Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be zombies. Isn’t that how the song goes?
Something like that, yes?
My eldest baby is just about to turn fifteen. It’s kind of freaking me out a little bit. I hit major freak out territory when I realized -thanks to his observation- that he’ll be old enough to vote in the next presidential *CHOKE* election *HACK*. I’m sorry. It’s just kind of giving me respiratory distress to think that this sweet little chubby boy I birthed is not only nearly old enough to vote, but is only a year away from driving. (Another of his observations, thankyouverymuch.) Eek!
I’m going to fan myself for a minute. Or get some smelling salts. Do they sell smelling salts any more? I kind of think they should come standard issue for mothers of sons.
The aforementioned son had a few of his best and biggest friends (because WHEN did they all get taller than me? Salts. Gimme my smelling salts.) over to celebrate ahead of time. The guys had a few simple requests.
- Food. Lots of food. Mostly Cheddar Tailgating Bread, please.
- They wanted to watch Napoleon Dynamite and Inception.
- More bread? Maybe more than one loaf per person?
- They wanted an epic Nerf battle.
- They wanted cake.
- They wanted to play Zombie Apocalypse.
I was all in ’til they got to the last part and said, “What?” Zombie Apocalypse, it was explained to me, was pretty much just tag. Well, except that it had to be after dark and the one who was it pretended to be a zombie and eat others’ brains turning them into zombies and thereby… Blah blah blah. That’s where I tuned it out. I asked a the only question I could think of other than ‘why?’ , “Does anyone actually get hurt?” They assured me no one’s brains were actually eaten in the process, so I gave it my stamp of approval and started baking a cake.
Chocolate Tres Leches sounded about right to me. My plan was to hit it with a little chunky strawberry sauce before plating. I got a little distracted by the screams of horror from the faux zombies inmy front yard while I was blending the strawberries with the other ingredients, though, and ended up with a silky smooth puree. Those Vitamixes are super efficient.
When the Zombie Apocalypse was finished, the newly minted un-dead came in for the cake.
As I drizzled the strawberry sauce over the cake, someone remarked, “HEY! That looks like BLOOD!” and thus, Zombie Apocalypse Tres Leches was born.
Clearly the zombies hadn’t been satisfied by their recent brain feast, because I got exactly zero pieces of the cake before they polished it off.
Nine out of nine zombies agree, this cake is better than brains.
P.S. Don’t feel too badly for me. I made another one and ate a third of it by myself.