sweet lemon cake

Okay, sorry about that last post. This morning is actually Good Friday, the final official day of repentance before we as Christians celebrate the memory of that fateful day when Adult Jesus escaped his tomb of slow, painful death and shot up into heaven like a human firecracker. As one of the most important holidays in the Catholic calendar, I definitely didn't want this week's entry to fall short of anybody's expectations. Today, we're baking up a sweet lemon cake for the lord.

This recipe is a Frankenstein of an affair cobbled together lovingly from several pieces of source material I found on Google while doing a bit of research and determining whether or not I had the ingredients necessary to get this thing off the ground on hand in my pantry - the answer I found? Sort of; while I am in perpetual lack of essential vegan staples like flax meal, almond flour, and fake butter, I am, in fact, always armed with a healthy assortment of suitable substitutions. The following is my attempt to create beauty where before there was nothing at all.

one scant cup of glutinous rice flour

three quarters of a cup of corn flour

one quarter of a cup of sugar

one quarter of a cup of coconut oil

one half of a cup of applesauce

one tablespoon of ground chia seeds

one tablespoon of almond extract

the juice and zest of one lemon

one teaspoon of baking powder

one teaspoon of baking soda

three packets of splenda

one quarter of a teaspoon of salt

I don't have to come out and tell you that baking isn't exactly my greatest talent in life; I do, however, work at a bakery now, for better or for worse, and have definitely picked up on more than a few professional conventions in the process. I even paid twelve dollars for a food handler's license online. I've grown so much since last Friday. I just want to make you all proud.

This undertaking was meant to be a spiritual cleansing of sorts, not only for my soul, but for the cupboard where I keep all of the the food that I don't use on a day-to-day basis, one notable exception being the lemon, which was stolen from a Postmates patron's tree after I delivered what had to be the most grotesque Taco Bell order I had ever had the privilege of being in the presence of. It was valued at well over twenty-three dollars and was purchased and presumably consumed at approximately eight-thirty in the morning. She didn't even give me a tip. I fucking hate Los Angeles.

Here's my lemon zest; zesting is one thing I still haven't quite gotten the hang of yet. This took at least ten minutes and the overall yield was less than a teaspoon; the most hilarious part about this photo, however, was the fact that I was in such a rush the morning this endeavor took place that I forgot to add it in and didn't realize my mistake until the loaf was already baking in the oven; I had all of my ducks in a row, only to be dismayed at the sight of the final piece of the puzzle sitting helplessly on the pinkbelly block, all alone, after it was already too late to do anything about it. The inclusion of the essential lemony oils within probably would have made the cake much tangier. Learn from my mistakes. So it goes.

Here, you can see me mixing everything up with my favorite tool in the kitchen. Another regret that I have in hindsight is not using the electric mixer; a bit of volume would have allowed this thing to shine in a real way, and would have definitely made for a better photo.

I was a bit unsure about this part; while I'm almost positive that lemon rinds are not necessarily toxic to human beings, I had trouble determining whether or not it was good practice to eat them after cooking them. Again, as somebody with a less-than-stellar digestive system, a condition which is only partially my fault, I had my reservations. I trudged onward for the sake of the shoot.

I baked the cake in the oven for a good fifty minutes at 350°, covering it with foil for the first thirty-five. While by no means anything anybody but a hick like me would be impressed with, I do have to say that it smelled amazing when all was said and done. If I'd have had another couple cups of flour in my pantry? I would have almost certainly tried to do another one with some other flavor combination, just to see how it would turn out. I'm wacky like that. I don't play by the rules, not even my own.

If I'm being completely honest, never in my wildest dreams did I expect it to come out this cute. She's dressed a little too demurely to wrap up Holy Week, however. Let's see if we can do something about that.

Bang, now we're talking. When I garden, I do so only for sustenance; as a wild hog born and raised, if I can't eat it, I can't be bothered to grow it. Fortunately, my mother has a significant soft spot in her heart for perennials, and for this reason, I am eternally grateful. Nothing to me says Easter Sunday like adorning your commemorative offering with the heads of some decapitated pansies; I even chef'd up a little bit of aquafaba to dollop on top like whipped cream. It's my party, and I'm going to do things my way.

So, where do I turn now that I'm no longer shackled by this heavenly covenant with god to stay sober? The truth is, I'm not going to dig out my trusty vape pen from the back of the top drawer of my desk, and I'm certainly not going to nibble discreetly on any of the marijuana gummies that I bought a couple of months ago and which have remained unopened and hidden away from me and my at-times faltering willpower ever since; hell, I'm not even going to go out and buy a three dollar bottle of wine from the Aldi in Simi Valley to celebrate the big J and his spiritual victory over earthly adversity, not this year. The honest to god truth is, in the preceding forty days and nights separating the "Me!" as I exist now and the life that I used to be living, more things have changed than I could have ever thought possible. I realized that, no, I do not want to flounder in the humiliating world of freelance creative work until the day I die, and, no, I don't want to work all four of my shitty part-time jobs forever to support myself in lieu of a real career. I'm registering for classes at a semi-local community college in a few weeks to pursue a degree in either psychology, business, human services, or medical assisting, I haven't quite decided which one yet. I'm eating more normally than ever before and no longer bear the weight of a pathological fear of nut butter and other oily foods; in fact, I'm proud to report that I actually finished a giant jar of PB I got on sale (due to the fact that the lid was cracked wide open sometime during shipping and processing) in twenty-two days flat, a full thirteen shorter than initially projected. I'm reading books again; right now, I've gotten through a good portion of Slaughterhouse Five, a tale I've read several times but could never recall a thing about because I was always too goddamned stoned when I would read it to remember. To say that life is "good" at this moment in time would be a bit misleading - I've still got a lot of work to do before I'm able to sprint past my intended goalpost of gainful employment and overall mental stability. Nothing has ever gotten me closer to the truth than this newly-formed habit of not getting fucked up every time something in my life goes south, however. I'm proud as a peach.

This is pinkbelly, signing off for now and wishing my fellow bible-thumpers and atheist friends alike a lovely holiday weekend. We have officially made it through yet another grueling Lenten season, and now it's time to boogie down in the most responsible way possible. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a couple of articles on cosmetic dentistry to write before a mandatory drug test later this afternoon that I've been studying hard for; my family has given me thirty days to get the fuck out of their lives for good before they kick me to the curb. It's time to get a-crackin'.