Piece of cake

Disclaimer: The following was written with much love and appreciation for my husband. Honest.

After the excitement of our beans-on-toast dinner (don't laugh...it's one of my favorites and one thing I actually miss about living in London...Heinz Beanz...mmmmm...oh and I think my husband was in one of their commercials when he was a kid or something), Mr. Blogger suddenly exclaimed, "I'd like some cake!"

Where that came from, I don't know. But this was the conversation that further transpired:

"Well, if you run to the store and get me a cake mix, I'll make you one."

I was thinking of something along the lines of Duncan Hines.

"Cake mix! That's ridiculous. You just need flour and eggs and sugar. I used to make them all the time."

"Well go ahead then!"

The gauntlet has been thrown. And my pride in baking wounded, if you want to know the truth.

"OK I will! Now, where is the flour?"

"Everything's in the cupboard. Are you sure you know what you're doing? I don't want to waste all the ingredients."

"Of course!"

I'm deep into the season finale of The Amazing Race, so I let him have his fun. But part of me keeps wondering what the hell he's putting in that thing.

"Is this going to be just a plain cake? Are you frosting it or something?"

"I can whip something up. We have chocolate in there somewhere."

"Only if you plan to melt down a Cadbury Fruit and Nut."

"We have cocoa powder though, right?"

"Um, no. I think you're confusing our cupboards with the one we had in London."

The last time I had seen any cocoa to speak of.

"Aaahhhh!"

He runs out the back door. Is there a cocoa plant out there that I didn't know about? He returns with much fruit in hand.

"Lemons...I'll make it a lemon cake! See! Oh and look...did you know we have oranges?"

No. No, I didn't. But then when Mom came to visit and upon about oh, two seconds in the backyard, presented me with both fresh mint and rosemary to smell, I hadn't known we had that either.

"OK, well I used to make a really good Lemon Jello cake with a lemon glaze on the top, so I can show you how to make that part."

I have to get my expertise in there somewhere.

"Do we have a cake tin?"

"Not really. Just use the 9x13 that's in there. It should work."

After much clanging about in the kitchen, I turn around to see him pouring batter into a small, square 8x8 glass dish.

"Did you grease and flour that beforehand?"

"No. It'll be fine. Trust me."

The batter is barely enough to fill the pan.

"How much did you put in there? Did you measure the ingredients?"

The tightly-wound part of me would have found a recipe on-line and used the exact measurements. I can't handle his free-form. But he seems to be enjoying himself immensely. I need to stop criticizing.

The cake comes out of the oven. It looks...INTERESTING.

I show him how to make the lemon glaze and we pour it on. He does not wish to wait for the cooling, so we cut a slice.

He hands it to me to take a bite.

It looks and tastes just like cornbread. With a hint of lemon.

"Um. It's good. It's very, um, dense. And yet spongy. Hmmmm."

He takes a bite.

"It's not bad."

I don't know whether to feel vindicated for me or bad for him. I choose a happy marriage.

"Um Honey, did you put any oil or butter in this?"

"No. I never needed it before."

"Well, next time try that. I think that's all that's missing."

"I don't know why it turned out like this. It's always been fine when I've made a cake with these ingredients. You don't like it, do you?

"Well, it's fine."

My face apparently says otherwise.

"Here."

He hands me one of our oranges instead.