Three words that make me swoon: Red. Velvet. Cake.
I’m not going to try to explain or justify it. I’m simply going to say it. I love red velvet cake.
You know the bumper sticker that reads ‘The worst day of fishing is better than the best day at work.’ I’d like to modify it to say, ‘the worst red velvet cake is better than the best ANY OTHER FOOD.’
Am I crazy? Probably, but I don’t care.
Years ago a friend baked me a red velvet armadillo cake (name the movie reference?) and it was love at first taste.
From then on I’ve taken RVC anyway I can get it.
I’ll call ahead to The KingFish Café (best RVC in the state) on Capitol Hill to ensure they’re serving it (some nights they aren’t) and if not we’ll go elsewhere.
I’ll buy any cookie claiming to be RVC and I’m dying to try these RVC whoopee pies a co-worker tweeted me about this weekend.
I actually bought out the supply of RVC Frangos at the Bellevue Nordstrom last Christmas.
If I’m in a real jam (try once a week) I’ll stop into QFC where the bakery packages up and sells slices two at a time. You better believe I eat both slices and I refuse to share.
Today a friend stopped by my desk holding a chocolate covered red velvet cakeball on a STICK.
If you’ve never tried RVC why not try a slice today? Just don’t ask me to explain or to justify it. If you taste it you’ll know (and if you don’t agree, I don’t want to hear about it because you are officially dead to me).