In English it means “let them eat cake”.
The urban legend remembers the young French princess who upon hearing news of the lack of bread to feed the starving peasant, and the rest is added to the list of historical faux pas.
This evening is the annual Christmas party at the gym where we forget for one night, our troubles, our diets, and our abstinance from the evil grog.
It is an event, not because of any particular feature more the cornucopia of the whole. I am talking about the people, the setting, the fayre and the sheer spirit of individuals with a common aim.
One of the members does the catering and organising. A treasure indeed and whilst chatting some weeks ago she admitted to not being as adept with cakes. For my sins my mouth wrote a cheque which my body today had to cash.
I have prepared a series of tray bakes, Toffee with Salted Caramel fondant, Ginger with Vanilla fondant and almond and a Carrot cake loaf minus the extra sugar for though we may eat cake but overly sugared hidden foods is a big no no when you live with, as so many do, Whiteman’s Disease.