Snouts and Secret Slices

Snouts and Secret Slices

In my grandmother’s house, the kitchen was a sanctuary of sugar. Every weekend, without fail, a fresh pound cake sat on the dining table—a golden, buttery beacon for anyone walking through the door. The air in her "hot steaming" country kitchen always smelled like sweet vanilla perfume, a scent that guided me toward the table to eat until my heart was content.

I was a pound cake addict, often making several trips a day to sneak a slice. One afternoon, after gobbling down a piece and lifting the silver cake cover for "just one more," I decided to poke around the kitchen. That’s when I saw it.

Resting on a sheet pan was an enormous, round hog head. I had never seen anything like it. As I crept closer, the details came into focus: the leathery ears, the dark, still eyes, and that unmistakable snout. I didn't wait for an explanation. I spun on my heels, slid across the floor, and bolted out the door and down the porch. I didn't stop until I was out of breath and far away from that kitchen. I learned a valuable lesson that day: always ask before you go snooping for cake.

Yellow pound cake