I thought long and hard about the name of this little business. One name sounded too trendy, one too precious and on down the line.
Then my Grandpa popped into my head. He was a World War II Reconnaissance Ace.
My thought process went something like this...
Ace. Sweet Ace.
You bet your Sweet Ace.
Check out my Sweet Ace.
Complete with deranged laughter of sleep deprivation, I doubt it was all in my head.
I can't call it Sweet Ace Cakes.
But why not?
Who doesn't like a good pun?
With a plane for a logo.
By the way, that logo is based on the P-51 Mustang Grandpa flew.
There are a lot of reasons why.
There is history and family and genetics. I come from a long line of growers, and cookers, and eaters; and boy howdy can my people talk.
I am sure I will explore all the wondrous and fascinating reasons at a later date. (See above regarding talking and then check out the Blog. Oh, I also write for a hyper-local periodical, you can link to those articles there too.)
Mostly because food is my love language.
It is a simple dialect of that language. There's not much drama and it doesn't often get gussied up. But it is full and rich and there is plenty to go around.
It's not "healthy". It is real butter and sugar and chocolate and, God forbid, white flour.
But it's not "bad" for you either, it's just dessert.
Cookies and cakes and brownies and sweets and goodies make people smile. I like smiles.
Smiles aren't just for special occasions and neither are these sweets. Though they make a mighty fine showing at one.
Because life is delicious.
Because it's Tuesday.
Because the sun is shining or the rain is pouring.
You don't need a reason, just a fork. (maybe, you probably don't even need one of those.)