Red velvet cake, crack synonymous
There I was, in the Safeway Bakery, searching for my Sunday evening dessert. Little did I know that this would be my last evening of searching for something worthy of my taste buds.
I remember the first time I laid eyes on you. We exchanged glances, two star-crossed lovers gazing upon one another for the first time.
I saw your unusually terrific red coloring with that delicate cream cheese frosting draping your figure, and I knew exactly where you belonged.
I took you home, laid you on a white plate, and brewed up a cup of coffee. As the coffee dripped its way through the filter and into the pot, I gently took in your aroma. The coffee only enhanced your smell.
I perched myself on my chair and clutched the cup of coffee with anticipation as I speared my first bite. I remember the fireworks that went off inside my mind as you danced off of my fork and into my mouth, breathing new life into my taste buds.
Oh, Waldorf-Astoria Red Velvet Cake! I can’t wait until we meet again.
After finding what would be the inspiration for my five-pound weight gain this summer, I had to do a background check. I had to find out more about this culprit who could have ruined my life and sent me to fat camp.
After doing some digging, I realized that red velvet cake is in fact, the very creation of Lucifer himself—and probably his favorite dessert, too. This divinely devilish sweet has quite the sketchy backstory.
My brand of heroin drug took on its unusual bold red color before traditional food coloring was even invented. Many people say that its historical crimson color was due to the reaction of acid when the vinegar and buttermilk mixed.
I, however, have my own theory that gypsies were employed at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel where the cake originated. Times where hard in the 1920s and the hotel had to be smart about how they spent their money, so they did what any other food service would do: they called upon the gypsies (later McDonald’s would follow in example).
A woman working at the hotel smuggled the recipe from the gypsies. Along with the recipe, this woman was cursed with paying a huge fortune for weaseling the recipe from the gypsies at the Waldorf -Astoria. Despite the curse, the holy mother of cakehood still was able to pass out the recipe to millions of American women intent on seducing men through food.
The moral of the story is this: if you ever see an unusually handsome man walking around with a hag of a woman, it is because she has perfected the art of making a red velvet cake.
Red velvet cake, you are the bane of my existence, my own personal kryptonite. I delight in the days that I eat of you, but loathe the night, during which you expand my waist to a thirty-two.
I decided that I would enclose my own magical potion unto my readers, available at csceagle.com. Use wisely, for this is a powerful recipe, and one with which you will quickly become addicted.