedding.

I have two friends visiting tonight…perhaps I will make them a cake.  If that doesn’t pan out, I always have the amazingly tasty organic ginger snaps from Trader Joe’s.  Oh my, they are good (said in a slow and drawn out manner…the way my grandma kopp used to comment on food).
 
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Author: Ali Carras

At a very young age I lost site of my mom in a local grocery store in Boulder, Colorado. I did, however, have the smarts to go to the customer service counter. The kind woman at the counter asked "What is your name little girl?" My reply: "Assi." The woman gave me a look like, "Are you playing with me you little devil?" but she proceeded to blast on the loudspeaker the "We have a lost Assi at the front of the store." Customers throughout the store gagged and giggled, but my mom knew exactly who the woman was referring to: the mullet haired little girl with a tongue too big for her mouth, wearing a leotard, skirt, tights, and jelly shoes (with florescent green laces in them...even though they didn't need the laces). A shy little character for whom every little detail in life was a huge thing. I am pleased to report that today I am able to fully pronounce Allison (aka Ali), but the Assi pseudonym has always stuck, evolving into Aszi. As for the shy little character for whom every little detail in life was a huge thing? Some things never change. I have closed my comments due to mass amounts of spam that no filter could ever control. Feel free to contact me abeckord [at] gmail.com!

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