When it comes time to prepare for our holiday dinners, most
people look to recipes they only break out once a year—special traditions,
imbued with seasonal ingredients and flavors (and a plethora of butter and
sugar), that one would be ill-advised to make more than a couple times per
year. For example—my mother’s tiramisu, a glaringly inauthentic version made
with Cool Whip and cream cheese and vanilla pudding powder that is so
irresistibly delicious it should probably be regulated by the FDA. Or that perennial bundt cake which might not be as
addictive but is still a threat to one’s ability to fit in one’s pants.
In this cake, I think I’ve found another tradition.
