A few years back my husband and I were living in central Louisiana while he was stationed at Fort Polk. There are a lot of people in the Army that aren’t crazy about being at Fort Polk but we loved it. The distractions of a booming city don’t exist there so the connections that you make with people are deep and true even if only for a mere moment in the time you are there.
I coached a girl’s soccer team on post and one night after practice in the second season as I was walking to my car there was a man walking with his kids behind me and they caught my attention because I heard a few languages being tossed around in the conversation. He approached me and asked about getting his daughter, June, on my team. She joined my team and her dad started coaching the boys team that was the age counterpart to my team. Our families became friends and that Spring they invited me and my husband to their home for Easter. The man was (is) married to a French woman and together with their children have lived all over the world for his position as a foreign area officer in the Army.
In my lifetime of memories, Easter is the time to don your very best, put a ham with (homemade) mac-n-cheese, green beans, and cornbread on the table, and enjoy a good old fashioned egg hunt in the yard. That particular Easter, we wore casual clothes, we lounged around the table for hours, and we did not eat a ham but we did eat the most decadent chocolate cake. This cake was deceiving with it’s unassuming presence on the table. There was no decoration or icing, the single layer was just simply placed on a rustic dinner plate. The cake was divine; it was pure joy to take the first bite and pure agony to take the last. We lingered at the table and sipped espressos…I’ve never felt so sophistiqué.
Over the years I have lost touch with that intriguing family but I held on to Charlotte’s chocolate cake recipe and one of my fondest Easter memories. Try this recipe out this weekend and while you are eating it, imagine Charlotte saying in her flowing accent, “In Paris, on the weekends, we do not run errands in the afternoons, we stay in bed and make love.”
This recipe comes from Charlotte in an email…