Hoo-ray for the red, white and blue (cake)

 

I have taken on a commitment where I have to supply a group with a cake each month. I really enjoy it because strangers tend to be very complimentary about home-baked goods and my creations from scratch are always well received. Rob and I were out and about last night when I remembered that it was cake time.

I'd been wanting to make a flag cake ever since I'd seen the idea from Kraft. The thing about Kraft's recipe that turns me off is that it's essentially Jello with packaged pound cake and Cool Whip. It looks cool, but doesn't really meet my criteria for something I'd prepare. My former mother-in-law Katie used to scold me by saying I was "such a purist." She's right, though. I really do maintain a certain standard for my cooking.

I've never been a big fan of boxed cake mix cake and when I decided to be the "cake lady" I took it as an opportunity to hone my cake-baking skills. I've always loved to cook, but baking -- as Rachael Ray so often notes -- requires the ability to follow recipes pretty exactly. Baked goods follow a much more precise chemistry to make them work than other foods. The whole science of rising, tenderness, etc., is very exact. This actually works for me because I'm pretty good at scientific experimentation. I worked for my dad for years mixing newspaper inks in the lab and you have to be pretty meticulous when you're working on formulations. Baking is very similar to lab work and, in fact, requires many of the same types of tools.

My experimentation with cakes has been fun and -- so far -- I've managed not to have a disaster. My white cake with chocolate frosting came close because I refrigerated the cake and the frosting became hard and actually had to be broken into pieces to serve with the cake. But the flavor and textures were great.

The recipe I used for my flag cake is one I've used before. I found it on a box of Droste Cocoa, which is the best Dutch process cocoa you can get. I was out of cocoa and thought I'd thrown out the box, so I went to get some more -- it's pretty pricey, $10 for 8 ounces -- and I figured I'd find the recipe there. But the package has changed and it's no longer on the box.

I didn't panic because I'd find the recipe on the Internet, I thought. Fortunately I found the old box, which I'd tucked away even though it was empty, with the recipe when I got home from the store. It's a good thing, because the recipe isn't on the Web site.

I'm copying it here so I'll never lose it. This is a buttermilk chocolate cake that is rich and velvety in texture. The icing is a revelation. Follow the directions to a T, making sure to beat the icing until the cream whips. This makes a light, cream-cheese, orange-flavored icing that may be the best I've ever tasted.

Droste Chocolate-Buttermilk Cake

3/4 cup boiling water
3/4 cup Droste Cocoa
1 cup buttermilk
2 1/2 cups flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup butter, softened
2 cups sugar
4 eggs
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla, frosting (Recipe follows)

Preheat oven to 350F. Grease and flour three 9-inch round layer cake pans. Pour boiling water over Droste cocoa to dissolve. Stir in buttermilk, set aside to cool. Sift together flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt. Beat together butter and sugar in large bowl with electric mixer at medium speed until light and fluffy. Add eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Stir in vanilla. Beat dry ingredients into flour mixture alternating with Droste cocoa mixture. Pour into pans, dividing batter equally. Bake for 25 minutes or until centers sprang back. Cool cakes for 10 minutes and turn out of pans. Frost each layer with frosting and refrigerate.

Frosting:
Beat 8 ounces cream cheese to soften. Beat in 1/2 cup sifted confectioners' sugar until smooth. Beat in 2 tablespoons orange-flavored *liqueur and 1/2 teaspoon vanilla. Beat in another 3/4 cup confectoners' sugar. Add 1 1/2 cup heavy whipping cream and beat until whipped, stiff and fluffy.

Notes: I used a 13 x 9 inch pan, so the baking time increased by about 18 minutes. Use Baker's Joy to grease the pan -- it's great stuff and works better than any buttering and flouring you can do. I'm lazy and tend to mix my dry ingredients by whisking them rather than sifting. It seems to work just fine. I check for doneness using a toothpick. If it comes out clean, the cake is done. Make sure the cake is completely cool before frosting because the icing has the consistency of slightly thicker whipped cream and becomes runny easily. It's actually best to chill the cake a bit before frosting. Make sure to refrigerate the frosted cake for that reason. Don't put berries on the cake until close to serving time so they don't get runny and mushy. I used raspberries instead of strawberries because they're in season and on sale. This was actually Rob's idea and the raspberry/blueberry thing is actually quite delicious. Making a flag means that only a few people get blueberries because the blue is concentrated on the one corner. Have some extra berries on hand for sprinkling on the rest of the cake. *I use orange extract, rather than liqueur and it tastes great.

