I’m pretty sure the first baked good I made that did not involve reading the directions on the back of a package was a pound cake. It might have been biscuits, but knowing me, it was a pound cake. The utter simplicity of this old fashioned cake made it a good choice for a first try at mixless baking.
These days, while I haven’t gone much further as a baker, I do enjoy an occasional pound cake. I don’t use a full pound of butter/eggs/flour/sugar, but it still is a cake of abundance. Since there are only two people in the house, one of whom doesn’t much like cake, I can’t really justify making it that often. When I made one a few weeks ago, I resigned myself to the fact that I’d probably have to toss a good portion of it.
In the meantime, though, I’d enjoy a slice every other evening or so. I’d set the slice to warm up in the toaster oven while I brewed the tea and then take them both and settle in to read. The very essence of contentment.
The other night as I was in the middle of this ritual of preparation Matt wandered through the kitchen and asked: “How long does pound cake last?” Realizing that it had been weeks and the cake had no trace of staleness, I had to tell him I had no idea, but it looked like I wouldn’t find out with this cake.
Which was true. I had the last piece this morning with a cup of coffee while I read my new issue of ReadyMade and it was just as lovely as the first piece.
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