This cake recipe, requested by my dear friend, Rose Chapman,
finally appears after waiting years for its formal introduction. It remained in passive development for the
better part of two years, not for tweaks and revisions. It is among the older
recipes in my files, bearing a 20-year time stamp. I can’t cite an exhaustive search for the
original hard copy, which is basically four lines, scrawled on the back of an
Emerson College R.A. training schedule, circa 1995. It was not held up in copyright negotiations
with Dr. Pepper Snapple Group. That particular
dance has yet to start, but will probably be settled quite swiftly in the space
of two brief emails. There is only one
clear explanation for the delay – the reluctance to hold myself accountable for
examining a plethora of personal issues that litter the path along this
particular stretch of my journey.
I am always reluctant to employ that widely-used, canned
response to justify shortcomings because while shit most certainly happens, a
quick flush and thorough wipe greatly reduces much of the negative fallout associated
with the occurrence. Furthermore, we
have a reasonable expectation and are able prepare because we recognize shit
happens as a result of what we introduce to our bodies. We are rarely shocked when shit happens. Either a properly functioning sphincter or
bubble guts make an announcement by which we can also determine how much time
we have to reach a suitable outlet. It
will never largely impact nor change the course of an entire day unless a colon
is indecisive, a bowel angry, or an insulting meal disrespects one or both. In those rare circumstances we adjust our
schedules accordingly, camp on or near the bowl and patiently wait with a clear
understanding that shit must end, but I digress.
This delay is simply the result of my failure to remove
obstacles that block my progress, which is unacceptable because I fundamentally
recognize all obstacles are self-constructed and failure is born of
laziness and fear, another self-inflicted construct. Power to navigate and achieve
a desired result is mine in all situations that respect and maintain what I
have come to understand about the universe, which in no way imposes restrictions. I have every right to challenge or upset
balance in the universe as long as I am willing to accept the response. If ever I develop a desire to rouse sleeping
dogs, the universe will buzz with new and exciting challenges, requiring I
expend energy previously untapped.
Laziness continues to hold me at bay, but I still manage to kick a slumbering
canine every now and then, most often one that bites me on the ass, eliciting a
new set of responses, but again I digress.
In this moment, I am unwilling to do the work to expose a
specific reason for the delay, but I will report I was not perched on a bowl
the entire time. Is that even possible?
3 cups sugar
3 sticks butter or margarine (I Can’t Believe It’s Not
Butter works beautifully!)
6 eggs
3 cups all-purpose flour
¾ cup 7up or Sprite
3 teaspoons lemon extract
Cream sugar and butter until smooth and creamy. Add eggs, one at a time, beating thoroughly
after each until there is no trace of yolk.
Add flour and mix. Combine 7up
and lemon extract and mix into batter until smooth. Bake at 325 degrees in a tube pan for 1 hour
or until it’s done. (An hour is never
enough in my slow oven)
Cool 15 minutes and remove from pan.
I am pleased to announce this recipe joins others in my
much-anticipated collection, If I Tell
You, I Have to Kill You: Whispered stories and recipes. “In The Balance” is the story of a church
meeting, called to discuss a moral response to the pregnancy of 15-year old,
Rose Etta Johnson. In the fellowship
hall of Bethel Baptist Church, members consider how the congregation should
proceed in the wake of Rose Etta’s indiscretion. Riley Hickson, a very active,
contributing member of many years, very bluntly, in the most colorful language,
challenges the “Hawthornian” pastoral recommendation with a question.
“Is that what they did to your
fast-assed momma?”
