Happy Birthday, Nancy

Some friends remind me of gourmet coffee, quiche', fancy clothes, a night out at the movies or intellectual conversation.

Nancy reminds me of gas station cakes.

In the South, you can buy anything at the gas station. We've got your petro, your engine oil, your over-priced milk, the regular conveniences. We like to go the extra mile because we are all about hospitality- even at the gas station.

We also hate to see anyone go hungry. So in the local, small-town, Southern gas station you can fill your tank and your stomach. You'll find everything from fresh fried chicken with all the fixin's to sandwiches. In South Georgia and Alabama you'll find some of the best boiled peanuts.

But, if you're lucky, you'll find a mouth watering, girdle busting, 7-layer cake.

Yes, m'am. Nothing beats a cake from the gas station.

We were visiting Nancy and the family, having dinner and catching up on lost time. Our kids were off playing, picking up right where they left off and the men were talking shop. As always, Nancy was preparing a delicious meal (fajitas- yum!). On the kitchen counter, perched on a lovely glass cake pedestal, was the most tempting caramel cake.

Nancy said,"It is left over from (hubs') birthday."

Impressed, I asked, "Wow! Did you make it?"

"No. It's from the gas station," she replied.

This wasn't just any ole gas station cake. This was one of Dean's cakes from Dean's Cake House out of Andalusia. If you are in Alabama or the surrounding states, I urge you to stop reading right this minute and click on the link to see if you can purchase one of these cakes in a fine gas pumping establishment near you. Dean's delivers their cakes fresh and supplies grocery stores and gas stations all over the fine State of Alabama and some of the surrounding states.

OK. Go now. Then, come back...

Are you back? Good.

So Nancy explained that she loved, loved, loved Dean's cakes and when she discovered they delivered to a gas station in the next town over, she was just giddy with the thought that all of those bad carbs were available. Convenient, too.

If we learned anything from rebuilding after the War, it was this- put all your good stuff in one place so that if you ever have to run from Sherman again, you can load up on fried foods and sugar and fill both fuels tanks in your pick-up truck.

All they need to do is add some ammo and a few 8 tracks of Merle and Dolly. Bring on the nukes, enemies of the State! We're ready!

Our family was about to move to the little town where Nancy and her family were living. Needless to say, I was delighted to hear about the gas station cakes. Forget the closet malls and good shopping. I need icing.

We've had many fine meals with Nancy and the family, but this meal stands out in my mind for so many reasons. Nancy had really started to serve healthy foods (minus the cake) and asked if we ate whole wheat tortillas.

"Why, yes we do," I said. (We'll eat any type of bread wrapped around meat.)

"What about Enova oil?" she asked, "Do you think it will bother y'all?"

"Why, no," I replied.

Ain't it just like a good hostess to show genuine concern about the possibility that the meal she is about to serve will potentially cause bouts of diarrhea and intestinal distress?

Then Nancy sent her hubs to clean the dining table with Clorox wipes. Well, because the table is where Gilbert likes to sleep sometimes. Gilbert is their cat that deserves her own post because Gilbert is schizophrenic.

The table was sanitized, just in case, and the lovely place mats really made everything look so charming and inviting. To Gilbert. We walked back in the dining room and found that Gilbert had pounced onto the table and found the best seat in the house- right there on my place mat.

I felt so loved.

Nancy graciously grabbed a new place mat from the drawer and we all sat down to eat.

In walks Alli.

Alli is their lab. She is very sweet, but at the time was still in her puppy phase. Nancy and her hubs had tried everything they could think of to train this dog. They resorted to an obedience collar (they are perfectly safe), only the collar had not become very effective because every time they tried to activate it, they realized their little girl had turned it off.

Picture this-

All of us eating fajitas cooked in Ex-lax, wrapped in rubber, I mean whole wheat tortillas, at a fine dining table set with lovely place mats and a mentally disturbed cat, engaged in serious, political and social conscious conversation (not) while a playful puppy begs for thinly sliced grilled meat.

Then, Nancy's husband turns to her and asks,"Where is the remote?"

Because nothing says hospitality like shocking the dog during a meal.

Lucky for Alli, Nancy's daughter had deactivated the collar and the remote control didn't work. It was quite comical, really. The meal, the conversation, the menagerie of hosts.

And at the end, we all had a piece of cake for dessert, a little slice of caramel heaven, straight from the gas station.

Happy Birthday, Nancy!