Engrish Birthday

You know what I love? When you give someone a meticulously-printed piece of paper that says "Happy Birthday Raelynn" on it so they will copy that exactly and write it in frosting onto the cake you pay them to bake and then they give your child a new name: REALlynn. Thanks, dummies!

Sigh. At least it looks pretty.

And speaking of pretty, you know what I really love? I really love Raelynn. I cannot even believe she's 4 now. Four years ago, I posted this post about my first born. Now I look at her and am stunned she was once a tiny, helpless little infant. She now does everything herself. She dresses herself. She picks out what she wants to wear. She has an opinion about EVERYTHING. She's a total drama queen. Not like me. What? Oh all right. She's EXACTLY like me. I love my mini-me with all my heart though.

Some days she makes me completely nuts but no matter how crazy she drives me, I just love her to pieces. She makes me laugh so hard my sides hurt and her smile makes my heart melt. I love the way she looks at the world. "Mommy, why is the sun following us everywhere?" And she's such an awesome big sister.

Raelynn, you're such an awesome kid. You're so smart too! You speak 3 languages! You are a good girl at school and everyone loves you. I say this every year but man are we lucky to be your parents. You truly make our lives complete. May this next year be full of new and exciting adventures for us together. We love you!

Insanely Idiotic FIL

As you know, I'm not a huge fan of my in-laws. I've felt trapped in our home even though I am on vacation because one or both of them has been here much thanks to Raelynn having being sick. I am grateful for the assistance and have been trying to be polite but it can be so incredibly hard. Like when your MIL blames you for baking a cake for her son's birthday because she wholeheartedly believed my demon cake from America is what made Raelynn sick.

Newsflash: it didn't.

After a day of vomiting, Raelynn spent a day with a fever that wouldn't quit. It kept getting higher so my in-laws took her to the hospital to see what was wrong. I was hysterical, still never getting over that taking your kid to the hospital is as normal as taking your kid to the doctor's office back home. I feared she'd have to have another IV treatment. My poor precious girl.

I busied myself with all kinds of tasks in preparation for our upcoming Guangzhou trip like organizing our documents for the 50th time and trying to figure out what outfits I should pack. Soon, darkness fell and it was 5:30pm. I was so worried that I didn't feel like eating but because I'm breastfeeding Seoul, I knew I must eat something. With not much around to work with, I began chopping up leeks to saute with egg, a very quick Chinese dish that I actually like. I put Seoul in the Baby Bumbo at the entrance to the kitchen and she cooed away at me while I worked. Suddenly, I heard the sounds of an old troll in the stairs. I thought I must be imagining things. I didn't expect them to be back from the hospital already. But to my absolute delight, they were! Raelynn didn't need an IV treatment this time, thank the Lord! They gave her some medicine for a sore throat.

Jeremy had been just as worried but trapped at work. I called him to give him the good news. He'd be home shortly. When he finally did get home, he spoke to his mom. She told him that the doctor said this was NOT caused by cake. Well, duh. She said the doctor asked what we'd done 72 hours before she became sick. Guess where we were? We were at church and Raelynn must have picked up this lovely grossness from some kid in her play group. I sincerely hope whoever gave her this ailment had no idea their child was sick because sending your sick kid into a play group is pretty low. I'd like to think the best of people so I am hoping the parents were not aware. Or any of those kids could have been carriers of the illness without being sick themselves.

Raelynn is now feeling much better, in time for our trip, which makes us happy. And once the doctor told MIL that the cake was not the cause of Raelynn's illness, she shut the fuck up about my cake. No apology for blaming my American cooking and baking, mind you, but that's just the kind of cow she is. But FIL? That guy is a fucking insanely idiotic psycho. Yesterday, in addition to causing Raelynn to act out and then DEFENDING her bad behavior, he tells me her throat hurts because she ate my cake. Are you fucking serious? I unloaded about 50 fuck yous in his direction and called him a total moron. Even your wife has more sense than you, and that's pretty fucking bad when someone as dumb as MIL is considered a step up.

When I told Jeremy, he just shook his head. He wasn't surprised. Oh how we hang on and hope that our trip to Guangzhou will bring us a brighter future in the form of a visa for my husband. We need to get away from these people.

Cold Things Will Kill You! Cake Too!

 Killer Cake by ArcZero. Neat!

