12/13/2023 0 Comments Crunch a bunch cake![]() In the original version, chiffon cake is generously layered with a coffee-spiked whipped cream and then tiled with a mosaic of crunchy honeycomb coffee candy - and the play of spongy cake, fluffy whip and crisp candy is nothing short of spectacular. These little cakes are a very close iteration of Blum’s famous Coffee Crunch Cake, a close cousin of which was served for dessert at Lana’s Red Egg Party (a traditional Chinese coming-out party, of sorts, for new babes) last month. But then, kinda like those long first nights, it was over, and before me sat not one or two but 10 little cakes(!!!), all hugged with espresso-laden coconut whip crowned with the sweet sharpness of fluffy, toasted sugar and saying sweet things like “eat me” and “let’s get french fries.” Grown-up cake, too, with stuff like sifted flours and separated eggs and the always-mysterious cream of tartar that I can’t help but think is going to make my cake taste like fish and chips. Which is why, as this quaint little space - my first baby, of sorts - came upon its third birthday earlier this week, I put on my big-mom pants and baked some damn cake. It’s a wonder they let new mothers operate heavy machinery.Ĭlearly, the sweet behbes my world turns for these days is our little Lana, but the rate at which time has lapsed these past several years of blogging is similarly intoxicating. It’s all you can do to stop and ponder - aloud, perhaps, in the middle of a grocery aisle - how the past day or week or month has possibly fallen underfoot when you can hardly recount how you passed the last 60 minutes. ![]() Those newborn nights you were certain would never end the physical pain of complete and total exhaustion that you thought you were prepared for, you silly goose now hardly more than a “remember when…” in the wake of even more sticky-milk cheeks and downy soft hair and a too-rapidly maturing voice that has found not only new volumes but baaaaahs and goooohs and even multisyllabic, sing-song coos that I swear resemble the words “let’s get french fries.” (No lie. Your own future becomes both vastly clear and deliriously blurred. In their presence - with just one whiff of sticky-milk cheeks, a gentle raking of fingers through downy soft hair, the trill of a new voice finding new volumes - time both stands still and speeds up, a pinwheel turning wildly in the wind. Babies, I have determined, are perhaps the best drug on Earth. ![]()
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