I have made this crumb cake 4 times in one week. Three of the times were with 8×8 square pans and the last time was with a 13×9. Two of them went to my parent’s house, and my parent’s didn’t get to try either of them because my siblings demolished it before it could be seen. The second time that happened, I had even left a huge note next to it saying,”For Dad: DO NOT EAT.” It was actually much more elaborate than that, but I won’t expose my paranoid antics. In the car the next night on the way to a party, with another crumb cake on my lap, I asked my dad if he tried the crumb cake.
“No, I saw the note and lifted up the tin foil to see an empty plate.“
My younger sister, sitting next to me, was smiling. She’s 17, but by looking at her you might guess 13. When I was 18 and walking her into elementary school, I was told to get to class. She has it the same way now. She’s also a kid at heart, innocent, and pure. Most of the time. Her smile turned into pursed lips and she explained,”I had some for breakfast.“
“What did you do with the rest?“, I asked, knowing that this is my little sister, who might be one of the pickiest eaters and neverrarely finishes anything she eats. (Incase she is reading: Love you T!)
“I ate half of the other piece.”
“What happened to the first piece? You never eat a whole piece of anything.“
She just smiled at me again. I kept staring at her, with a very questioning look…waiting to hear her explanation.
“I went downstairs and saw it there and ate it and I didn’t see the note until afterwards.“
“You ate the whole piece?“
I wasn’t mad at her, and she knew that. I was just surprised. And before you think I’m mean, I left the rest of the crumb care there for her and my brother to eat. I had just reserved two pieces for my dad because everything disappears before he gets to try it. The note was on a piece of paper towel, and it had very clear instructions. I wrote a note to my mom on the bottom of it,”Don’t worry, I’m bringing another one to the party tomorrow night so you can try some too.” My dad decided to go at the last minute, so he too was able to finally try some.
Later in the night my sister said,”Don’t ever make that crumb cake again, the crumbs on top were so good. OH MY GOD, they’re like little balls of heavenly deliciousness. Err!” The “err” was an interesting addition, but I sensed what she was trying to say. It was frustratingly yummy? My sister will usually comment on the most delicious of food with,”It was good.” I’ve given her Nutella before, demanding she try it. She squinted while tasting it like a baby given a wedge of lemon, and said,”Eh….it’s ok.” So I knew this crumb cake was a hit..at least with her, my brother, boyfriend, and myself, up to that point.
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