One thing I have always despised since living here is when people tell you something so idiotic and they expect you to believe it too. Only problem is I'm from the educated world and they are not.

I'm talking about MIL here and her constant freakout about consuming cold things. Or being too cold. As I type this, Raelynn is napping on our sofa with a blanket AND MIL's dingy winter coat tossed over her for good measure. Not like we don't have heating or anything.

MIL came this afternoon shortly after I'd just scrubbed a round of vomit off Raelynn and the sofa. Early this morning, Raelynn had eaten her usual cereal with milk. She'd also requested an egg, which I'd made her but she'd been picking at. I assumed it was due to her zoning off on her cartoons, which is a frequent occurrence. She tells me her tummy hurts and I assure her she just needs to poop. So off she goes to the potty and makes a totally normal poop. She says she feels better. Problem solved.

Soon, it's time for lunch. I make us some leftovers from yesterday's lunch - a pasta I'd made with mascarpone cheese and sandwiches using the fried chicken MIL had made for dinner. Raelynn had been happily eating this stuff yesterday but suddenly, she didn't want to eat anything. She said her tummy hurt again. I told her to try to make another poop. But this time, she doesn't. She says she's not hungry. She wants to play. I scold her for not eating properly and the next thing I know, she's barfing everywhere. Lovely. Poor thing.

As I clean her up, Seoul is crying away in her crib. Nothing I can do but let her sit there and cry while I attend to Raelynn. Once I get Raelynn cleaned up, I go put Seoul down for a nap. While I'm in there, MIL shows up. When I emerge to check on Raelynn, I tell MIL about how Raelynn threw up. First, she blames my food. The food Raelynn didn't even eat! So I yell at the old cow. What an idiot. My food is to blame and she didn't even consume it.

So then she asks what else she's eaten and I tell her cereal and milk and some of an egg. And she blames the milk! It's cold! You gave her cold milk! How dare you! Bitch, please. She eats cereal and milk every day without a problem.

Then, she blames the cake I made for Jeremy's birthday yesterday. You gave her a piece of cake! You bet I did. It was her daddy's birthday. I gave her a small piece of cake after dinner. Now I'm some horrible mom. And hey, speaking of horrible moms, you not once said "Happy Birthday" to your own son on his birthday. Have you no soul? This woman! Ugh.

She thinks the stupidest thoughts. Do you see why it is so difficult for me to endure her? Here is a woman who insists that milk and cereal are bad for Raelynn and this is the culprit but will take her to the yogurt shop around the corner. THAT YOGURT IS COLD! She cooks food and lets it sit out. Oh that won't kill you but a small piece of cake? Geez.

I cannot even wait for our upcoming trip. That was a pleasure, telling her we were going. She had no idea. I can't believe Jeremy didn't tell her yet. Oh well...cat's out of the bag. And the lioness is sharpening her claws for the next attack.

Hello, 2014!

Happy New Year everyone! Much as I predicted, we were all zonked out well before midnight. We awoke very briefly when someone let off fireworks at midnight. They woke Raelynn who instantly fell right back asleep in our bed. I found it funny that the Chinese will only let off a very few fireworks for the new year, but when it comes to the Chinese New Year, holy hell. These people just need to get a grip. It is INSANE the amount of noise. And it's constant. It does not stop until 2 or 3 in the morning. Then you get one asshat who lets off one of those big cannon boom ones at about 5 or 6am. I hate the person the absolute most.

So yeah, our New Year's Eve wasn't very eventful. But our New Year's Day sure was! I say this with a touch of sarcasm, because if you read my last post, you know who I was going to be forced to hang out with on the first day of the year. And if you're too much of a lazy cow to click the link, here's your spoiler: it was my in-laws. Oh, joy!

At least they came to our home and I was spared the hell of having to breathe in the vomitous fumes of their hovel. But I was not spared from MIL's cooking. To be fair though, it smelled far worse than it tasted. Let's discuss the meal, shall we?