I may be a snob about my cooking, but this recipe is certainly worth the extra effort.

Romantic

 

 

Rob and I have tended not to be romantic about such things as anniversaries. We met on June 22, 1988, when I picked him up at a bar after being admonished, "Watch out for that guy. He has crazy eyes." Talk about your turn-ons. I would say meeting Rob would rank as the No. 1 romantic thing that's ever happened to me. The first time I touched his hand I felt an immediate surge -- not just of lust, but something more. And he held my hand back, which looking back is weird because Rob is tactile-aversive. Of course, he probably thought he was getting laid, or at least that there was a possibility, and he could manage to touch if sex was on the horizon, I suppose.

We were immediately besotted and Rob was living in my house within 48 hours. We decided to get married at the end of the summer, after the kids met each other, because we wanted to do it before school started. I can't remember why school starting was important in the marriage decision, but it was for some reason. We had Rob's mom track down a Justice of the Peace who could do it as soon as possible. Actually in Ohio, there are no JPs -- real judges perform weddings. Rob's mom found some guy in Miamisburg who was running for re-election to marry us.

We got our wedding license the previous Thursday at 4:55 p.m., much to the disgust of the civil servants, which was the minimum advance for getting married on the following Monday. In Ohio you have X number of days after you get the wedding certificate, with a minimum wait of about 3 to 4 days and a maximum of -- I can't remember, maybe 30 or 60 days or something. Getting the wedding certificate on Thursday gave us Friday, Saturday and Sunday -- fortunately the waiting period is counted in actual days, not business days, but then so are marriages.

I ran around getting a ham and cake because we'd invited people over after the event. We all got dressed up. I got flowers and made a daisy ring in my hair. I got one of the best compliments ever when one of the baggers at the Krogers said, "I always dreamed that if I get married that my bride would look exactly like you."

We piled the kids in the car and headed to Miamisburg where the ceremony was performed in the judge's teenie office with papers strewn everywhere. The girls were so disappointed that they didn't get to be flower girls in some big ceremony. Rob's son, Jesse, was relieved. We stopped at TGIFriday's after and had a family dinner and headed home to the rest of our relatives.

I always had trouble remembering the date of the wedding because Rob and I were together as of June 22. I knew it was the Monday before school started in 1988, so one year I looked it up on a perpetual calendar. We got married Aug. 28, but we never remember to celebrate it. We're a little better about the June 22 date, but only because I like to celebrate it -- kind of. I tend to get weighed down by all the birthdays and anniversaries and holidays we celebrate and if I can limit one celebration to just a dinner out, if we feel like it, that's good enough for me.

Of course, this doesn't stop us from trying each year to catch the other being thoughtless and forgetting, which isn't hard because more often than not we both forget. The person who remembers first tries to act all hurt and is never taken seriously. It becomes part of the score of light comic opera that is our marriage.

I remembered our anniversary this year because I was shopping anyway -- I was at the pet store. They have cute cards so I got Rob one. We're suckers for pet cards and get them from all the pets to each other. It fills up the mantle and lets us pretend we have lots of people who care about us. I didn't get him anything else because other than a shock collar, there isn't much at a pet store for him.

When we got home I was trying to get it up on the mantle so I could prove -- once again -- to Rob that he's a thoughtless lout. He, however, figured out my plan and so he took the lobster bisque he'd brought home from lunch that day and with his fingernail wrote "I love you" in the Styrofoam. I say I win because I had an anniversary-dedicated item, but he says he wins because he actually bought me something. I tried to claim that his leftovers don't count, but he successfully pointed out that he must have bought the bisque for me because he wouldn't eat that in his wildest dreams, which is true. The lobster bisque was great BTW.

So there it is, my anniversary present. I'm practically giddy in anticipation of what he's going to do for our 20th anniversary next year.

***

Fair time is coming up so I'm trying out different sugar cookie recipes. These were "crispy sugar cookies." They're OK, but they're not contest winners. I'm going to try out "Crystal diamonds next."

