Last Saturday morning, while our heads were still on our pillows, my husband's eyes popped open and he said "I've been meaning to tell you this. I've dreamed of a cake three nights in a row, but I keep forgetting to tell you about it. It's one of those crêpe cakes. The flavor is chocolate-amaretto, and it has a maraschino cherry on top. I think you are supposed to make it."
I knew he wasn't fabricating a story to coerce me into making something he was craving. I know for a fact that he'd rather eat a pickle on top of cake than a maraschino cherry. I took this news as a sign, or maybe it was some kind of divine appointment with cake. Whatever the case, I felt his dream should be made a reality- with one exception. I decided to spare him the cherry.