A propos cakes, I never used to see what all the fuss was about. Now, however, I'm something of a fan, although not in a "Must. Eat. Cake." kind of way. No, I'm not obsessive, but a nice piece of Victoria sponge, lemon drizzle or coffee and walnut like my nan used to put together with her eyes closed is such a civilised treat on a slumping afternoon stuck in an office with cranky air con. I can also divulge that cake-baking works wonders in the world of the freelancer and as a result I have become quite the master baker; call it chow bribes, if you will.
Nonetheless, there are limits to kuchen-munching, and being forcefed cake from half nine in the morning is probably one example. This cake line-crossing happened at the wedding in Romania I've just got back from and wasn't helped by the accompanying quaffing of local schnapps/moonshine/paintstripper known as Tuica ("tweeker") and spinning around on the dancefloor to Europop. Thankfully, I was fine, but my friend Mark, who was also there, looked frighteningly pallid and sweaty even before sundown. Wedding over, we were handed an envelope and a little box, not unlike a McDonald's Happy Meal but with marriage-related graphics. The envelope contained a photo of the newly betrothed couple and the box? More cake!
Anyway, here's a joke about cakes, which I came across yesterday. Strangely, it was put on Twitter by the National Trust press office, of all things/places/people.
What's the fastest cake in the world?
Scone. (... s'gone)
And here's aother cake-related item:
My mate Nikki has been accepted to stand on the empty plinth in Trafalgar Square on 23 August to provide a visual portrait of Britain. As her five minutes (well, one hour, actually) of fame happens to coincide with National Sponge Cake Day, La Nik will be rustling up some culinary delights, making like the domestic goddess she so isn't. I'm hoping to get some visual evidence of her "creations"...