A Heritage of Pound Cake

Last night my aunt Dedra and Uncle Dale came through town. Dedra is my dad's younger sister and she and her hubby live in West Virginia. Dale had meetings in Colorado and they had just enough time to drop in my parent's house for dessert. 

Some may call that luck but I would call that perfect timing.

I whipped up another Strawberry Rhubarb Crumble and I admit that I ate two bowls of it with ice cream. No judging people. It was my dinner and dessert. Totally justified.

Anywho, I love my relatives. My aunt Dedra is funny and fun and gives great hugs and has a laugh that is known and infectious. However, what I really want to tell you is that she introduced me to something that so completely rocked my world that I have never been the same since. And neither have my thighs.

She introduced me to my grandma's pound cake.

I need to take a moment to let that sweet memory sink in.

...

Okay, I'm back. This pound cake is famous because it is so absolutely divine and fluffy and pound-cakey. It is amazing! My grandma made it every time we were all together and I remember racing into the kitchen to get a slice of it. (I only run when food is involved.) I also remember my aunt Dedra and I eating our slices together, sitting in the dark air-conditioned kitchen in sweltering Texas, wondering just how many more slices we could eat before others wanted a piece.

I love bonding with people over food. It is one of my greatest pleasures in life. So as I sat on the couch chatting with Dedra last night, I thought of our pound cake escapades and how much a simple recipe can bring a family together. I firmly believe that most arguments can be settled with a big slice of cake.

Food builds bridges, people. Big, delicious bridges.