Yesterday was a busy baking day--class: two tarts, cookie dough, crème pâtissière, cold custard, flambéed apples in Calvados (YUM--if you've never done this, I HIGHLY SUGGEST doing so, because it makes plain apples into divinity incarnate). Fin bref, there was more butter and sugar than you could shake a stick at.
Then I came home and made a birthday cake.
Not just any birthday cake. Deb's Best Birthday Cake. As we all know by now, Deb is never wrong. She is especially right about everyone deserving a birthday cake, one that's homemade tastes like someone cares for you.
Are you reading this, Jeff?
(OK. Just kidding. Sort of.)
So I made a cake. I won't bore you with the recipe, since it's faithfully reproduced from the Smitten Kitchen, and let me tell you, this may have to go into my permanent repertoire. It's fluffy and light and, importantly, not dry and gross. I attempted Alice Waters' 1-2-3-4 cake from my most favorite of books, but it wasn't what I was hoping it would be. It has the extra, fussy step of whipping the egg whites as a leavener, and it just wasn't worth it. It just wouldn't do.
(Like I said, Deb is never wrong. Trust her.)