So it’s beginning to look a lot like Mardi Gras, and I’m far far away from my native land for the 2nd year in a row. Last Mardi Gras, while I was in the UK, mom sent me & Emile National Championship pajama pants in purple & gold (last year was so much better for our Tigers) and a box of Mardi Gras: beads, confetti, and The Advocate front page from the day after our National Championship win. Last Mardi Gras came and went, and for the first year of my life, I had no King Cake.
I love King Cake. I don’t necessarily eat all that much of it, but I love it. I’m a sucker for food with history. That purple, green and gold sugary confection is just a nice thing to have on display in the kitchen — it’s festive. You knew it was really Mardi Gras season when King Cakes started showin’ up in homeroom. A King Cake set you back mayyybe $7, but it guaranteed you at least 15-20 minutes free from actual class work. Even the most efficient teacher wouldn’t dare interrupt the distribution and enjoyment of such a beloved tradition. At that point you didn’t even mind if you were the one that found the baby — while you were the one charged with the task of providing the next cake, you were also blessed with the opportunity to perpetuate the avoidance of mind-numbing busywork. Let the sweet times roll.
So here I am in Tennessee, I’m 20 years old, and I’m going to attempt my first King Cake. Wish me luck.
Also. Straining yogurt for a sour cream substitute… gee whiz. Should’ve just gone and bought the damn sour cream.
xxAimee Cait
