How many people in the world say that they are NOT finicky eaters? Not picky. Will eat anything and everything. Doesn’t matter as long as it is prepared basically correct, and served at the right temperature it’ll go down the gullet. I used to be one of those. But I started getting picky when I was around 8-9 years old. One of those major life events that changed how I looked at certain foods.
My Dad and Step Mom (SM) got married in 1980. They had dated I am guessing at least half a year, maybe more. I never really cared at that age. Well, Dad had a regular job as a draftsman for Beard Industries. They made grain dryers for farms all around the country. SM had a job working in shipping/receiving at the only Peter Paul/Cadbury plant in the US. Which on a side note was located in Frankfort, IN. Boy, I sure remember the days when she would bring home a box of damaged Powerhouse candy bars … or Easter when they got discount prices on them Cadbury eggs with the crème in the middle. Anyways, I am getting sidetracked.
SM had always done some side business of making/decorating cakes for people. Most of the time it was for friends since she worked full time, but she would make exceptions for other people too. She had had one of them long ass classes from Wilson cake school on decorating and she is a very artistic person to boot. Well, as it goes, we moved into a 2nd floor apartment in Frankfort within a year or two. The 1st floor consisted of 2 empty “stores”. Well, SM and Dad decided to start of a cake decorating and supply shop since Peter Paul had closed and she was out of work. Sure enough they did start one up, and it did moderately well considering. One of the main things of the biz was taking cake orders. For anything. Parties, B-days, Anniversaries, weddings – I mean anything. I even saw her do one for a bachelorette party. So she got a good number of orders throughout the week, and even busier on weekends, and that would vary more with the time of year.
Guess who learned how to bake? Uh Huh. You betcha. From the time I got out of school I would be in charge of baking the cakes. Make sure of correct flavors, sizes of the pans, and then have to make the icing to boot! Gotta know how much for what sized cake, is it supposed to flavored or not. This went on for 2 years, basically until Dad got diagnosed with cancer and they closed the shop.
I learned to hate cake. I learned to throw up at the mere taste of frosting. I don’t even like the smell of it baking. You know how many times in a normal year you are exposed to cake as a dessert? My family still asks if I want any at Bday parties for the kids and always get the “look” from me, like I would puke on them if they came near. But sometimes, you just have to swallow your pride and try not to puke.
I had gone to a poker party last Saturday night, and had Daughter watch the 2 older boys. We arrived back home about 10:30’ish I would say, and of course they were still up. Well, I in the bedroom taking off my shoes when the Daughter comes in. Seems they had made a cake for the Wife’s and mine anniversary. Cake. Worse, chocolate cake, with store bought icing, in 3 different flavors. I about hurled. But, being the parent I am I said how nice it looked and to get it back in the kitchen before she dropped it or something. I can sit here and tell you how my 15-year-old Daughter has known from birth I hate cake, but it didn’t stop her. Or the boys who had helped. God knows I love the thought, but next year, a hug will do just fine.
PeacE
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