eat cake

Yesterday was my eighth wedding anniversary. I wanted our special meal to be at The Gamekeeper, only they're not open on Tuesdays, and Ian didn't want to drive to NC last night for dinner. He wanted steak. We ate at Logan's Roadhouse. It's a chain. Usually Jennifer begs me to meet her there when she comes to JC; they don't have Logan's in Kingsport/Colonial Heights, so it's not a place I'm all fired up about eating at. It's your basic steak and peanuts-on-the-floor restaurant. Waitstaff brings out a basket of hot-buttered yeast rolls for patrons to gnaw (only in the best way: my use of gnaw in no way indicates that the rolls are hard or unfresh) before their meal is served. My filet was awesome: It was tender, juicy, and perfectly seasoned. Before I ordered it Ian reminded me about the last time I ordered the filet, how it came out very rare and that I sent it back for more cooking. Did I really want to try it this time? Yes. I like my meat cooked about medium, and only send cuts back when they're overcooked. Last night the problem wasn't with the filet, but with the potato; I asked the waitress to bring another. The one I got had dark black places. If I hadn't laid it open to smush the butter and sour cream into it, I coulda eaten that dark rotten mess. I was stuffed after salad, rolls, steak, and potato. Ian ordered their ribs. I traded him half my steak for three or four ribs. They were okay. Maybe not my favorite, but good, solid, above average ribs.

So being stuffed, you'd think I wouldn't order dessert. Since it was a special occasion, and there wasn't any wedding cake to be had, I ordered the cheesecake; Ian ordered their peanut butter pie thing. Restaurant cheesecake usually disappoints me. But one look at the slice I got changed my mind, at least about Logan's. This was the hugest slice of cheesecake I've seen in who knows when. Its texture was thick and hard and creamy. And, it was basic vanilla; no sauce. I hate it when they drizzle sauce all over desserts. They've gotta be trying to disguise the fact that the crust is soggy 'cause their cake/pie is none too fresh and was sitting in the fridge a week or so. Experience taught me such cynicism of the restaurant industry; especially chains. But there are plenty of indie places trying to pass off unfresh items for fresh (like avocado).

What else? Ian's parents enclosed a gift card to Olive Garden in the happy anniversary card they sent us. Tomorrow night I'm going to dinner at Suzanne's. She's the official family photographer (and scrapbooker) in my step-mother's southwest Virginia-living family. I've never had her cooking. Then Friday I've got to round up three veggie trays for a family event. Saturday my Dad and Margie, my step-mother, are renewing their wedding vows at the Ruritan Club in Yuma, Virginia. They've been married 25 years. There'll be a reception. That's what the veggie trays are for. There will be cake.

Our wedding cake. This is a photo of a photo, so excuse the warping and weirdness in the right bottom corner. The icing was cream cheese and the cake was a vanilla pound cake. It's in the top three of best wedding cakes I've eaten. I've forgotten the woman's name who made it. Mom and I went around to all the wedding cake places in two or three towns and never found anything we loved. Someone put Mom onto this woman. I hate I can't remember her name. She makes awesome cakes. I think she was in her eighties eight years ago and she lived on the Tree Streets. Mom was so impressed with the cakes she made for us that she considered asking if she could apprentice with the lady. I agreed with her what a shame it would be when this lady dies. Death itself is a shame, but to take all that baking and caking knowledge with her to the grave; that's a travesty. I don't think she had daughters or any relatives who learned her secrets. My florist, the most-awesome Anna Marie's, gave her flowers to decorate the cakes with. I can't remember whether Ian went along on any cake-finding missions. But somewhere along the line he absorbed some of the wedding lore I showered on him. I told him that groom's cakes were traditionally festooned with grapes to signify fecundity. He likely asked what that meant. Fertility, babe. Fertility. When we met with our cake lady, he adamantly informed her no grapes on his chocolate groom's cake. It came out nice as well, though I can't recall it's exact taste. Chocolate cake is usually far too rich for me; especially when it's iced with chocolate frosting, too.

Our wedding topper (see two or three photos above) was an heirloom. It topped the cake at my in-laws' wedding reception back in the late 1960s. Barbara gave it to me. My mom painted over a few chipped places and replaced the bride's veil with a new piece of tulle. As for the rest of the reception... it was pretty typical fare. I'm not sure I ate anything seeing as how I was the belle of the ball. I recall chicken fingers though. All Ian's Buckeye relatives were horrified that there wasn't a sit down dinner like they always have in Ohio. Heavy h'orderves are standard at most "southern" weddings I've attended. Almost forgot the mints. They were divine butter creme mints that another resident of the Tree Streets made for us. She shaped them like calla lilies and wedding bells. I don't have a photo of them handy, but brought a batch to Kellie's wedding shower last August. Everyone raved. People who don't like mints loved these.