Now, why didn't I think of this category? Great question because it makes so much sense now that I've read what someone else wrote about it. That someone else is Sean Dietrich, AKA Sean of the South. I recently confessed my love for him here on The Sabbatical Chef. Something he had written turned up on Facebook one morning and it was a coup de foudre, as the French say, a lightening strike, or love at first
A few weeks ago, Sean posted a short piece about feeders. Mon dieu! I thought. That goes hand in hand with one of my favorite themes: Cookers and Eaters. Okay, the Ex-Ex thought up the cookers and eaters thing... I added Lookers. I might as well confess. He will call me on it anyway when I get home tonight. Give credit where credit is due, right?
My morning routine: Get up too early. Take thyroid meds, slug back a couple of glasses of water because I have to wait an hour to have anything else, make coffee, fire up the Mac, scroll on over to Facebook, and find his first post of the day. Sometimes it makes me cry, sometimes me makes me laugh, sometimes it makes both laugh and cry, and most often, it just gives me something to think about.
I messaged Sean and asked him if I could use his story on my blog. He promptly responded:
Miss Teresa, you are welcome to use anything of mine. Any time.
Hope you had a happy Easter.
So without further ado, I give you Sean Dietrich, my guest blogger for the day. (I just noticed that his name is spelled Diet -- rich. Funny, isn't it?)
Sweet Jesus, help me. I'm sick.
I ate too much pound cake and ice cream after supper. Now, no matter how still I lay, the world won't stop spinning. I had to unbuckle my belt just to keep from passing out.
This is all my wife, Jamie's fault. She's a feeder. And if you know "feeders," you know their God-given roles in life are to stuff you so full you need help getting your own pants off. It's in their blood.
The truth is, feeders are God's gift to humanity. They were sent to earth to baptize us in trans-fats and peppermill gravy. And they don't get thanked nearly enough for it.
They work their fingers raw. They'll stir a pot of collards in one hand, and knead dough in the other. They'll glaze ham, chop coleslaw, fry chicken, stir grits, and buy you a new pair of stretchy pants, all in the same day.
My wife descends from a long line of feeders. Her father was a card-carrying feeder. Whenever you wandered past his kitchen, you got pimento cheese on Bunny Bread, one slice of pound cake, Coca-Cola, and some Pepto Bismol.
He was the kind of fella who'd go to the trouble of preparing a nine-plate breakfast, just because it was Tuesday. Who'd spend eight hours on a steak supper — complete with sliced tomatoes. Who kept a can of bacon grease on the counter, and used a dollop in everything from turnip greens to Raisin Bran.
Feeders are special folks.
They deserve their own magnificent kitchens in heaven. Because Lord knows, they won't stop cooking once they get there. In fact, they wouldn't know what to do with their hands if it weren't for whisks and electric mixers.
These kind souls believe all your troubles can be treated with chicken and dumplings. And if you waltz through their door wearing a sad face, they'll start flouring up the counter without saying a word.
Their love looks like an overloaded stovetop, that's why they smile whenever you help yourself to seconds. Because they've yet to meet a soul in this world who's ever eaten "enough."
For crying out loud, say, "thank you," once in a while. Because that pound cake that just put a smile on your face, wasn't cake at all.
It was your wife.
So, since his story ended with a reference to pound cake and wives, I messaged his
As I was reading the recipe, I saw that it calls for brandy. Not something I have on hand. I do have some sherry, left over from another recipe. I really did not feel up to a stop by the ABC Store on the way home from school, so I figured I could just leave it out or add some rum, something else I have left over from another recipe or some of the Ex-Ex's bourbon. (He will be eating this cake for breakfast tomorrow so no big deal, right?) Lo and behold, I went to check the mail and what is in my box? A treat from Ms. Arizona. A huge sacrifice... a little bottle of Calvados! Apple brandy from Normandy no less. Mon dieu.
This is going to be a great cake.
Jamie's Pound Cake
makes 2 loaves or one bundt cake, but Jamie recommends the loaves
3 c. sugar
8 oz. cream cheese, room temperature
3 sticks + 2 T. butter, room temperature
3 c. all purpose flour
3 large eggs, slightly beaten
1 t. each: vanilla extract
1 cup sugar
1/2 T. each: vanilla extract
1 t. each: brandy
Prepare 2 loaf pans by generously coating them with soft butter and then coating them with sugar.
In a large mixing bowl, cream together the sugar, butter and cream cheese.
Gradually alternate adding the flour and eggs, stopping to scrap down the bowl as needed. Mix just until blended.
Add the extracts and the wines until blended.
Pour the batter into the prepared loaf pans.
Place the pans in a cold oven and then set the oven to 300 degrees.
Bake for 1 hour and 10 minutes. (Sometimes mine need a little longer. However, you want this cake super moist--like a butter cake.)
Once you remove the cakes from the oven, let them cool in the pan on a wire rack.
In the meantime, melt one cup of sugar in half a cup of water in a pot on the stove. Once the sugar is melted, remove the pot from the heat and add the extracts and wines.
Spoon the glaze over the top of each cake--do not remove the cakes from their pans. Continue to let the cakes cool and absorb the glaze for a couple of hours before serving. ***This can be made in a bundt pan. However, you will need to invert the cake before adding the glaze. I feel that you do not get as much glaze absorption on a bundt cake as a loaf cake.
Bon appétit, Sean, Jamie, Ms. Arizona, and all the Feeders out there. Oh! And all the Lookers, Cookers, and Eaters, too! Is there anything in this world better than pound cake?