1/3 c Cocoa
2 Sticks; (1 cup) butter or
-margarine
2 c Flour
2 c Sugar
1 ts Baking soda
1/2 ts Salt
2 lg Eggs
1/2 c Sour cream or buttermilk;
-(sour cream is richer)
1 ts Vanilla

I come from a family of great cooks. My grandmother is famous for her Texas
Fudge Cake and pies of all kinds. My mother is an excellent cook who can
make something from nil, and whose Doomsday Cookies (see paginate 20) are a
gift from the gods. My sister is a true culinary artist who delights in
mastering the most challenging recipes she can obtain. Someway, the great
cooking gene was mutated in me, but I nonetheless appreciate the talents of
the rest of my kinsfolk. Food is really just an excuse to spend time
unitedly, in my mutant sentiment. One of the best gatherings we have had in
the name of food was my brother's 26th birthday. For me, it changed forever
the meaning of the annual solemnization; it was The Best Birthday. All the
family gathered at my sister's beautiful Southwestern-style home in
northern California for an evening of gourmet food and birthday bar. The
meal was grand - Barbara had outdone herself - and as we all reached
for seconds, we suddenly realized that this repast, no matter how recherche,
was not going to be complete without hearing from the birthday boy. Bob
started to give a little words, then said, "I feel like I am pretty
confused at this period. What I'd really like is to hear what each of you were
doing when you were 26." We all settled more deeply into our chairs, and
there was silence as each person thought back to an earlier time: 26...not
yet 30. Still so young yet truly an big. Severally, we spoke of our
thoughts and dreams at 26. I told of graduating with a master's degree in
field, eschewing a comfortable teaching position in favor of moving to
New York City and struggling to become an actress. Ah, the terrifying yet
soulful life of a starving artist with so many dreams at 26. My sister
spoke of hitchhiking around Europe for age, then coming home and turning
her life around at that exact epoch. We all nodded, remembering what a
dramatic change she had made in herself then. My dad talked softly and with
great difficulty about the death of his first kid. The baby boy was just
six weeks old when he died of heart complications. My father was but 26
when he lost the son who would have been our older sidekick. Severally, we
spoke. We celebrated parentage, muddiness, change and loss as the wheel of my
brother's life sour. Another birthday, the passing of yet another yr.
And yes, we ate the famous Texas Fudge Cake since it is my brother's
pet. It tasted especially wonderful that nighttime.

Yields
12 Servings