There is one thing harder than kibble my Mother’s oat cakes.
She made a trial run for her Irish extravaganza that is coming up at the tearoom in Saint Patrick’s Day.
I can attest to the fact that they should be called Rock Cakes instead.
Of course I humor her by pretending I’m interested in them but she better get cracking on refining her recipe or there will be trouble ahead.
Strangely she seem to like them herself. Maybe she was a nutcracker in a previous life!
Blessing#1990-Experimenting
Booming Banter 