Let them eat...Fiesta cake

As you have already guessed, my life has been terribly busy.  It's not even fun stuff.  Well, I take that back since I DID manage to sneak up to Promises although I hauled many extra kids.


For this fun filled weekend getaway, I was asked to make my breakfast special: my grandmother's crumb cake.  This is not just ANY crumb cake. This is the softest, sweetest, buttery, crumbly pan of goodness that can leave you only with peaceful closed eyes and the words: "Sweet Lord." It is that good. It gives me chills to eat it; Hell to THINK of eating it.  So of course I sacrificed and said with a mock heavy sigh: "I suppooooose"  Secretly,I couldn't WAIT for breakfast.  In fact, I began right away.  (Because as those of you who know me 1) I feed people every 20 minutes and 2) I am really good at hiding what I'm thinking...)  My desire was to torture them with the smell of freshly baked cake: butter, sugar ohhhh yes.  And to make it worse, I add extra cinnamon on top. It's simply beautiful. I think I might need a cigarette here ...whew...It's almost as sexy as peanut butter wontons. But I'll put the "Adult Content" sign up for that one. heehee....


I got my masterpiece put together with a little more trouble than anticipated.  The butter must be soft but using my Fukishima strength microwave, it melted.  This in turn eliminated my "crumblies." You can't "crumble" what appears to be sweet mud. Hmph!  No problem.  I'll make a feckin STREUSEL cake! I'm a good enough cook to pull that off and since we're starting with Dear Nanny's recipe; how can I fail? Ahhh Dommit. Don't tempt fate.


I sifted the flour and smiled to myself. This was STILL going to blind them with breakfast desire. I streuseled and let it sit for a moment while I panicked about not having cinnamon.    Crap! I would have to drive up to the store to get it. Okay, one more no problem and off I went. Returning with one of my favorite spices; fabulous cinnamon.  I put it in my spice rack and had to step away once more because I was called urgently to the front porch. 


My children had been playing archaeologist.  They found bones; several heads and some vertebrae so we were having a little lesson.  No not about what they were but why we don't bring them home and leave them on Mommy's porch.  I couldn't help feeling like a voodoo priestess. Do you want me to read the tea leaves or would you prefer I get my doll out here and ...ooops didja feel THAT one? heehee. Kidding. Wrong doll.  Today I'm kidding. So I informed my little Frankensteins to bag up what they discovered and we would begin the cleaning process to remove all the... uhhh... "bits". How about we just leave that portion right there ...on my porch. (sigh)


But back to the kitchen I went to realize I had used self rising flour and it had been busy doing JUST that all over my counter.  It had swallowed my cake pan and crawled half way to the sink. For a drink of water?  Perhaps. A mound so hefty SHOULD be thirsty after such a far stretch.  I sighed and scooped. Now I had TWO cakes; sorta. I straightened around the "pretty one" and fixed it all nice and neat.  Well now. I have my streusel cake bread thing and all I need is the Piece De Resistance...my cinnamon. 


Do you know that in my kitchen there are only two spice bottles that look the same? Well at Promises, this is true.  My GROUND CINNAMON bottle is nice and large with a pretty red label on it and nice BIG letters..  BUT my GROUND CUMIN bottle is nice and large with a pretty red label on it and nice BIG letters too.  Oh yes. Yes I did.  I was just shaking the shit outa that bottle all over my cake and I thought...Man do I want tacos. Not breakfast but more like breakfast BURRITOS. So I finally looked at the motherfiretrucking lable. I don't need to go on do I?  You're all smart people.


Well I grabbed my icing knife and began so scrape no, DIG that crap off of there.  This was actually fairly easy since I held the knife at the correct angle but not all was gone when I began to sprinkle the correct and more loved spice on my not so masterful masterpiece.  I shrugged and wondered why I didn't start over.  It had become a matter of pride and well, curiosity.  Could I have made the perfect combination of savory and sweet? I wanted to know. So I baked it.  And I mowed it a little along the edges because that rat bastard kept popping out the sides and threatening to devour my oven from the inside out. Finally, it was finished and I pulled my golden brown "cake" to let it cool.


I confess I was leery.  But I never said a word and cut it up for the kids to eat.  "Take milk. You're gonna want that..." I gushed with June Cleaver enthusiasm.  The kids loaded their plates with butter pats and grabbed milk cups and headed for the table.  I closed my eyes and prayed to the patron saint of kitchens: San Pasqual. 


My phone rang.


"And-let-them-love-it-and-not-get-sick-amen!" I whispered in one continuous breath and hustled out to take the call, leaving them with their unsuspecting tastebuds. When I returned, I found almost the entire cake demolished, devoured and de-gone. 


Thank you San Pasqual. Amen.


So what do you guys think you will want for supper?


"mmm I don't know.  Tacos?"


The crowd paused and seemed to taste the air...."Hmmmmm" I heard them thinking. "Yeeees YES we would like tacos."


I laughed and nodded.  "I got that." Cinnamon or cumin. I don't think I can lose.


Thanks guys for stopping by.  I'm so very sorry I've been away.  I've missed you terribly.  Let's see if I can get back on track.  Enjoy your day. Come back soon. You know I love your company.