Alexander Robert Koverman

Born: June 18
10:13 a.m. EDT
7 pounds 3 ounces
21 inches
The newest Mr. Koverman decided the whole giving-birth-naturally was not dramatic enough for his bad self. So he decided to wrap himself in his umbilical cord, which he had knotted for good measure. This caused his vital signs to drop during contractions, so it was C-section time. Courtney said all and sundry were impressed by the level of tangling this one had done to his umbilical cord -- she always said during the pregnancy that this one made Cody seem calm. She complained a couple of times that she was sure he was coming out through her stomach wall -- kind of "Alien"-style. And, as she pointed out, he did finally achieve this goal.

Anyway Grandson No. 2 is here and appears healthy. He has a voracious appetite and has no interest in bottles and pacifiers, preferring the breast. This is more in line with my experience with his mother and her sister, both of whom refused formula from Day One.

I'm totally bummed that I can't be there. I have a hemotoma on my hip -- the one that was hit by a TRUCK -- and it's holding a couple of quarts of blood, the doctor estimated. There's also not a lot that can be done and the damned thing portrudes about four inches off my right side. My doctor says it will be a long time healing -- months and months. As if I need a few extra inches on my hips. I'm still pretty sore and have no stamina. The doctor says my blood count must be low what with all the bleeding. The whole thing is making me cranky.

I'll probably head out in early July (ewwwwwww! July in Ohio sucks). Cody met his new little brother and was seriously unimpressed. There was some generalized poking at the new "thing." Then he cuddled with mommy and his juice box.

Courtney is still in the hospital recovering from her emergency C-section. I imagine she must be getting quite bored by now. She and Dave need to move to California, so she can be closer.

Recovery

 

 

I've spent the past week mostly sleeping as I set about the task of recovering for having been HIT BY A TRUCK.

I'm still kind of amazed at the whole thing. I keep looking for evidence that mitigates what happened, that I was slammed into by a big, red truck that was barreling toward me. But there is nothing. We recovered the bike and the steel frame is bent. As Lindsay points out, when I was hit, what was between that frame and the truck was MY LEG.

I remember the impact -- it was that BAM you see in movies -- Jackie Chan does it best. I thrown more than 10 feet, and I didn't break anything. I took the full impact on my hip and the entire area is sore: the muscles are torn, my right shoulder which was hit second is less sore, but it pretty achy. Moving is kind of hard and slow and driving really hurts my hip.

The road rash is healing quickly, but the aches and pains are just now emerging. My right knee feels as though I have ground glass in the joint, even when I'm sitting. I'm sure other problems will emerge. One thing about accident like this is the effects take a while to emerge.

I keep wondering if I'm supposed to be getting some kind of sign from the heavens or something, I mean it is nothing short of miraculous that I was spared broken bones, or even a good laceration. Rob chalks it up to me being one "tough bitch," which Dave concurs.

It doesn't FEEL all spiritual-awakening or anything. It feels like some dumbass hit me with his truck because he was driving like all of those assholes with oversized trucks do -- aggressively and stupidly. These guys never seem to think the rules apply to them and they are constantly causing accidents like this. Too bad I can't start an anti-asshole in a bigass truck who drives like shit campaign. At least rising gas prices are driving some of them off the road.

So I'm wondering if this Christmas instead of "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer," which is Dave's new favorite song because he's a funny guy that way, if they'll sing "Grandma Got Run Over by a Red Truck."

At least -- sniff, sniff -- Grandma will BE there this Christmas -- unless, of course, a blood clot from one of my bruises comes loose and ends up in my brain and I have a massive aneurysm and die.

On that note:

The food that's emerged from this whole ordeal is Toad in the Hole. Actually it's Toad in the Hole in V for Vendetta, a movie Rob and I consider to be highly under-rated BTW.

The real British Toad in the Hole is more sausage in a Yorkshire-type pudding, but this one just screams out comfort. I cut a hole in the bread with an inverted wine glass and fry the bread in butter. I crack the egg into the hole. Cook until starting to set and flip, cook some more and serve. This is a dish everyone makes and I can see why. There's something so comforting about the egg nestled in the bread hole; the whole thing browned in plenty of butter, which smells so good cooking. And the taste of bread, egg and butter is the right kind of bland but good for when you're feeling bad. It's kind of like a hug from mommy on a plate.

Guess who got hit by a truck?

Yep. That would be me.

