Let them eat omelettes.

There are many, many things that the internets are good for. Networking, for example, although Great Scot! How much networking can a person do? It's exhausting. You can also post photos on the internets, if you like, although I hear that people are out there rubbing their thieving hands together and giggling over the "free" photos. So, posting photos can be problematic.

And now I'd like to inform you of one more way that the world wide web can let you down.

This is about food. This is about baking. This is about Chinua's birthday cake.

I have always loved baking. If I had an oven in my house this blog might be a bread blog or something, a place for me to show you my perfect golden loaves whenever I felt like bragging about them. I don't have an oven, however, so my baking has been relegated to those birthday times when I am in the Big House baking and singing up a storm. (Yesterday it was the Sweater Song by Weezer. Totally annoyed the heck out of Renee, who couldn't get it out of her head and didn't appreciate the fact that I was causing her to sing a song about lying naked on the floor because someone unraveled her sweater.)

I can't even remember how long ago I had that amazing Woman's Day cookbook out from the library. From that book I made the best triple layer chocolate cake I've ever had in my life. Every other chocolate cake to this day is slightly disappointing. Then, from the book, I made one of the best cheesecakes I've ever had. I'm not exaggerating. It was heavenly.

Yesterday I went to the internet to get a recipe. And the internet let me down. My cheesecake for my beloved Superstar Husband tasted like eggs. It was like a big fruit frittata. (Fritatta?) A big birthday souffle. And it hit me that anyone can post any old recipe up at those recipe sites. But Woman's Day? Well, the reputation of their whole magazine was at stake, so probably sixty-two people tested the recipes in their book.

Books aren't going anywhere, people! Not to worry. From now on, I'm using a book, so that I don't have to cover my head in shame while people pretend to like my scrambled egg cake.