I hate Valentine's Day. I don't need a calendar to tell me when I should get all googly over my husband. Nonetheless, after weeks of seeing everyone's cherubic treats, I started to have delusions of culinary prowess (I swear, it comes on like PMS lately).
So after dinner last night I made this for my luv4ever man:
If it's not glaringly obvious from the photo, it's an angel food cake. Light and fluffy my ass. The thing had so many rolls it folded into itself. I didn't even coat it with anything. I just served it dry and crusty to my husband. If you're wondering if he ate it, the answer is no. Our pet raccoons did.
Thankfully we have our love on which to binge and multiply. And the good news is that the bar for next year is very low. Like, in the basement low.
About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.