I had taken my customary bike ride to the beach. It's less than 2 miles from here and there is a bike trail almost the whole way, which makes it pretty safe -- well most of the time. My arthritic knees were bothering me and I thought a good bike ride would loosen them up. I ride an old cruising bike I got from Sam's Club about nine years ago. I have a basket on it with flowers and I toodle down, being passed by the coolass bicyclists with their ridiculous Tour De France outfits (as if) and expensive racing bikes. Me, I wear gym shorts, t-shirts or wifebeaters. It was a cool day so I had a t-shirt on.

There is one part of the trail that crosses a really busy intersection where Stanley Avenue feeds into Hwy 33. The crossing is well-marked and they even added flashing lights that are set off when you cross pylons next to the road. The bike crossing signs even blink.

I was on my way home and all the cars had stopped. I was just passing a stopped white van with handicapped license plates when I realized that some guy in big, shiny, red pickup was barreling toward me. It was an "Oh Shit" moment. A close-your-eyes-and-hope-for-the-best moment. And POW! He had locked up his brakes, but too late. He hit me. I went flying.

I had been in the road but found myself lying on the side, on my back with my head hanging off the curb. My helmet had been knocked off and I'd been thrown clear of the bike. There was kind of a collective "Ohhhhhhhhhh" from whoever was there -- it was a busy time of day.

I had always thought that if anyone hit me like this that I would curse them out. But when the time came, I was in so much pain and shock it seemed best to conserve my energy. Besides the dumbass looked stricken -- as well he should have. People came running and I told them to call 911. Someone suggested I get my head up from the street.

A paramedic showed up, but he explained he was taking a patient to Vista Del Mar from Santa Barbara. In California a paramedic on a non-emergency transport must stop if he/she is first at the scene of an accident. He stabilized me. Stabilizing in an accident means not moving the head. The fire department guys showed up and the dude there noticed that ants were crawling all over me. But of course. I've been thrown 10 feet by a truck and I land in an ant hill. I felt as though I were starring in a macabre foreign art film. He brushed them off and got me on the board. He tried to sit me up, but I got really dizzy and told them I was getting shocky and needed to be put down.

The real paramedics showed up and they got me up and into the ambulance. She hooked me up to a saline drip, which was a good idea because I was going into shock and I needed the fluid. She also gave me oxygen. Riding in ambulances, while cool, is not the most comfortable of experiences, although the paramedic was great. She called Rob, saying she was "calling for his wife" to Stacey the office person at Rob's work. Rob said he thought, "Calling for my wife," that can't be good. I got on the phone and told him I'd been hit by a truck and he needed to meet me at the hospital.

They had me on the board waiting for a doctor for what seemed like forever before Rob got back there. I was so glad to see him. We spent the next few hours mostly waiting. The nurse came in and asked where I hurt and dabbed at the most severe road rash (see above). Rob ended up going over me and cleaning the rest of me off, including my knees and my thumb. They took me back for X-rays, which was unbelievably painful because my body didn't want to move at this point. But as soon as the Dr. saw there was no damage to my spine, he let them take me off the board.

Those boards have to be the most uncomfortable things ever invented and I'd spent almost three hours on this one. They do save lives, but, man they are not built to make you feel better. When I slid off the feeling was almost blissful. Well, as blissful as you can feel after getting hit by a truck.

They ascertained I didn't have any broken bones, although they didn't really x-ray more than my hip -- which bore the brunt of the impact, and head and neck. My swollen thumb hasn't been looked at and my right shoulder has been causing more and more pain.

The doctor had said he wanted to observe me with the head wound -- my helmet had been shattered and I a nice lump on my forehead -- before giving me pain meds. This sucked because I was completely responsive (hey, I watch House and ER, I know Dr. talk).

The Dr. finally ordered pain meds -- not Demerol, which I've found makes me really woozy, but doesn't stop the pain. They gave me Dilaudid and some kind of anti-nausea chaser and that helped some. I was released and sent home to mend with a prescription for Vicodin and orders not to take hot showers.

So here I am, up at 5 a.m. because I still hurt a lot, Vicodin or no Vicodin. Overall I was extremely lucky. At my age, something like this can be pretty devastating. Most people -- especially women -- who fall seem to break bones. But I didn't break anything and am actually getting around pretty well. Considering that I got hit by a truck.

The nurse at the ER asked me where I rode my bike and I told her, "I ride on the Ventura Trail bike path because I'm afraid to ride on the streets. I'm afraid some asshole will hit me."