Fat Cakes

First, I am wearing one of the most comfortable tank tops I have ever owned. My mom bought it for no one in particular, because it was cheap, and I am the lucky recipient. It is so soft. Mmm.

Okay now on with the post.

I received two suggestions for today's post topic, and they were muffins and Namibia. (By the way, if any of you could figure out how I can set up a "suggestion box" on this blog where y'all can list blog topic suggestions, my computer illiterate self would greatly appreciate it and maybe write a post about your topic suggestion before anyone else's.)

Two things come to mind when I think of muffins and Namibia at the same time: Liz and fat cakes.

Liz was one of my housemates in Namibia, as well as one of my four roommates, and most importantly, the girl who I shared a bunk bed with for our semester in southern Africa. She called me "Bed Buddy." I think of Liz because she was very domestic (as well as a great many other things, including many a thing that one does not usually associate with domesticity, before you start making generalizations) and she would often bake for the rest of us to fend off boredom and stress. We loved this. There's nothing better than coming upstairs from working on your second draft (don't ask) of a paper on Steve Biko at 2am, to hear Liz announce jovially, "fresh muffins!" Liz is one of the most fun, talented, and intelligent, as well as one of the cutest girls I have ever met in my life, and her baking skills--which are amazing--pale in comparison to the first things on this list. Point: she's pretty awesome, and so are her midnight muffins.

I think of fat cakes because they are like muffins, sort of. "Fat cakes" are, essentially, fried balls of dough that you can purchase for one Namibian dollar (about 20 cents) in many places on the streets. Now we all know that fried food is delish. Duh. Fried food with extra salt and sugar, even more delish. But fat cakes are a true, drool-worthy enigma, in my opinion. They really are just dough. Perhaps it doesn't hurt that they are usually still warm at the time of purchase. But they are SO good. I brought back to the States more than one pair of pants that I could no longer fit into at the end of my semester to prove it. I suggested to my friend Steve, another house/classmate, that we make my new nickname "Fat Cakes," and he instantly smiled at the idea.

I think that is all I am going to say at this point, but that is okay for a couple of reasons. Number one, this post was based on two unrelated suggestions from friends, so no coherence was really required. And second, this is a blog, not a textbook, so no conclusion is required either. So with that, as author of this blog, I am giving myself permission to post. Right...now. (Pictured below: fat cakes being sold in the South African township, Alexandra):