There’s Something about Rum Cake

My cousin bakes the first batch of Christmas rum cakes today. I actually put her number on speed dial; I intend to call her every thirty minutes after she tells me the last one is in the oven.

I want to collect mine when it is still warm and the scent of Caribbean rum and mixed fruits is wafting through the small crack at the top; my mother says that a cake cracks when it contains too much flour. I really do not care. I enjoy nibbling around the cracked edges — extra crispiness.

Ping, my phone just sounded. Cakes are in. I asked her to send me a photo, I got a rolling eye emoticon instead.

No matter, I am here sitting, car keys one grab away.

I am waiting for the next ping. Pavlovian-like

I. Trudie Palmer One Love