Here's Raelynn getting ready to jack some more food from the plate closest to her. I thought it was potatoes, honestly. I took a bite and thought, "Oh GOD! She undercooked the potatoes! How do you fuck up frying slices of potatoes?!?" But then Jeremy informed me it was some other root vegetable. Not too bad. That brown thing on the left is some bamboo dish. It was better than it looked. In the bowl next to that? BARF! I could not stand to smell it or taste it. Just dreadful. To the right of that, it looks like spinach and I was happily enjoying it until I was told it was not spinach. My husband said it was olive tree leaves which sounds mystifying and interesting all in one. Actually, I was still enjoying this one after I was told it wasn't spinach. And finally, on the right, there's some meat. It was lamb, and I must give her credit because every other time she's cooked lamb, it has been chewy and gristly and therefore way up there on my puke-o-meter. But this time, it was so soft and delicious. I was also greatly amused that she used my dill AND rosemary on this! It was a very strange taste, but it wasn't bad.

There was also a whole steamed fish, which is MIL's signature dish. She never fucks that one up. And also not pictured, noodles, because in Chinese tradition to eat long noodles on one's birthday means you will have a long life. But she serves them plain. With no sauce. And then she was trying to put that soupy nasty thing from the bowl on my noodles and I snatched my bowl away with the quickness. I'd rather plain, boring noodles than for her to put something gross on top.

Here's my FIL posing for his birthday. He's mostly tolerable. Mostly. Of course, we know what he is capable of, don't we? See exhibit A, exhibit B, exhibit C, and exhibit D. At least it makes for great comic relief.

 Now it's time for cake. I have to tell you that cakes made in Chinese bakeries are just awful. They don't taste right. And my friend Andrea told me why. They don't use butter. They use oil because it is cheaper. OF COURSE THEY DO! Ugh! Not only that, but they also neglect to put enough sugar into it. So the cake itself is kind of dry and has little flavor. And the frosting is just this gloppy slime that has no sweetness to it. But Raelynn is happy with any cake. That giant piece was for FIL but Raelynn told him he couldn't have it. She told him he could have that small piece that's next to it. It was adorable.

MIL cuts up enormous pieces for everyone. I insisted on a small piece. I didn't even want it but I didn't want to be rude.

My husband decides it is far sexier to eat cake like this! LOL!

And now, I'd like you to avoid focusing on the zombie that is MIL and look at the cake. Something's different now. Can you tell?

Why, wasn't there just much more frosting on top of this? Yes, there was. That's because MIL, in her infinite non-wisdom decided, without consulting anyone mind you, not even her own husband, started SCRAPING the frosting off the top. Now, the cake was shitty to begin with. As was the frosting. But the frosting made the dryness of the flavorless cake easier to swallow. God, she really is a pill, isn't she?

Here's a better look at the cake after it was decapitated of frosting. Thankfully I wasn't very interested in eating this cake in the first place or I would have been severely pissed. She won't be allowed anywhere near the cake I'll make for my husband on his birthday in a little over a week. I'm making the same cake I made for Christmas. It's a chocolate lava cake made in the rice cooker. Yes, really!

 Now, I must tell you this has to be one of the best cakes I've ever made. It's so moist and so incredibly, insanely delicious. But don't let me convince you. My husband is not a cake person. He's not a sweet tooth like I am. He'll usually give something a taste and while he might enjoy it, he'll leave it up to Raelynn and me to polish it off. Not this cake. I'd also made fudge for Christmas. Jeremy said, "You can have the fudge. This cake is mine." He also demanded that I not take any for my coworkers. He became very territorial about the cake. I can't say I blame him.

If you want to make this cake for yourself (and you absolutely, TOTALLY should!) click here for the recipe from a great food blog. You will not regret it!

My New Simile For The Impossible

I love cake. Don’t you? One of the best perks of teaching kindergarten is the birthday parties because of the cake. Except when the moms send in a cake that has that blah-tasting whippy frosting topped with grapes (with seeds!) and dragon fruit. Meh. But most of them do a good job of picking a delicious cake. Even when students in another class have a birthday party, I can still count on getting a glorious piece of cake.

But there is something quite odd about cake-eating here. I noticed it in Korea too. Instead of giving you a fork to eat it with (or even a spoon or a spork), they give you a teeny tiny shrimp fork. No joke:

The one in the photo happens to be wooden, but most are plastic. In either case, trying to eat a piece of cake with one of those is as close to impossible as it gets. You wind up destroying what was once a lovely slice of cakey goodness in a desperate attempt to get a bite into your mouth. I think using chopsticks would actually be easier!

Prior to this, my favorite simile to use to describe doing something that was impossible came from Mr. Anderson from Beavis and Butthead. Remember him? 

