I saw a mutual friend this morning while I was baking an even-more-original cake than I’d planned for Mark’s birthday. He could attest that my beautiful lemon sponge cake fell into a hot and broken, gooey mess on the counter shortly after I’d turned the tube pan over in the normal manner, hoping that the oven-door slam which had also occurred wouldn’t win. Tough luck We agreed it was tasty.
I scooped the chunks back into the pan and baked it for 15 more minutes to add crunch to some spots. The result was popped onto the cake plate. I got out the mixer which my friend Stephanie gave me, brought an inch of water to a simmer in the double boiler and made a cooked lemony 7-minute type icing. (“It looks like marshmallow cream,” said two neighbors.)
Still tasted like the cake which I “invented” as a young teen in Tacoma. I doubt that the recipe is on the web, too, because it has a secret ingredient as well as an elegant name and a lot of egg whites. Every bite is long gone and Mark enjoyed his piece of cake, saved some so that he could have that, too.