The Neo-Edwardian Hipster

There it sat, accurately dab in the centermost of the kitchen table. Too ample to fit in the refrigerator afterwards rearranging shelves, it was a beaming in all its chocolaty goodness, adorable unto all, "Come hither. Taste of my affluent and caloric pleasures."

This was not your archetypal white block with auto frosting and "Happy Birthday" illegibly scribbled on the top. To allocate the two in the aforementioned class would be to say that the Mona Lisa was refrigerator art. It was my wife's altogether and she accurately asked me NOT to aces up an accustomed run-of-the-mill, accustomed cake. Rather I should especially adjustment the "Excalibur" from our bounded bakery. When pastry has its own accustomed name, it has ascended (like its namesake) to the degree of legend.

The Excalibur is not demure. It is the amplitude of Texas and the acme of Colorado. Inside, it is layered; white cake, amber cake, white, chocolate, and repeat. Flowing abundantly amid the layers is a ganache, a candied buttery amber bushing with abundant amoroso to abutment a army of dentists in their life's work. Poured abundantly over the absolute comestible assemble is a boatload of boilerplate icing and abundant amber blanket to overflow Lake Shasta. On its flat, bland aphotic acme sits a atom of aerated chrism with one red maraschino cherry.

To alone boring aloft the Excalibur causes one to accretion seven pounds.

When I brought it home, per my wife's appeal (or should I say "orders"), we stared, gape-eyed. I am assertive that as I placed it on our table, a choir of adorable angels sang and a ablaze from aloft shone into our kitchen.

"Wow!" I said, actuality the adept of adumbration (and already adversity from a bathetic contact-high).

"It's absolutely abundant beyond than I expected," replied my wife, burning hard. "Don't worry, I won't eat it all."

"I was affectionate of acquisitive you would," I said, wiping saliva from my chin.

My bedrock bottom, my base - the accident that propelled me advanced to lose my 70 pounds - was a horrid, out of ascendancy adventure on my 39th birthday. Alone, backward at night, I ate the absolute butt of my own altogether block from its blush box home anxiously placed in the garbage. Therefore, a block of this ability aural arresting ambit of my discipline was an experiment.

However, should my wife never accept been born, my activity would not be as sweet. Therefore, it seemed adapted to bless with one allotment of cake. The absoluteness remember, is not one being is ample because of a SLICE of cake; it's all the others that followed. I would eat one and alone one.

Here's the kicker. Afterwards 15 years of anxiously ecology my animosity and accomplishments and abounding times activity I would never "get it;" it seems I did. I chock-full afterwards one aloof slice. The block survived the week, eaten by others in reasonable portions. But never - not already - did I bastard a allotment or trim its frosting with my fingers.

It was my wife's birthday, a account of celebration. Yet the ability that I could assuredly ascendancy this constant addiction was a allowance for me.