Two Things I Made This Week

1) A cake for my mother’s 80th birthday party, which – trust me – tasted better than it looks here. In fact, it looked a whole lot better than it looks here – the fine art of food photography continues to elude me. This one was taken with no flash, in broad daylight, and it still has the cheesy gleam of bad porn. (Not that I’ve ever seen bad porn, mind you, but I’ve heard things.)

It was a Chocolate Mandarin cake, just one dense layer of good-quality semisweet chocolate with lots of orange zest – and also ground toasted almonds and candied ginger, which made for a really great complex taste – covered with a glaze made up of nothing besides more good chocolate, heavy cream, and Cointreau. It was a hit.
2) A little (5x7) watercolor for a fine young man whose age can still be reasonably calculated in weeks.

Which, all things considered, makes this a good week.

Yes, Those Ears Are as Soft as They Look.

Especially the slightly spikey part where her ears meet her head. That's my favorite part of her to touch when we're out walking together.

Cheeta

I’m taking a snow day today. It’s coming down fast and furious, soon to be replaced by sleet and ice, so better to shovel and salt now, when I’m fresh and pleased at playing hooky, than in the evening when I’m tired and cranky and the snow weighs several hundred pounds per square foot. Plus I have a few freelance art jobs to take care of this weekend, and my mom’s birthday cake to bake, and a baby present to finish for someone who’s leaving town… it’s a good day to be home.

So quiet up here – you’d never know you were four blocks from the #1 train. Just snow, snow, more snow, annoyed birds at the feeder wondering where breakfast is, and one little dead sparrow on the back porch because Mr. Bonkers has had a very good hunting morning. I have a small fat black cat on my lap, purring like crazy with his paws around my neck, and a whole day to noodle around and bake and make things – a whole day to feel like Cheeta.

After I shovel.

Mr. Bonkers Smiles in His Sleep