My mom celebrated her 65th birthday on Thursday. She was so excited to be turning 65 & having just received her new GOLD CARE CARD, she booked herself into the hospital for gall bladder removal! (actually, they called her after 5 months on a waiting list, but let’s not muddy this celebratory post with reality) All went well; the GOLD CARE CARD worked & so did the surgery and tomorrow we will go to her house to celebrate her new, gall bladder (and encumbering stones)-free existence.
I am making a cake for her birthday. Because she is on a restrictive diet – not because of the gall bladder, strangely enough – and cannot have dairy, I googled for cake + dairy free recipes. Eggs are OK, which means there are lots of cakes to choose from but also there are lots of cakes not to choose.
Williamsburg Pork Cake, for example. Described as, “…an old recipe for spice cake made with salt pork and raisins. It’s baked in a tube pan and contains no eggs or dairy,” this concoction features brandy, pork, currents & raisins.
And lest you think this is a one-off, behold the Pork-n-Beans Cake, which, according to the reviews, “…is one where people say, “mmmm, what’s this?” after tasting it, and the look on their faces is quite amusing after you tell them there’s a can of pork and beans! My roommate made this for a dietetics class once, and she said that nobody could tell what it was made out of! So it’s kind of a joke that we make it for each other’s birthday every year now. but it really is pretty good, nice and moist and it does in fact taste similar to a spice cake. I haven’t tried any type of icing or frosting, but I have made this cake quite a few times, and though people may be hesitant, they will surprise themselves after tasting this one!”
“Mmmm, what’s this!”
“Pork-n-beans cake! Hey, where are you going?”
Now, icing or frosting ideas….ketchup? Tang? I guess it depends if you want to go sweet or savoury.
I can safely say there are things that should not go in cake. PORK = #1 on the list.
In unrelated news, someone loves ducks more than me. Way more.
As for my own health, this week I had my tooth filling replaced and my blood drawn, both without incident. We also attended our first group prenatal visit. We have joined an all-inclusive prenatal program where you attend a 2 hour visit every month (more frequently as you get more preggo). The 2 hour visit includes a group session about pregnancy care, baby care, nutrition, what-have-you, with 9 other women at the same stage of pregnant as you, a “belly check” with a doctor or midwife and a fun little circuit of measuring your own weight, blood pressure & pee. There were also snacks. As the woman who led our group pointed out, most of the time when you go for a doctor’s visit, 15 minutes (if you’re lucky) is spent talking about how you feel, while 2 minutes is spent doing the actual physical check-up. By putting the basic medical stuff in our own hands and saving just the dopplering & squeezing for the health professional, the talking about how we feel part can be longer and more productive. Especially because we all feel variations of the same thing. (bloated, worried, smelly, powerful) It’s a very cool model of care that I think I will take a lot from.
The babby, who spends most of the time blowing bubbles and eating all my food, got super excited about the doppler and swam right up front ’cause that’s where the mic is, yo. In about 18 years, we will be great karaoke stars, the babby and me.
This weekend marks my 17th week of pregnancy and because I am crazy in love with the number 17, I am posting two photos. One is of my pointy belly (containing a uterus the size of a canteloupe, according to some book or other). This may be the only belly shot I ever post (with or without tequila) as I receive quite enough creepy google hits as it is. However, when I am an Extreme Wide Load in June and can do nothing but sweat and type using vintage cigarette holders, whilst having nothing to actually say except “goddamn it’s hot and I’m fat” I may post more pictures. For sympathy, you understand.
The other is of my hair, which may have finally signed a contract with the hormones to provide me with glossy, tangle-free locks until post-partum when it all (according to some other book or other and several first hand accounts) falls out. That’s okay. It’ll be July and I won’t need long hair in July.
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