Which is to say that I do not get excited about cake. I can appreciate what a cake can sometimes represent—the passing of a year, the union of two people who love each other—but I just don’t get cake as an object of culinary desire.

Whenever we have a birthday in the office, I dutifully make my way down to the conference room and ask for a “very thin slice” which I can then poke with my fork a couple of times. I’ll make chit-chat while I pick around the frosting and throw away about 90% of my serving.

Don’t even get me started on cake-batter-flavored ice cream.

Having said all that, I just had the most intense craving for a chocolate cake that I ate in the 5th grade.* We were doing show-and-tell and one of they boys in my class brought in a cake that he had baked himself.

In the 5th grade, I’m pretty sure that the extent of my cooking skills involved boiling water for pasta and microwaving Kraft singles over Tostitos. This bamf had baked a damned cake. Not just any cake; the only cake this self-proclaimed non-cake person has ever craved.

Full disclosure: In hopes of getting the recipe, I totally just tried to track down the guy on both FaceBook and pipl.com, but it’s looking like he’s gone off-grid. I doubt that his parents still live in the same house, so the fact that I remember his phone number probably wouldn’t help either. Don’t look at me like I’m some Rainman aspie freak: the first 3 digits were the same as mine and the last 4 digits spelled out COOL.

* I just realized that the 5th grade was 18 years ago. This “time” thing is a fucking bitch.