I have another riddle for you, Ogglers: why, oh why, are the top halves of cakes nearly always the best bits (cheesecakes excepted, of course)?
The thought occurred to me last night. I was gnawing on a slice of Lemon Drizzle Cake – having salvaged some from my work’s cafe bin (before it went in there, I might add) – when I noticed a pattern to how it was reaching my mouth.
In the tradition of saving the best until last, I had quickly made my way through a dry and flavourless lower half, before taking my time with its zingy citrus top.
I had done it automatically, but instantly realised this is what I do with every cake I get: enduring the bottom before I reach the top.
I suddenly wondered what percentage of the cakes I’d eaten was truly enjoyable – and how much I could have happily done without.
Just imagine: if all those boring sections had been cut off, I could have been surfing a glorious wave of icing and crusts all my life. I could have saved myself hours of arduous jogging.
But no. Instead I’d been filling my mouth with sub-par cakey appendages. What a Ho[g]-Bag I had been.
I mean, really. Think about it.
It’s not just Lemon Drizzle Cake, with its gorgeous moist lemony covering. It’s the chocolate ganache on a birthday cake. The semi-crunchy muffin top. The fruit-dampened crust on an Apple and Blackberry Crumble.
Yes, underneaths are usually nice enough. But compared to the top… well, more often than not they’re boring. They’re bland. They’re dry.
Why can’t we live in a world that bypasses the bottom? That goes straight to the best bits?
Or is it that we have to have the lows in order to appreciate the highs?
I don’t know…
Maybe the top needs the bottom to be that good. Maybe it’s like a house: bulky foundations supporting a fancy exterior; dull chunks allowing the topping to rise and shine.
Aw, poor bottoms.
When you put it like that, they sound so sad and hard done by.
I guess I’ll keep eating them, after all. If only my own bottom didn’t have to pay the price…