Full of brown sugar, bourbon, cinnamon, and pecans – this King Cake Layer Cake has all the flavors of the traditional NOLA dessert! Instead of a yeasted dough, moist cake layers studded with pecans and sprinkled with cinnamon are soaked with a bourbon syrup and topped with layer of a light and airy Brown Sugar Swiss Meringue Buttercream. Baby Jesus figurine not totally necessary, but always totally fun!
This isn’t a new recipe.
At least, not entirely! It’s just an improved version of an
already incredibly popular recipe on this little ol’ site of mine.
Everyone’s always talking about how much growth happens during the first year of marriage. Adjusting to a new life together, learning how to compromise, figuring out the best communication style to avoid hurt feelings.
All very real things that Seth and I have dealt with. All
things that we’re learning as we grow in life and in love.
There’s also been a much more literal kind of growth in our
first year together. We started a garden! We grew tomatoes, peppers, kale,
cabbage, kohlrabi – the list goes on! There were rows of sweet corn and piles
of green beans. Birds are still eating seeds from sunflowers the size of
hubcaps. Then there were the total and complete failures too: radishes so spicy
they made our eyes water, Brussels sprouts that never got larger than a marble,
one measly little watermelon that was more rind than fruit.
This last failure I blame on our squash. I don’t know what it is about our soil, but our squash plants went absolutely bonkers. They took over a quarter of the space, crawled over the fence (and pulled it down!), and smothered any and all other plants in their path.
Thankfully, I don’t know what it’s like to have to say goodbye
to someone you’ve known your whole life.
My husband does.
Unfortunately, I don’t have memories of Zack.
My husband does.
He has told me about Zack. Relayed stories and shared
secrets. There have been tales of snow-covered hay bales, piano practice, and
football games. Recollections of tiny hands pushing even tinier tractors around
the living room rug. Mentions of cross-country family trips and harrowing
encounters with the neighbors’ dog. An anecdote of how he held the steering
wheel. A guarantee that we would have butted heads.
There was a period of time in college where I wanted nothing to do with chocolate.
Didn’t care for it. Not the sight of it, the smell of it, and especially not the taste of it.
This continued for about a year. Not wanting anything chocolate flavored or related or even tangentially connected to it. And this was way back when I worked at a candy magazine and was constantly surround by chocolates of all varieties. It was a dark time.
Thank god that’s over.
The distaste was merely a blip, a nonevent in my tastebuds’ lives. Now, blessedly, I love chocolate once more. Can’t get enough of it, actually.