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Piece o' cake
One of these days I'll learn to prepare something remotely complicated without losing my shit. I mean, surprising your hubby with a sweet treat earns you no boyfriend brownie points if you snap at him while trying to get the eggs to whip up. And at the end of it all, I was still left with two burnt cakelets good for nothing but trifle. Nuts. I admit, 375° seemed awful hot for cake, but I know I've made this Sandtorte recipe before with better results. I'll just have to try again at a more relaxed juncture.
The phone rang about an hour ago and it wasn't any of the three or four people I expected to call but Nuphy back from his trip out west and dying to share his sordid tails of sleaze on the public rails with someone. So I obliged. Only then did I call up my father (we actually got nearly a week's warning on this visit, whoo-hoo!) and set plants for Chief O'Neill's Saturday morning. (Mmm...full Irish breakfast.) Two or three more phone calls and then maybe an evening stroll to calm my nerves.
The phone rang about an hour ago and it wasn't any of the three or four people I expected to call but Nuphy back from his trip out west and dying to share his sordid tails of sleaze on the public rails with someone. So I obliged. Only then did I call up my father (we actually got nearly a week's warning on this visit, whoo-hoo!) and set plants for Chief O'Neill's Saturday morning. (Mmm...full Irish breakfast.) Two or three more phone calls and then maybe an evening stroll to calm my nerves.