I’d seen colleagues bring homemade food to the gulag and as the hillbilly baker I am, for this 1st of 2 short weeks (4 day weekend), I wanted to a) bake and b) make the most of the nearest faux-secular* holiday.
Apple streusel cake with maple pecan frosting and red-gold crystals. It is a thing of beauty (for an Ozarker–we cook for frugality and flavor, not looks, typically).
It’s also what saved it from the Major. The main security officer that morning is often more helpful (read: scolds but knows I’m new and don’t get the Kafkaesque logic all the time). Major (there’s only one per camp) was doing it with her and I got an earful!
Apparently, I have to send paper documentation, redundant as digital, which the Lord of my manor (as I am his Lady) has signed and a WARDEN approves…to bring in a cake.
Major opened the cake carrier and looked…and looked…not like trying to see where I hid a chainsaw but at it.
“Come on up, you’re welcome to some.”
He allowed it and Helpful-Scolded leaned over and mouthed “you are lucky.”
I think it was the fab design and saveur.