Old-Fashioned Fruitcake
We’ve all been there: a long-awaited work comes out in our favourite fictional world, or based on the work of a favourite writer, or the latest movie in a cherished series finally opens and along with all the other eager fans we say… bleh.
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Or worse.
One of the benefits of a semi-nomadic childhood is a great deal of expertise in packing. Unlike my time-management, which tends to be illustrative of Parkinson’s Law, my packing is extremely effective.
Sometimes too effective.
Strolling through the file system this morning, I discovered a photo I’ve never shared with you: the cake I made for the Restoration Day release party.
It was the first time I made an icing other than the plainest of plain (water + icing sugar and a tiny bit of butter). Memory is hazy at this distance, but it might have been buttercream icing. With, as you can see in the photo, the viscera of at least one lemon.
It was delicious. Less delicious was the other photo I happened across: a dead mouse floating in the cats’ water bowl. (Always feed your cat on time.)
