Category: Dads

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“That Cake Guy”

I remember some kid at school asking me one day, “Isn’t your dad that cake guy?” and I said, “Yep.” I didn’t really get how he knew it, though. Turns out, that his brother was in my sister’s class and she had brought her teacher a fancy birthday cake that dad had made.

Laurie and I were famous for about two days–as daughters of “that cake guy.” It was lovely while it lasted.

Many years later, when I was married, with a couple of kids, Daddy called me and said, “Marie Osmond wants me to make her wedding cake.” I positively–ok, ok, nearly fainted dead away.

What you may not know, is that I’d always been a Donny fan and was, in fact, certain that if he’d been in his right mind–which he wasn’t–he would have married me…instead of whoever he actually married. So this was indeed big news.

Dad fussed and messed around in the bake shop for weeks, figuring and calculating how to make the most enormous cake he’d ever made before–because it’s what Marie wanted. I remember the day he was working on that bottom tier–biggest thing I’d ever seen–when somebody said, “Well, it’s pretty, but how are you going to fit it out the door?”

Eee Gads.

Seriously.

There he was, nearly finished with the thing and in fact, it wouldn’t, couldn’t possibly fit out the door.

Do you suppose it’s blasphemous to pray your guts out for a cake? I hope not, because that’s exactly what we did. As Dad and the guys lifted the ridiculous thing and headed to the door, we all whispered, “Please-please-please-please…” Then, as they started to tip it to the side, we crossed our fingers that it wouldn’t slide off the cake board and smash to the ground. We all chanted, “don’t let it slip…don’t let it slip…don’t let it slip.”

Miracle of miracles–and lucky for US…our prayers were answered…

and it didn’t.

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Happy Birthday Beckham!

Happy Birthday Lily!

 

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Scotch Eggs

Saw this recipe online awhile back and was intrigued. Could there truly be something on the Scottish menu that isn’t deep fried or boiled in a sheep’s stomach? I can hear my little Scottish daddy laughing this very minute–because he didn’t think so. But I’m here to tell you that these tasty little breakfast bites are delicious—magnamoniously delicious–without frying.

No. Lie.

Simple ingredients too.
Scotch Eggs

1 lb Bulk sausage

8 Hard Boiled Eggs

Bread Crumbs

Now, if you’re like me, you likely need a bit more flavor than boring old bread crumbs offer.

I had garlic croutons in the cupboard so we used them instead. Any flavor would work well. A food processor would have worked well too. I’m just saying…

Hard boil the eggs. Shell them–I shouldn’t have to tell you that, but I want to be clear.  Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Beat 1 raw egg in a bowl and set aside. 

Wrap a thin layer of sausage around each of the hard boiled eggs. I worried that this part would be hard–but the sausage was quite a team player and stuck to the egg very politely.

For further wise-woman insight, I’ll explain…

I used vinyl gloves for this bit because while the sausage sticks to the egg very nicely, it has a tendency to stick to your hands as well. Hence the gloves.  I roll about 1-2 Tbsps of sausage into a flat line from the bottom of my palm to the tips of my fingers. Lay the egg on top of the sausage and roll the sausage around it. Smush it around to cover the top and bottom of the egg. You’ll find that you’ll end up rolling it into a round ball. Now, dip your fingers into the beaten egg and gently spread over the sausage.  

Now, roll them in the bread crumbs.

Aren’t they cute? Bake them about 30 minutes–turning each one over after about 15 minutes, so that they cook evenly.

I thought maybe sausage gravy would be stupendous with these babies, but alas, we couldn’t wait. It was all I could do to get this picture before vultures started to circle. Warning Will Robinson–these don’t last long once the guys see them. I’m thinking they would make yummy lunch snacks…if you hide them.

Now go forth…

and make us proud.

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Happy St.Andrew’s Day!

(the patron saint of Scotland–of course!)
 
 
Scotch Eggs
 
Print
Ingredients
  • Bulk sausage
  • Eggs
  • Bread Crumbs
Instructions
  1. Hard boil the eggs.
  2. Shell them.
  3. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.
  4. Beat 1 raw egg in a bowl and set aside.
  5. If you are interested in more flavor you can mix a bit of sage or Ranch powder in with your sausage.
  6. Wrap a thin layer of sausage around each of the hard boiled eggs.
  7. Dip each sausage ball into the raw egg.
  8. Now, roll them in the bread crumbs.
  9. Bake them about 30 minutes–turning each one over after about 15 minutes, so that they cook evenly.
 

