Valentine's Day

Usually, pound cake is a Spring thing for me. I make it each year around Easter and maybe again a little later when fresh, locally-grown strawberries are ready to pick. The sweet berries with their bright juice are a perfect companion for pound cake. But in the midst of my almond paste frenzy, my apricot brandy pound cake seemed like a logical place to try to add almond paste. So, I did. And I was right. Brandied Apricot-Almond Pound Cake is the result of a match made in heaven.

Remember the brandied apricot topping on those almond bars I posted last week? Well, here it is again, swirled like birthday ribbons through apricot brandy-spiked pound cake laced with almond paste. I made some adjustments to my original pound cake recipe. The resulting texture is not exactly that of my original pound cake, but it comes pretty close.

It's best to make the cake a day or two before serving. Seal it up tight and store it in a cool place. The flavors develop with such depth and the fragrance that wafts up through your nostrils when you open the cake is intoxicating.

Around fifteen years ago, my wife and I decided that eventually we wanted to leave Los Angeles and move to the country.  Although neither of us had ever lived on a farm, we both had grandparents who did and had fond memories of visits where we “helped” with chores such as milking and gathering eggs.  However, I soon learned to avert my eyes whenever I saw my grandmother pick up a chicken, as I knew this was Step 1 of the recipe for the pot pie which would appear on the supper table. 

Once we had decided to move, we spent our vacations looking for the perfect place.  We checked out Northern California, Oregon, Washington and the Canadian Maritimes before eventually deciding on Vermont because it actually looked like “the country” of our imaginations.    

Let's just admit to ourselves right now: if you're single on Valentine's Day, it may make you feel bitter. And not in the really good, bitter chocolate kind of way. Valentine's is so heavily commercialized nowadays that it can be difficult to avoid all the signs pointing to the fact that you're alone. The cutesy, overly-decorated cards with sayings you'll never actually say? Check. The restaurants that cater to couples who'll pay for overpriced meals just because everyone else is? Double check.

I don't know about you, but as a single woman on Valentine's Day, I say heck no to that. Just because you may not have someone to make goo-goo eyes at (does anyone still use that phrase?), why should this occasion mean any less for you? What do you have to feel bitter about, when you're already such an amazing, confident and live-life-to-it's-fullest kind of woman? Valentine's Day is just like any other day you'll be single on – although, you'll be more aware of it thanks to the aforementioned signs. Instead of beating ourselves up over such a ridiculous standard, I say it's time we turn that bitterness into the really good, chocolatey goodness kind. You know that bag of candy, piece of cake or heart-shaped cookie you've been eyeing? Go for it. Don't mind the fact that you're buying it for yourself; rather, revel in that.

All couples have the story of how they met. Ours comes with a small bit of fate – if you even believe in that sort of thing. It was Christmas-time and the charity I worked for was throwing a small bash to thank our local volunteers and meet some of our vendors. It even included an uptight board member or two. My future husband-to-be was not officially invited. He had other plans that night; however, his date canceled at the last minute to finish her holiday shopping. So, he called his good friends, Peter and Jo, to see what they were up to. Jo, being Jo, invited him to join them at my party. They were only about 15 minutes ahead of him and, she cajoled, the charity was chock-full of single women. She was not lying about that. Ten of the eleven employees were young women. Of course, since she had never met any of us, she did not vouch for our attractiveness.

I got their side of the story from them at a later date. Apparently, they had scoped me out and then engaged me in witty repartee until the unknown man of my dreams arrived. We were already fast friends by the time Dave turned up – aided a bit by some very strong margaritas – and in no time we were all chatting as if we'd known each other for years. It goes without saying, I gave him my card – though it was the first time in my life I had agreed to go on a date with a man who until moments before was a total stranger.