He was the old neighbor that was constantly terrorized by them. He once said, “I feel like a one-legged cat trying to bury turd on a frozen pond,” though for the life of me now, I can't remember why he was saying it. Perhaps he was trying to eat cake with one of these damned things too. In any event, I now have my very own simile to coin:

I feel like I’m trying to eat a slice of cake with a puny plastic shrimp fork.

Feel free to quote me on that.

Half Baked

Yesterday, I mentioned that I was baking a gluten-free chocolate cake. I bet you're all hanging on the edge of your seats wondering how that hot mess turned out. Yeah, right. Well, for the 2 of you that were actually wondering (and I'm guessing one of those people is Kimmy who actually bought us the gluten-free cake mix), here you go:

I must say that I was really skeptical about how this cake would turn out. For one, the package of the mix had called for a tablespoon of lemon juice which I found highly unusual for a chocolate cake. Still, I followed the recipe precisely. I took a taste of the batter. It was weird, almost like when I used to bake special brownies way back when in my foolish days of yore. But not quite that weird and certainly not with any hallucinogenic effects.

I tried to make some cupcakes but I don't have a muffin tin so they came out looking a bit wonky. Hey, don't laugh. I should have known better but I read a tip on Pinterest that suggested you could make cupcakes take any shape of whatever pan they were in if you grouped them together. Yeah, that doesn't work. Or at least it didn't for me. I'll be bugging my husband for a muffin tin, but until then, go ahead and laugh at these wonktacular things:

So, I came up with a plan B, and that was to actually just make a whole cake. And that came out much more attractively:

So how did it taste? I have to say, I was pleasantly surprised. Despite the odd taste of the batter, the cake itself baked into an extremely scrumptious dessert. If I didn't know it was gluten-free, I'd be shocked if someone told me after I took a bite of it. It's moist and chocolatey. I'm impressed. And so is Raelynn. I'll end with a picture of her and her chocolate-crusted face, which you'd have to be made of stone to not "SQUEEEE!" when you see her. Enjoy!

Stupidopolis

I once wrote how Qingdao is famed for plastic bags, in addition to its' famous beer. But it seems to be making a name for itself with how many stupid people there are per square meter here. And perhaps with that in mind, it should consider renaming itself "Stupidopolis."

My MIL alone is cause to rename this place "Stupidopolis." Hell, they should make her some high-ranking stupid official of stupidity. Since I last posted, she's done a number of things to be considered for world's spokesperson for what happens when common sense is completely lacking. But she's not the only one. Oh man! The stupid things I see here every day! Some days, I just shrug my shoulders. Other days, I can't stop laughing. But on days like today, I've got to let it out before I go on stupid overload.

First, I'll begin with everyone's favorite bovine-brained spaz, MIL. For Lord knows what reason, she decided to change Raelynn into a different t-shirt while I was at work one day. And then, changed her back into whatever I'd put her in. How do I know this? Because today, after taking Raelynn to the church play group, I changed her into lighter clothing because with the radiators on in our home, it's really quite toasty in here. I put Raelynn in her new Bubba Gump shirt that my parents had brought her. She had only worn it once, in my presence, on the day my parents flew back out. She did not get anything on it then. So why, then, would it have stains on it when I put her in it today?!? I realized that far-sighted oaf had something to do with it. Angrily, I fumed off to the bathroom to scrub oily Chinese food stains out of Raelynn's shirt, muttering strings of curse words so foul, even I was surprised at myself. How hard is it for her to put a bib on the baby?!? How hard is it for her to clean up stains on clothing if she makes them?!? Does she need glasses?!? How she could miss those stains is a mystery to me! And then to put it back in the closet like it was fresh and clean!!!! AUGH!!!! Even with all my laborious efforts, I can still see the stains though they are fainter now. My folks bought the shirt a little bigger so that Raelynn could grow into it and wear it for a while. I purposely dress Raelynn in things I don't give a damn about when I go to work just so shit like this doesn't happen and look at what fucking happened! Sweet fuckity fuck!

Also, all week, she has been leaving luo bo all over the house. What's a luo bo, you ask? It's a green Chinese radish. A picture is worth 1,000 words:

It has a really sharp taste. It's not too bad but people here are convinced that it has all these benefits for your health. My husband is one of them and claims it will help with digestion. Yes, it helps you burp out the most disgusting smells known to man and causes frequent farting. Lovely. He slices a piece of it for me and then stands over me, like an austere parent who knows their child, when left unattended, will hurl that slice of luo bo out the window or stuff it into the couch, never to be seen again.

