It’s been AGES since I posted but here’s the thing: my daughter wanted to make a Texas sheet cake yesterday and when I went to Pinterest to look up the recipe my pin LED ME BACK TO MY BLOG.
To the following post.
A post from three years ago that — as is increasingly typical — I TOTALLY FORGOT I EVER WROTE.
Two things I want you to take away from that:
1. the menopausal mind is a lot like Groundhog Day
2. IT’S BEEN THREE YEARS SINCE I MADE THIS CAKE. THREE YEARS.
Or maybe I have and I just don’t remember.
Either way, I have to share the recipe, and the story, again, because it’s that damn good.
(Both the cake and the story, in case you’re wondering.)
You’re welcome … or I’m sorry.
I think both apply.
*licks frosting from fingers
*The following post is a YMFT reprint from August, 2015
And yes, I know indulgence isn’t formally one of the seven deadly sins, but it’s close enough to greed to make my point.
The point of this post, anyway.
But really, as I’m writing this (Thursday night) my belly is full of chocolate cake and
milk red wine—because everyone knows you cannot, cannot, enjoy anything chocolate without milk red wine—and that’s on top of the other 24,000 calories I’ve consumed in the past 24 hours.
Livin’ large is taking on a whole new meaning this summer.
But before I get to the gluttonous favorites today, let’s take a look at the weather, shall we?
Standing-O and a slow clap, Minnesota. You’ve been killing it this summer.
Keep this up and I won’t be able to complain about living here much longer.
Oh, wait, it’ll be winter in like six weeks.
Let’s get to the damn chocolate cake already so I can start eating my feelings.
1. Texas Sheet Cake
Like all good cake recipes, there’s a story behind it.
I was born in Dallas, Texas and spent much of my childhood there living in various cities and homes (it’s complicated), or if I didn’t live there, visiting my dad who did…but only until I was 10 and then didn’t (even more complicated). Regardless, I had/have family that lived in Texas, and I guess you could sort of say it’s where I’m from.
But also Arizona, Oregon, Arizona, Washington, and then Arizona again. (Don’t worry, there’ll be a book someday.)
Let’s just say I have ties to Texas and leave it at that.
Somewhere in my memory lies a cake. A thin, chocolate cake with gooey frosting and a hint of cinnamon. I actually didn’t even know it was part of my memories until last summer when my daughter’s friend’s mother made a cake for us and I took a bite.
And ended up back in Texas.
Somehow the taste of that cake was like tasting a bit of my childhood. Sure, I had no clue which part (see: TX, AZ, OR, AZ, WA, AZ) but I knew I’d eaten it as a child, and since it’s called Texas sheet cake will go with Texas.
And while I still have no clue who made it for me (think it might have been someone related to my dad…but can’t be sure since I do not currently know anyone related to my dad (cue tiny violins)) I remember that I loved it and that I shoveled it in my pie hole until I couldn’t swallow.
Memories of childhood gluttony are really some of the very best kind, aren’t they?
Wednesday I was trolling my dessert Pinterest board looking for something indulgent to make—because TBH, Oreo Thins were an amusement for like a week and now just aren’t cutting it—found a picture of chocolate Texas Sheet Cake and had to have it.
So, because I’m the Pinterest-recipe-OCD-researchy type, I typed “Texas Sheet Cake” into the search box to find just the right recipe, because I remembered a hint of cinnamon, god damn it, and until I found one that listed it in the ingredients…and also came from the state of Texas…I wasn’t interested.
And good holy hell, you guys. My world instantly exploded into Texas Sheet Cakes.
Vanilla, chocolate, turtle, cookies, cupcakes, gluten free, peanut butter, with sour cream, without sour cream…it was almost too much, even for my gluttonous soul.
a quick an hour and a half of research, I’d decided on the perfect recipe: nut free, gluten-full, no weird drizzle shit, flat, gooey, and with cinnamon.
The recipe I went with was intimidating, no question, especially for a person who despises cooking and will only make a recipe if it has fewer than about eight ingredients and a cooking time of around 11 minutes.
It called for effing buttermilk.
Do they even make buttermilk anymore?
Isn’t that something an old farmer woman churns sitting on a porch?
I had to run to Target anyway so I decided that if I found buttermilk it would be a sign. A sign from some random, forgotten relative in Texas telling me to hold on to the memory.
Target has buttermilk.
In two sizes.
So long story short (you still with me?), I made the cake.
And I might not have ever figured out who made it (no thanks to my sister who I texted with a photo, an excited exclaimation, and a question of who it was that made it for us…and she replied that she had no memory of it), and I may or may not have slightly burned the frosting, but one bite was all it took to take me back—somewhere—to my childhood.
Pure, unapologetic gluttony.
It will be gone by tomorrow.
Count on it.
Since I didn’t create this recipe myself, I’m not posting it.
I may be many things, but a theif isn’t one of them.
Relax! I’m magically sending you to another window.
God Bless the interntet.
And God Bless Texas.
Texas Sheet Cake recipe found >>here<<.
* To make this cake authentically you’ll need a jelly roll pan, or a 15 x 10 cookie sheet with at least 1/2 inch raised sides. I bought one with a cover at Target for $12, which I figure was a good investment since I’ll probably muster up the energy to make it again next year.
* The recipe says the cinnamon is optional. USE THE CINNAMON. It’s the key.
* When the recipe says to remove the butter/cocoa/milk combination from the stove as soon as it starts to boil, remove it as soon as it starts to boil.
* Don’t bother cutting up pieces and plating it. The best way to eat this cake is by passing out forks and standing around the pan.
* You’ll dirty up a lot of bowls and various kitchen utensils making this so make sure to reward yourself after cleaning up by eating an extra row yourself.
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