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.