Revenge of the Apple Cake: My Tale of Culinary Envy

So, I admit it, I am petty woman. I recognize that this post may show really deep insecurity on my part. But, hey I am social worker, so I am going to "own this feeling".

Last year, my husband was invited to a dinner that, I swear, may have changed his life. At first the invitation appeared benign and was a kind gesture from two wonderful and amazing people. I, unfortunately, was forced to decline the invitation since I had promised to attend a fundraiser with my mom. So, I am thinking, "Hey, my absence is no reason to turn down a great meal, honey, go on without me and have fun." Everything seemed fine, but I soon found out, this was no ordinary meal. . .

I knew something was different about this dinner when Conaway called on the drive home and started driveling on and on about "Apple Cake." Mind you, this call woke me up since I was asleep and for any of you who knew me last year, sleep was a very precious commodity. . .So, you could say, I was in a grumpy mood, and in my stupor I hear a high pitched school girl-esque story about cake. "Oh, the apple cake was so good. Oh , everyone loved. I had two pieces. It was so good that I even brought you some home to share. You've got to try it. Man, that was an incredible cake . . . blah . . blah". For thrity minutes I heard about this cake and how it would cure cancer, give us world peace and bring us closer to the Divine.

Soon, I heard the garage door opening and bounding through the door was Conaway with a package wrappped in foil. "Hey, I brought you some cake, you gotta try it?" "No, I think I'll pass." "Are you sure, it's really good, and I brought it it for you." At that moment, this became about more than just cake. I got that feeling that every wife gets when your husband goes on and on about another woman's talent. It's that sinking low-down, "Apple cake. Hmm, I don't know why he thinks that apple cake is so good. I can make a cake. I used to make brownies on demand for you, and this is the thanks I get. Hmmm, I got your apple cake."

So, the night passed and the next day, I was begged again to try the cake. I tried it and. . .well. . that was some damn good cake. Perhaps it was a spiturally enlightening experience, but for me, it was like eating from the tree of knowledge. No longer was I happy with my sub-par desserts. I was ashamed at my mediocity. And I, like Eve in Garden of Eden, began plotting.

Soon replicating Apple Cake became my raison d'etre and a strange measure womanhood. I went on-line. I kept looking for apples and thinking of ways to replicate "Apple Cake." And not only would I replicate it, I would improve upon it. Apple cake is made in a standard 9x13 pan, I would make apple cake in a bundt pan and improve its presentation. My apple cake would be bigger, better, and applier! Really, I was obsessed.

Some of my apple cake attempts where laughable (i.e. the recipe where I became so flustered I forgot to add butter). Sadly, my apple cake did not live up to the yummy gooey apple cake that lured my husband away like the pied piper. For a year now, I have lived with the shame. . .So imagine my joy when last night I was offered a chance at redemption.

A year later, there was another invitation from the miracle hostess, and well, apple cake was served. It was just as good as it was last year, but this year, I got satisfaction and perhaps redemption. I too will know the joy of apple cake. After taking pity on my sad story, our wonderful hostess has agreed to share her apple cake recipe. . .

Thank you for a lovely evening and redeeming this poor girl's baking. A marriage saved.