A is for Apple Butter

There is not much more satisfying in life than apple butter on a warm buttermilk biscuit at the Cracker Barrel. I have always liked apple butter as long as I can remember. As a child, I would have it on toast, on biscuits—heck I would eat it with a spoon. The only thing I would like better than apple butter on a spoon would be cake batter. I have been known to whip up a Betty Crocker cake mix just to sit and eat it out of a bowl. Now, it is never a good idea to eat a whole chocolate cake’s worth of batter. My stomach, at least, cannot endure that much chocolaty goodness at one sitting, so I baked the remainder to eat later. I never needed a chocolate cake to be iced before I eat it. If only someone would put these two great tastes together.

One time, when I was 11 or 12, it was my younger sister’s birthday and mom had baked a devil’s food cake for her birthday. The two 9-inch layers were still cooling in the pans on the stove when mom sent me to do the dishes after lunch. As I unloaded the dishwasher, the cakes sat on the stove whispering at me, tempting me. The surface of both layers formed small peaks like the top of a Dairy Queen ice cream cone. These peaks would interfere with the proper application of icing, so it would only be a help to remove these peaks so my mom could finish preparing the birthday cake. After all, it was just two small pinches of cake. No one would miss them.

I continued to work on the dishes as the cakes continued their siren’s song. One pot put away, one pinch. One glass put away, one pinch. One fork put away, one more pinch. By the time I finished putting away the dishes, I had pinched a crater in one of the layers almost to the bottom of the pan. It was then that I realized that I had eaten almost half of one layer of the cake! I knew I would be in serious trouble unless I could figure out how to hide the damage. This was before the proliferation of packaged icing, so I knew my mom planned on making the icing, so I could not fill the hole with that.

I was almost in a panic as I stared at the hole in the cake. I had to think of something; something that would look like chocolate cake. I opened the refrigerator and examined the contents for anything that would look like chocolate cake when my eyes fell upon the jar of Mott’s apple butter. Apple butter is brown; almost the same shade as chocolate cake batter. I figured I would fill the hole with the butter and no one would know. 11 and 12-year-olds are so brilliant.

Just as soon as I smoothed the apple butter into the hole and put the jar back into the fridge, my mom came into the kitchen madder than a wet hen that I had not yet finished the dishes. I stood in front of the stove and took my butt chewing as my mom explained the error of my ways. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the cake pans and stopped her tirade mid-sentence. I could see the wheels turning as she regarded the cake pans. She knew something wasn’t right as she reached out and touched the wet surface and tasted it. Her eyes grew wide as saucers as the realization of what I did hit. She grabbed the yard stick that hung on the side of the fridge and held it over her head like a samurai warrior. That is the last thing I remember as I scampered with a sore butt up to my room. I don’t even remember eating the cake. I believe my mom spooned the apple butter out of the cake as she repaired the damage.

So, while I did have the foresight to mix the two great tastes, I never got to experience it. Hmm, perhaps I should do some experimenting in the kitchen to see just how well the two flavors mix. Or maybe I should just enjoy apple butter on a hot biscuit as it was intended and enjoy the chocolate cake as dessert. That way, I have two separate satisfying treats. Which reminds me; I had apple butter at Cracker Barrel the other day, so now I need to get some cake mix.

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6 Comments

Filed under Humor, Personal

6 responses to “A is for Apple Butter

  1. I agree about the apple butter, but what “struck” me was your mom grabbing the yardstick. Those yardsticks in our day were much thicker and sturdier than the ones these days. I don’t remember getting spanked with one but I sure remember my younger brothers getting swatted. I can still hear my mom threatening, “Do I have to get The Stick?”
    Ah, the memories.

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  2. After reading the words “Cracker Barrel”, all I could think about was how I hate you for being near one.

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  3. That’s why you don’t like unloading the dishwasher. 🙂

    Like

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