I’ve finally come to accept the old adage, You can’t have your cake and eat it, too. Yes, I know, this saying wasn’t meant to be taken literally. It’s supposed to mean that you can’t have two things that you desire if having one will cancel out the other. However, in my case, I literally can’t have my cake and eat it, too.
I used to love cake. When I was a kid, it was my favorite dessert. Spongy, angel-white birthday cake with creamy whipped icing. Thick, sweet slices of soft, butter-yellow cake topped with thick, gooey chocolate frosting – aahhhh! Cake was something to look forward to. Better than ice cream. Better than anything.
But then, Mother Nature decided to play a little joke. I can picture her now, hunched over in a grove of trees in a forest somewhere, rubbing her wicked hands together. “I know,” she says, her eyes flashing with mischief. “I’ll curse Tiare’s body and make her unable to enjoy this delectable treat.” There is a flash of lightning, and Boom! The curse is set.
Around a decade ago, I learned that cake had become my enemy. You know how some people are lactose intolerant? Well, apparently, I am now cake intolerant. Wait a minute, you say. That is so not a thing! There’s no such thing as cake intolerance. Anyone can enjoy a slice of cake. Surely, there is a pill, or a psychological treatment, or an alternative recipe that will allow you to eat cake like everyone else.
First of all, alternative cake recipes are just…grody. If it isn’t made with butter, sugar, flour with actual gluten, and fresh eggs, well then, I am not interested. Second of all, there is no cure, because cake intolerance is not a real disease. I am not allergic to anything in the cake – just the cake itself.
Sadly, my sweet tooth has not fully caught up with my inability to eat this dessert. For example, I decided to bake a carrot cake for my kids and me to eat after Easter dinner. It turned out perfectly – brown sugar-sweet, filled with pecans and cinnamon, spread with a smooth, thick cream-cheese frosting. Just the aroma alone was enough to make my mouth water. I didn’t go crazy – only helped myself to one delicious slice after a small dinner.
Mistake. Big mistake. My poor stomach gave quite a protest in the middle of the night, as though yelling, “Stupid, stupid, stupid – remember Mother Nature? You can’t eat cake, idiot!”
So the next day, I decided to eat another slice. Because hey – there’s no such thing as cake intolerance, right? Surely it was just a fluke. Plus, that cake was just soooo good. Stomachache amnesia fogged my memories as I happily indulged in that second slice. But then…
Trust me, you do not want the gory details. Let’s just say that Montezuma himself couldn’t have plotted a more vicious revenge.
I’m done. No more cake. No carrot, no old-fashioned butter yellow, no birthday white, no angel’s or devil’s food. No cake. You win, Mother Nature, you win. I will return to the days of baking lovely, homemade cakes for everyone else while never eating a single bite. I concede.
And somewhere in her forest grove, Mother Nature cackles with glee. “That was too easy,” she says. “You might even say…that was a piece of cake.”