I wrote this yesterday, it was intended to give you a smile to begin your week. Thanks to raving children and blustery weather that knocked out my power a few times, you will have your laugh today.
What a day. Really, this has been one of the most frustrating ever.
I had planned on bringing you a great review on the recipe I had posted from The Big Book of Diabetic Desserts. The weather was so nasty, freezing winds and tempatures that would make even the Abominable Snowman think twice before stepping out of his cave.
I ended up going out in this mess, but that’s another story for another day.
Looking forward to trying a delicious Chocolate Drizzled Peanut Butter cake, because chocolate and peanut butter is a match from heaven, I began the process of setting up everything just right. Measured out the ingredients, found the hidden jar of the ‘good stuff’ (which translates into all natural organic peanut butter), then brought out the bowls, and preheated the oven. All was well with the world.
Until . . . (cue the music, da da daaaaa)
I found that my supply of baking powder has been mysteriously bakingpowdernapped. Ok, that’s not a word, Works Processor says so, but we’ll pretend it is. So, the kitchen guru that is me decided to use a little extra baking soda mixed with cream of tartar. Whoops, no cream of tartar. Hm, ok, so Arrowroot powder looks like C.O.T., let’s try that.
Afterwards, all goes well. The cake bakes up perfectly with a gorgeous golden color and an aroma that wafts through the kitchen like a peanut butter dream. I rack it and smile when the cake slides from the pan with no effort at all. Sliced, it sits on the saucer, ready to be drizzled with chocolate.
I couldn’t wait to taste this. My mother was ready to take a bite of a diabetic wonderland filled with her favorite tastes. I decorated the slices for her, my children, and me with pride.
Um. Isn’t it the old saying that pride goeth before a fall?
We all took a taste of this decadent creation, then silence fell. Eyes dropped to our plates or forks, the cake was given a wary look. What in heaven’s name was wrong with this cake? It tasted like poison, or at least it would if poison tasted like soap.
Quietly, the confection was placed in the trash, it resides there still. I have learned a lesson, never, ever substitute baking powder with baking soda . . . Unless soap is the flavor you crave.