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We have cake

I make a cinnamon crumble coffeecake from a mix and slightly botch the assembly process due to an incomplete reading of the instructions. That'll teach me to not make coffeecake from scratch.

"Put more cinnamon on it," Oz tells me.

"It's got plenty already."

"Brown sugar? It needs more brown sugar to cover up where you screwed it up."

"No." I read him the list of ingredients for the crumble topping. "Sugar, molasses, partially hydrogenated blah blah blah. Sugar and molasses is brown sugar, so it already has brown sugar all over it. And I didn't screw it up that much." I'm sure he wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't said anything.

"When is it ready?" Today he's made it downstairs to drink coffee and lie on the couch. He arrived a little bit earlier than I expected, or else the cake would already have been in the oven.

"In forty-five minutes."

"O'oh!"

This continues as the cake bakes and the house fills with the aromas of—hah!—brown sugar and cinnamon. I am accused of cruel and unusual punishment when I take the cake out of the oven and announce that it must cool in the pan for a few minutes.

Over the (only slightly) cooled coffeecake, Oz asks me if I've ever made peanut butter and brown sugar sandwiches.

"No." I have to ask. "Did you?"

"Yes. But I used wheat bread so they were still healthy."

"Oh, yeah. Definitely." I think that makes them sound extra disgusting. "How old were you?"

He has to think a minute. "Forty-five? Forty-six?"

"And what kind of peanut butter did you use? Peter Pan?"

271 words | July 16, 2005 08:21 PM | Kitchen