 

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The Shark

Pool shark, that is.

Back in the old days, when my parents were still around, my cute little daddy surprised us all speechless, when he up and bought a pool table. We never knew he was even interested in a pool table. In fact, when I was dating a very handsome boy–who shall remain forever nameless–back in high school, there were only a few rules beyond, “Behave yourself.” They went something like this–

1) Come home the same night you went out.

2) Never get on a motorcycle–with anyone.

3) Do not, under any circumstances enter a pool hall with some guy.

So a few years later, what does he do? He tows a real live pool table into the basement and promptly becomes…

a shark.

Seriously. He beat everyone–

except my mom…because he let her cheat.

One day he and Lyndi were going downstairs to “have a game” and I said, “So, is my daughter going into a pool hall with some guy?”

He said, “Naw, I’m not some guy. I’m some grampa. Don’t you worry. If I see some guys I’ll throw ’em out.” He was grinning big now, and said, “Well, at least it isn’t a motorcycle. You know how I feel about motorcycles.”

Then he laughed his head off.

Dad…dad.

Oooooh…I do miss that laugh.

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The Cursed Lamb Cake

My daddy made this cute little lamby cake because he was a professional chef and he had a very cool, cast iron mold and…well…he knew what he was doing.

About fifteen years after this photo was taken I was thinking that I was pretty darn smart and persuaded my mom to sneak the lamb mold out of my dad’s shop and let me borrow it for my Foods class. It would be incredible and we’d certainly impress everybody and get an A+ for our efforts. Seriously, how hard could it be? I mean after all, my dad was a chef. Surely some of his skills would have rubbed off on me–wouldn’t you think?

Yeah…

It was all going quite nicely and according to our plan. The lamb cake baked up just fine and came out of the mold pretty well–except for that one part of his left foot. No big deal, we’d just fill in the hole with frosting and no one would be the wiser. All three of my food class partners pitched in to ice the darn thing and even threw a few wads of coconut on for extra effect. Oh, yeah, it was perfect. So in our haughty delight, we skipped up to the teacher for our grade but just as we approached her desk–you know–to be handed our A+, the wretched lamb’s dopey frosted, coconutty head fell off. Plop. Just like that.

There must be some kind of adrenalin or endorphin or something that floods the system in a crisis such as this, that causes uncontrollable, manic laughter–you know, the wheezing, snorting kind. We whirled around and ran back to the prep table and tried, through our hysteria, to paste the cake head back in place with more…frosting. Oh, hush. It seemed like a good idea at the time. But no. The ugly thing slid right back off and this time it broke in half besides.

One of the girls–Debbie, I think it was–came up with the brilliant idea to poke it all back together with toothpicks–and that seemed to do the trick. Never underestimate the holding power of 750 carefully placed toothpicks. Just when we finished our masterpiece the teacher came by and made an attempt to slice a piece of the ear off to taste. We screamed at her…all of us…at one time. Scared the poor lady half to death. But we were imagining the school newspaper headlines, reading, “Home Ec Teacher Impaled By Pick Infused Lamb Head…” and we just couldn’t risk it. I think she thought that we were protecting the cuteness of our creation with no idea we were actually saving her life. So, to be more considerate, she took a slice out of the foot–the left foot and buzzed from our kitchen.

That afternoon, we received a note from the teacher which read:

“Other than the fact that the left foot was made entirely from frosting, I have to say that your lovely lamb cake held up quite well. Usually, the head falls off.
But then, your father is a chef, afterall. B+”

We laughed all the way home.

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Kitty Feet

A zillion years ago, when I turned 12, my cute little daddy made me this pretty cake for my birthday.  At the time, we had just dealt with my cat stepping on one of his cakes. We had no idea how it happened, but there it was–the paw print smushing into one discreet corner of the thing. It was a fiasco and he had to make a whole new cake. Oooohh…he was mad.  I even thought that maybe…maybe, my kitty loving days were coming to an end.

A week or so later, when he’d cooled off, he made this cake for my birthday. Oh, do please note the kitty footprints all around the edges.

It was an incredibly sweet thing to do…considering.

I’ve hung on to that silly green kitten for all these millions of years because every time I put it in a giveaway box, or go to throw it out, I remember my funny dad making that cake to show that he wasn’t mad at me or my cats anymore…

and I can’t do it.

Pretty sure anything that feels like that sort of love…

is worth holding on to.

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