Anyway, MIL cuts some of one luo bo up and leaves it on the kitchen counters. And in the dish drying rack. And then she cuts up a whole different one even though there's still plenty in the kitchen and leaves it on our dining table. And in our refrigerator. In the cabinets. And on the window sills. It's taking over my home! ARGH!!!!

Next candidate for mayor of "Stupidopolis" goes to the man that walked into our car while my husband was parking. I mentioned this on Facebook the other day but didn't go into great detail. Which I probably should have because I left my friend Chrystal with the impression that my husband is horrendously slow at parking. He's come a long way since his first days of driving. One day after picking me up from work, Jeremy began the process of parking in front of our apartment. He attempts to parallel park, which he's become quite good at. But the problem on this day is that he's selected a spot that is too small, much thanks to the two chowderheads in front and behind this vacant almost-space. I tell him this but he pays me no regard and lines our car up with the front one, then slowly starts rolling into position. It's at this time that I notice a man of about 45 or 50 walking way-too-close to the passenger side of the car. He practically rubbed up against us. "Watch out for the moron, Dear," I tell my husband but before he can figure out which moron (to be fair, there are just too many of them here) this man walks into our car as it is reversing. Now, we were not moving fast at all. The car was just rolling backward gently. As soon as he ran into us, our reverse sensor went berserk. The man didn't even stumble. He just kept on walking and dusted himself off and he went about his business.

Moments later, Jeremy concluded that I was right about the spot being too small and decided to park on the opposite side of the street where he would back into a spot up on the sidewalk, which I've mentioned is totally normal here. He's now perpendicular to the sidewalk and is in the street and just before he punches it to roll up onto the curb, I tell him to watch out. Cluelessly, a mom and daughter keep walking BEHIND our car. Not even on the sidewalk. In the street. Oblivious that we are reversing. These our are next candidates for officials in "Stupidopolis." There are so many people like this here that it boggles my mind as to HOW this population is so insanely high. Seriously. NO ONE has any common sense here, hence no one looks both ways to cross a street. I cannot even understand why anyone would walk into oncoming traffic without a death wish, but here they all are, walking among us.

And finally, a whole slew of candidates for official positions in the town of "Stupidopolis" can be found at Metro, the German-owned Costco-esque store here. We went this weekend to grab a few things. One of the things we needed was conditioner. In the aisle for hair care, there is a huge section of shampoos. And then there is a really small area of conditioner. They even have box sets which you would suppose would be one shampoo and one conditioner, but no. It's 2 shampoos! How utterly stupid! The only conditioner they carry at Metro is of the upper echelon. Stuff like L'Oreal, which is what I wound up buying. But as my husband and I were having a conversation about this, the 3 Metro employees just standing about uselessly in the aisle, began doing that idiotic clicking noise I fucking hate that all people seem to think is just fine to make to a baby. Most people do this here, so it's nothing new. But what pissed me off is that Jeremy and I are talking about something and instead of just clicking a few times, these women went clicking on and on and on and on and on and FUCKING ON until I turned and glared at them, and snapped in English, "Would you mind stopping that now please? Geez!" Thankfully, they understood me enough to cease and desist or I would have lobbed some bottles of shampoo and conditioner at their empty heads.

Really, everyone here deserves a position in office in "Stupidopolis." The people who block traffic and cause it to jam should be highly considered for something such as this. Or how could I ever forget the woman who took our order for the cake we had made for our vow renewal? I can't believe I almost forgot about her.

First, a look at the cake:

It was a cheesecake from the German bakery in the Hisense mall, which for those of you not in the know, it is the fanciest mall here what with Tiffany's, Prada and Chanel, just to name a few. I had asked her to top it with chocolate which took Jeremy forever to get her to understand. Chocolate shavings? No, chocolate sauce. Chocolate cocoa powder? Nooooo, chocolate sauce. And on and on until finally it was comprehended. When she asked us what we'd like to decorate it with, I asked my husband to ask her if she could just put some hearts on top. He asks and she brightens, and even I understand that this is no problem to have done. She runs off for a moment, and returns with what looks like fondant in the shape of hearts. Yes, that's perfect, I'd said. And my husband conveys to her that this is just what I'm looking for. Then she starts saying something else and I'm not sure what it is but she seems concerned about something. And that is when Jeremy told me one of the funniest things I have ever heard. I am so surprised that I didn't write this before. Are you ready? Presenting one of the stupidest things I have ever heard:
She had said that of course she could do the hearts but we shouldn't eat them. I was quite confused because I'd thought they were made of fondant, which is not just edible but tasty. "Oh, you can't eat them?" I asked my husband. And he then told me that you CAN eat them. They are purely edible but, and I quote: "She said we shouldn't eat them because they have too much sugar in them."

