I made a cake last night. From scratch. And it even tastes pretty good. I need to practice making the powdered sugar and milk (with a little vanilla thrown in) glaze that is supposed to go on top.
It's called an Apple Harvest Cake and the recipe is from a church cookbook from The Catholic church in the community I grew up in. It has submissions from women with the names you recognize as the Italian ones that are now the liquor store owner and the big realtor in town. And the family name of a boy named Sam in my class. But apparently several generations ago, there was a rift in Sam's family and he claimed not to be related to those in the neighboring town with the same Italian last name.
These are exactly the things I love and loathe about growing up in that community. It's great to have that sort of common bond and history. But I really enjoy the anonymity that I have in a bigger city these days. We went to Flugtag (so bizarre) along with 85,000 other people on Saturday night and I didn't see a single person I knew. Heck, I don't even bump in to people I know at the grocery store. And I'll sheepishly admit to not knowing my neighbors names, though I know the names of some of their pets.
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2 comments:
Yeah, you know, even though I live here where I went to school, I think it's been about four years since I ran into anyone I went to high school with. Just doesn't happen here.
So, the cake was good with cubed apple instead of shredded?
Move to Palacios. You already know more of my neighbors there than you do in your own neighborhood!
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