update: cake found.

Flourless (thus gluten-free) blackout cake from Healdsburg’s fine dining establishment, Ravenous. We were not ashamed to eat this at the bar. For dinner.

want cake now.

this is a for reals email exchange we had yesterday.

some craving are not easily satisfied when you’re gf unless you take matters into your own hands, otherwise you can go round and round, and still, no cake!

but it appears that gf bakehouses are popping up everywhere…

hp: i’m craving a giant hunk of frosted, moist chocolate cake. fyi.

aa: i hate you. i am totally craving something sweet, just after finishing my meager mug of microwave noodles. but i love you enough to be happy for you. a little bit.

hp: i don’t HAVE the cake, i WANT the cake…no reason to hate me. but thanks for trying to be happy for me.

aa: oh, i guess i should read my emails better. i just saw “giant hunk of frosted, moist chocolate cake” and assumed you were digging in. where’s our GF bakery? i’m sick of the WF(whole foods) options, and that’s really saying a lot. in fact, i have so many piles of choco chips at home that i’m actually half-tempted to go whip something up. i’ll do that instead of running. same-sies, right?

hp: totally samsies. and i agree about WF…SO over their selection. perhaps another trip to grocery outlet is in order. (see previous post about the gf goldmine aly stumbled upon).

aa: but, so where’s our wedge of chocolate cake with thick & creamy chocolate frosting?

hp: i found our cake…we need to go to Austin!

peep this…  http://blackbird-bakery.com/

 aa: heck ya, let’s get ourselves out there!

our mission today is to find chocolate cake and eat it all! we can’t make it to austin, today anyway, but we’re gonna give healdsburg a chance.

happy friday to us!

holy schmazole, people!

I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m a cookie whore. I think it’s been said on this blog that I’ve never met a cookie I didn’t like. And when those cookies – GLUTEN FREE cookies – come from Grocery Outlet for thirty-three cents a box – THIRTY-FRICKIN’-THREE CENTS A BOX! – it means I’ve died and gone to heaven. Just check out the booty I got, all for just a few dollars.

Nevermind the extra pounds I’ll put on, I got the deal of the century.

-aa