March 24th - Happy Birthday!

24/03/2008 by Brigid.

It is John’s birthday today. Since Easter Monday is a jour ferié, and no-one had to get up early for school, we had his birthday party yesterday. We hadn’t really had the opportunity to test our room layout with guests, so we invited Billy and Mrs F and the four ef-lets for an evening’s home cinema. With a bit of rearrangement of furniture, we managed, quite comfortably, to seat eight for dinner in the kitchen. The only issue arose over the pudding, when we discovered we couldn’t open the freezer door …

Back at the beginning of last month, John made a request for a chocolate cake with chocolate icing. Easy enough. Particularly as it gave me the opportunity to use a really good American recipe for Devil’s Food Cake from the Rombauers’ “Joy of Cooking”.

American food is a bit of a paradox. We were once approached by a friendly school-teacher in an Idaho (“Famous Potatos”) gas station. He told us how much he had enjoyed visiting England, but finished by telling us that “the only problem with you Brits, is you don’t know how to eat”. Since this guy weighed about 20-stone, he clearly did. But I bit my tongue. Nevertheless, it does seem odd that the nation of “all you can eat” buffets, Waffle Houses, luke-warm tea, and gloopy orange-coloured ‘French’ dressing, was once better known for its fine tradition of home cooking. I mean, People, what happened?!

I digress. Eventually, the birthday cake was a collaborative effort. Shaped like an armchair, my chocolate-covered cake did, initially, bear an unfortunate resemblance to a large brown turd. Not for long. Mrs F’s birthday cakes are legendary (see Betty’s 80th), and she had made us an offer we couldn’t refuse. So, while John was still half asleep on Saturday morning, I whisked it round to Bonrepos for the finishing touches.

Good. Don’t you think?

The sharp-eyed amongst you will notice the wording on John’s green top: an irreverend reference to John’s ‘relaxed stomach muscles’ and our extensive collection of Harley Davidson T-shirts. Billy’s work, not Mrs F’s …

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