I admit it. I’m a sweet junkie. I was brought up in an old school household with an Irish Catholic mother with a thing for chocolate and just about every other great sugar treat. Her mother had ancient recipes for a slew of desserts from fried donuts to tollhouse cookies, to brownies you want to shoot up in your veins. The tradition made it to my oldest sister Debbie, who had a passion for baking pies and cookies and cakes while I would assist, at the age of 5, by licking the mixing bowl of uncooked batter and butter frosting. Invariably it would be pasted all over my face and dungarees. Jeans were called that back in the 18th century.
I buy a chocolate cake and tell myself I’m ok with my high cholesterol and I store it in what I pretend are places my girlfriend can’t find and of course she finds it. It’s right there on the top shelf of the fridge or in the bread box with an electric arrow pointing at it. Cake is love. It’s sensual. So is sex. Therefore, cake is sex.
eat it.
Tom Bennett
Perfectly Good Cake, oil over monotype on paper, 18″ x 14″
Tom Bennett
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