“Easy as cake.""Pie.""Yeah. I can't make pie. My cousin got all the baking genes, but if it comes out of a box and has very detailed instructions, I can make an edible cake. Cake is easy. Pie's a bitch.”

“Vegetables are a must on a diet. I suggest carrot cake, zucchini bread, and pumpkin pie.”

“Such heaped up platters of cakes of various and almost indescribable kinds, known only to experienced Dutch housewives! There was the doughty doughnut, the tender oly koek, and the crisp and crumbling cruller; sweet cakes and short cakes, ginger cakes and honey cakes, and the whole family of cakes. And then there were apple pies, and peach pies, and pumpkin pies; besides slices of ham and smoked beef; and moreover delectable dishes of preserved plums, and peaches, and pears, and quinces; not to mention broiled shad and roasted chickens; together with bowls of milk and cream, all mingled higgledy-piggledy, pretty much as I have enumerated them, with the motherly teapot sending up its clouds of vapor from the midst-- Heaven bless the mark!”

“You wanna tell me, sweetness, how dessert for seventeen people translates into seven pies and two cakes?” Brock asked.”

“We can select our own good works. Life is a smorgasbord of good choices. You will not be penalized for picking ham over chicken or cake instea of pie.”

“Uriah drops his tray next to me. It is loaded with beef stew and chocolate cake. I stare at the cake pile.“There was cake?” I say, looking at my own plate, which is more sensibly stocked than Uriah’s.“Yeah, someone just brought it out. Found a couple boxes of the mix in the back and baked it,” he says. “You can have a few bites of mine.”“A few bites? So you’re planning on eating that mountain of cake by yourself?”“Yes.” He looks confused. “Why?”“Never mind.”