There is a nurse at the hospital, who moved here from Germany many years ago, who thinks well of me for some reason.
Well, she must: she brought me an authentic Black Forest Cake today.
It is a tall, beautiful confection, covered in mounds of homemade whipped cream, and topped with shaved dark chocolate.
When you lift the cover from the cake plate, the aroma of chocolate, cherries and liqueur penetrates your brain cells, creating happy sensations.
The beauty of this cake is not that of a wedding cake, too perfect to touch. It invites you to partake, and soon your serving plate is graced by whipped cream and four layers of chocolate cake, separated by real liqueur-soaked cherries.
This is not Black Forest Cake as I have ever had it. All other Black Forest Cakes are revealed as impostors. This is the primordial cake from whence all cakes came.
I partake, and shed tears of joy.
