What a beautiful cake in its infancy. I remember dragging Derrick to a cake-tasting and his face just lit up like a school boy when he tasted it, like the first time I got him tanked and informed him that we would be dating.
Who came up with this tradition? Sandy H. thought that, post-thaw, it smelled like old feet. And it didn't look much better either. Sort of like a lopsided donut that had been frosted by blind parakeets using their walking sticks. Seeing-eye sticks? And then left to rot all summer on the side of the New Jersey Turnpike.
Luckily for Sandy H., my perpetually cheerful father thought it was the best cake he's ever eaten! And he intends to eat the whole thing.
I will say we only kept our topper for 6 months... we dragged it from Charlotte to Baltimore to Boston, and I wasn't moving it to Mississippi when we left Boston... but, I swear, it was just as awesome 6 months post-freeze as it was at our wedding. I don't know how that happened, but yum. Wild. I will say I still don't get the tradition, but my fat kid tendencies towards cake are totally okay with it!
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