Hello Sugar Fans! Welcome to my newly revised blog. Our bakery and deli is evolving from only baked goods and sandwiches to my favorite Soul Food & Southern pastries. I will be offering more cooking & decorating classes in store & online. To better respond to your requests I am expanding this blog to cover not only my passion for everything cupcake but also to indulge my love for cooking. I will share original recipes, favorite chefs & bakers, customer recipes & pictures. I will share hacks & decorating tips maybe even reveal a few secrets. I invite you to view this as YOUR blog. Please join me at the kitchen table to share a meal and a large dish of Southern hospitality.
A little history about me. From an early age I spent a lot of time in the kitchen... My dad owned a little cafe, the neighborhood hangout and the best grits and eggs in town. Over the years as I have traveled, I have discovered that every African American neighborhood in the Southern USA has a cafe called "The Dew Drop Inn". In my hometown of Pasco, WA in the Pacific Northwest (about as far away from THE South as you can get) yep it's true, my dad brought a piece of the South with him and named it The Dew Drop Inn. The first of several he would own over the years and the back drop for my first and most defining culinary masterpiece.
At the age of 6, with hands on hips I declared to my dad that I could bake. Armed with years of experience at making & selling mud pies, did I mention my aptitude for sales & marketing? I was ready. My debut, a little single layer skillet cake. Watching impatiently through the oven window as the cake rose above the pan & browned beautifully, I was excited to remove it from the oven. Not heeding my dad's caution to wait a bit I insisted that the cake was ready. Even at that early age I didn't like being told what to do in the kitchen. What a disappointment! I watched my beautiful little cake succumb to gravity and deflate like an old balloon. Daddy dried my tears, mixed up a batch of chocolate frosting and together with his best friend, Uncle Bob, ate every bite of the disgusting mess. Believe me this story has been told & retold over the years, to my dismay.
The Dew Drop Inn with its big skillets of hot biscuits, plates of steak and eggs, pots of grits, pans of sweet peach cobbler, the voices of happy customers over the sounds of BB King or Sam Cook from the juke box, this was home. This was the place I felt most loved. This was the place where memories begin for me. This was the place where mama and daddy laughed and shared a bite with family & friends. This was the place where my brother Ricky and I did our homework, played games and came to know the interesting characters and their food peccadilloes. This was the place where I became known as the sassy little baker that made the best pound cake. More importantly, standing on a stool with an apron literally wrapped around me 3 times, I discovered my love for cooking and the pure joy that comes from sharing with others, something Sweet and a pot of Grits.
A little history about me. From an early age I spent a lot of time in the kitchen... My dad owned a little cafe, the neighborhood hangout and the best grits and eggs in town. Over the years as I have traveled, I have discovered that every African American neighborhood in the Southern USA has a cafe called "The Dew Drop Inn". In my hometown of Pasco, WA in the Pacific Northwest (about as far away from THE South as you can get) yep it's true, my dad brought a piece of the South with him and named it The Dew Drop Inn. The first of several he would own over the years and the back drop for my first and most defining culinary masterpiece.
At the age of 6, with hands on hips I declared to my dad that I could bake. Armed with years of experience at making & selling mud pies, did I mention my aptitude for sales & marketing? I was ready. My debut, a little single layer skillet cake. Watching impatiently through the oven window as the cake rose above the pan & browned beautifully, I was excited to remove it from the oven. Not heeding my dad's caution to wait a bit I insisted that the cake was ready. Even at that early age I didn't like being told what to do in the kitchen. What a disappointment! I watched my beautiful little cake succumb to gravity and deflate like an old balloon. Daddy dried my tears, mixed up a batch of chocolate frosting and together with his best friend, Uncle Bob, ate every bite of the disgusting mess. Believe me this story has been told & retold over the years, to my dismay.
The Dew Drop Inn with its big skillets of hot biscuits, plates of steak and eggs, pots of grits, pans of sweet peach cobbler, the voices of happy customers over the sounds of BB King or Sam Cook from the juke box, this was home. This was the place I felt most loved. This was the place where memories begin for me. This was the place where mama and daddy laughed and shared a bite with family & friends. This was the place where my brother Ricky and I did our homework, played games and came to know the interesting characters and their food peccadilloes. This was the place where I became known as the sassy little baker that made the best pound cake. More importantly, standing on a stool with an apron literally wrapped around me 3 times, I discovered my love for cooking and the pure joy that comes from sharing with others, something Sweet and a pot of Grits.
