Rescued in the Nick of Time

This was almost the story of the terrible, horrible, no-good day. It started when I was cutting the end of a loaf of crusty sourdough bread from Wegmans and my very sharp bread knife sliced into two of my fingers. It was then that I discovered that I was out of bandages save for two teeny tiny ones and one enormous one.

Wait. It gets better.

I cut the enormous one in half and that would’ve been just dandy but one of them was bleeding with great enthusiasm. So I ended up having to concoct my own back up bandages out of paper towels and medical tape. Several times.

Still, I didn’t have much time to waste as I had a follow-up doctors appointment and I didn’t want to be late. I arrived with time to spare only to discover I had driven to the wrong office by mistake. The buildings are near the hospital and the driveways are next to each other. The interiors of the buildings are identical too, dagnabbit.

Back in the car. Arrive at the correct doctor’s office and, at the check in, I see a puzzled look from the woman at the desk. She looks at her computer screen. She clicks. She types. She pauses.

“I’m so sorry, but your appointment is next Friday. You’re a whole week early.”

Dear readers, at this point I thought of many things. Some of them were not printable.

But this is not the end of the story. As I sat at home in my comfy chair, nursing my wounds, I got a delivery.

It was an entire box of Momma’s Gingerbread Cakes hand-delivered to me From Momma’s Kitchen. I had ordered them as a special treat for myself because I adore gingerbread. I had no idea how much I would need it when it arrived. 

I wasted no time in the unboxing and the tasting.

The top sparkled with plentiful sugar crystals and the cake was light and tender with flecks of fresh ginger. I almost cried, it was that good. I made myself eat it slowly so as to appreciate everything about it: the flavor, the texture, the fragrance, the moist and tender crumb.

This is not your mother’s gingerbread. This is Momma’s Gingerbread cake and you could serve it to company or the Queen of England. But it would be very, very hard to share.

Want your own box? Or something else equally delicious from a local, Black-owned business in Columbia/HoCo? Look up From Momma’s Kitchen on Facebook and take a look at her website, too.

I don’t wish on anybody the day I had yesterday, but, just in case it happens to you, it would be a good idea to have “Momma” on speed-dial.