Toni

Now, in as much as it is true that I have never met a cake that I didn't like, it is even more truly stated that Birthday Cake in particular is my keenest adversary of ALL cakes. Perhaps it's the emotion one of these frothy, frosting layered confections evokes that makes it nearest and dearest to my heart as my own birthday was, again, a huge cause for celebration with all my Italian family in attendance laden with gifts. But, here again, it is the cake, that is the centerpiece of the festivity, an Italian Rum Cake slathered with whipped cream frosting, buttercream roses and slivered almonds garnishing the edges . . .a sight to behold . . .a splendor to the palate. I could eat, and have eaten when left alone with one, birthday cake all day long, one forkful at a time...of course, how else? I'd wake up in the middle of the night, get a fork and take a bite right off the cake from the box in the fridge. . .ahhh, heaven. Wake up in the morning . . .a forkful or two for breakfast . . . if I had to leave the cake for some reason, I'd take a couple bites before leaving the house . . .you get the idea. A birthday cake in my house never made it beyond the 24 hour mark. They call my name still, regardless of whose name is written upon them in celebration . . .traitors to their very purpose . . .and I, once their slave.

When I was a kid growing up in a big Italian family in NY there was always an excuse for a celebration where there was A LOT of food. On a regular basis, the family got together on Sunday for a huge Italian meal which always consisted of a pasta dish...being spaghetti or lasagna and a nice big pot roast with potatoes, carrots and celery on the side and boat loads of rich gravy to soak up with bread. To create a balanced meal, our "greens" dish was ensalada, (salad) with tomatoes, cucumbers, a few dandelion greens all tossed with an oil and vinegar, garlic, oregano, basil dressing. This delectable homecooked meal was always proceeded by, well, none other but my all time nemesis, coffee and cake...(not so much the coffee, mind you...milk was always my drink of choice). My Uncle's in-laws owned a bakery in one of the five boroughs in Brooklyn and he reliably showed up week after week with white cardboard cake boxes piled high upon one another like graduated building blocks filled with Italian pastries, cakes and pies. Tied with red and white cotton string, the boxes were the heart of my desire. The very objects of my affection. So, begins the story of my addiction to cake.