UPDATE: Note that Malgorzata has kindly added the recipe for the cake in a comment. Note that the measurements are, in European style, in weight rather than volume, but any cookbook will give the volumetric equivalents (note: 1 lb. = 454 grams).
The weather has been fairly mild here, though I hear it’s dreadful in Chicago. It’s sunny and cold, just right for a walk along the Vistula followed by a bit of shopping. The sun is low and weak, but at least it shows its face.
Off to the butcher’s to buy sausages and an oxtail for Emma the d*g. As usual, the selection of encased meats was stupendous:
Emma got her oxtail and ran off to nom it:
Emma was a stray, and had apparently lived for three years as such before showing up here, filthy and starved. I have no idea how she survived the Polish winters. For the first several years after Andrzej and Malgorzata took her in, she was a bit wild and had to live outside for fear she would hurt Hili’s predecessor, the beloved tabby Pia. Finally, Emma calmed down and was allowed to move inside to be with her beloved “husband,” Darwin the d*g.
Here is the cozy two-room doghouse that Andrzej built for Emma during her outdoor years, complete with an inner chamber and warm blankets, as well as a thatched roof and her name over the door.
After we went to the supermarket (yes, there’s a small one here), we repaired to the smaller, locally-owned food shop, which Malgorzata and Andrzej patronize because it’s in danger of being forced out of business by the newer supermarket. There were many mirrors and I couldn’t resist a self portrait.
And, of course, at home awaits the comfort of Hili, soft of fur and prompt of purr.
What better way to read than ensconced with a cat? I’m reading Against Moral Responsibility, by Bruce N. Waller, which I believe was recommended by a reader.
The title attracted me because while I believe in responsibility, as an incompatibilist I don’t believe in moral responsibility. In fact, fourteen months ago Dan Dennett and I argued this issue for several hours in the car on the turnpike from Stockbridge to Boston. I notice that Dan gave Waller’s book a mixed review, and that review and others’ discussion of it is here. I’ve only begun the book and so can’t judge it yet.
Hili would be on my lap but it’s hard to read that way when supine.
This evening Hili got up to a bit of mischief. The freshly washed and folded laundry had been dragged from the closet onto the floor, and I was told that Hili does this frequently. When I was photographing the crime, the feline miscreant returned to her depredations and continued them:
No cream for you!
After a dinner of spaghetti bolognese and salad, we had a brief computer-and-cat break, and then it was on to dessert. This was a stupendous German recipe that Malgorzata said was a “Karlsbad cake.” I helped make it, too!
It starts with a pound of butter creamed with icing sugar, and then six egg yolks are beaten in, one by one, by hand. Then you add a mixture of flour, baking powder, and finely grated almonds. After that you fold in the six egg whites along with chunks of dark chocolate. After the cake is baked, the top is topped with cherry jam (we lacked the specified apricot jam) and finely shaved milk chocolate.
Here, ladies and gentlemen, is a work of culinary art:
Oy, was it good! And there’s plenty left for tomorrow.