Did you see that? Yes. I'm not even joking. I wouldn't ever joke about cake. I laughed. Hard. Right there while writing out "Congratulations Jeremy and Jennifer" on a paper to ensure they would spell our names correctly. Is it any wonder why Chinese desserts are horrible? I can just see them now, withholding the sugar. But they'll dive right into a greasy plate of fried crap, cooked in way too much peanut oil. No, that can't possibly be even worse for you. THIS is why I went to the German bakery. At least the cake turned out beautifully. And deliciously. And we ate every single heart on it too.

The Grandpa Piece

Not one day goes by where I don't miss the ones I love who have left this world behind. Grandpa was one of a kind...a funny kind. He'd be so proud of me zinging his old joke in there like that too.


I'm sure some of you will read the title of this post and think that it implies something shady, like that Grandpa's getting some side action or some let's-not-go-there territory. And if that is what you're hoping this is about, then you're out of luck. For this post is in loving memory of my grandpa on my mom's side, Seymour, who we just called "Grandpa." We called our dad's father "Papa" to distinguish our grandfathers. Papa was a great man too and I think about him often, but something happened recently that got me thinking about Grandpa. I just had to share it with my husband. And now I'm sharing it with you too.

You should also know that Grandma was an outstanding cook. She made the most amazing things from scratch. I don't even know if I could duplicate it. Grandma was known for her kick-ass desserts. They were absolute heaven. Her meals were sensational but we ALL lived for dessert.  Grandma took great pride in presentation. When she'd slice up her decadent chocolate pie, we'd all crowd around, drooling, hoping to be the one to get the first piece.

Unless that piece, which more often than not when it came to the removal of that first piece, flopped out onto the plate like a dead and bloated fish trying to escape out of the chum bucket with one last thrash. Despite that it was from the same pie, because this piece looked like what would actually happen when shit hit the fan, my brother and I would refuse to eat it. We wanted a pretty piece. That's where Grandpa came in. Grandpa didn't mind the messy piece. Because he wound up always getting these wonky-looking slices of cake and pie, we began calling them "The Grandpa Piece."

I had shared this bit of family history with Lane who finds it funny, knowing how his wife and his brother-in-law get along, to imagine us as children behaving this way. Lane is much like Grandpa too in that he'll gladly take something that looks like it hit the floor so I can have the one that looks like it didn't. He's a good sport, just like Grandpa was. Since my husband now knows that he's responsible for eating "The Grandpa Piece," he plays along during these moments. Technically, he should have eaten this whole cake:

Grandma NEVER would have had a cake turn out looking like this. NEVER! Only "The Grandpa Piece" would look like this. But to my credit, my ugly cake tasted beautifully. Grandma would have criticized the way this cake looks. But Grandpa would have been full of praise because, despite being hideous, it was absolutely delicious. They were such opposites I still have no idea how they wound up together. Perhaps their opposing forces canceled each other out and that's what made them work. Or, perhaps it was Grandpa's willingness to eat the ugly, messy pieces in life that did the trick.

The winter holidays have always made me miss family. Ever since they left this world, I miss both sets of grandparents. And of course, I miss my mom. But now that I live on the upside down side of the world, I miss my family. And my friends. For me, a great distraction from those I'm missing is to get cooking. And Christmas time wouldn't be the same without gobs of horribly delicious baked goods. Lane and I have been invited to a Christmas party which we're looking forward to. Immediately, I knew what I'd make. This chocolate lava cake that you can make in your rice cooker. Yes, really! Look at it. It looks amazing! Of course, while I do hope mine will come out looking as lovely as the one you see there, I am more inclined to believe that, given my history, mine will come out looking like the cake I posted above. I will document this endeavor and perhaps we will all be proud of my kitchen prowess. Or, I will have created another giant Grandpa Piece that I hope everyone will be happy to help eat.