The Princess Awaits

It's a perfect Sunday.  The rain continues to pelt down, turning our haven in Hollywood into a cinematic version of  "Wuthering Heights." It's all about moody glamour today.  The trees droop like sulky supermodels, the rain gutters chatter ceaselessly with plinks and drops, and my two little Heathcliffs (Jr. and Sr.) have gone off to Griffith Park to hit some balls. Everything is damp except my spirits. Why? Because it's 11am and it's dark enough to light candles. Because the house is peaceful. Because I have free license to putter.  And because we had a dinner party last night and sitting in my fridge at this very moment is this:  

A leftover wedge of Sweet Lady Jane's inimitable Princess cake.  Yellow butter cake gently layered with pastry cream and raspberry preserves, cloaked in a dome of marzipan.  It's sunshine on a cloudy day.

Just knowing that the Princess is tucked safely away in the refrigerator is enough for me.  I can eat sparingly now without feeling deprived because I know that later this afternoon, a small slice of decadence awaits me. The anticipation of enjoying it is almost as satisfying as the actual eating. (I said almost.)

But of course, I must keep up a vigilant guard against Piero and Luca, my kitchen ruffians. They will undoubtedly return home starving and on a frenzied hunt for nourishment.  Those two have the appetites of Visigoths sacking Rome.  They don't taste, they merely swallow. If I don't quickly herd them toward a tasty alternative, my precious Princess cake will disappear down their bottomless gullets without a trace.  

On second thought, I think I'll eat my slice now.