It’s the human female’s birthday. Would you like to hear something truly pathetic?
She had to make her own cake.
Truly! Even in Jotunheim, whose denizens are, in fact, barbarian savages, someone having a birthday is not expected to provide their own dried, salt fish for the festivities.
But such is life when you have no local friends who bake. (Or friends at all.)
She’s brought the confection into work today. I believe there was some munching, but there’s a significant portion left.
Let’s unwrap it and see if it’s any good.
Upon closer inspection, it appears to be a bundt cake with some sort of reddish goo inside.
(Poke, poke, poke)
I don’t trust it.
In the end, there’s only one way to fairly assess her culinary skills.
Munch, munch, mrrf.
Amaretto cake with raspberry jam!
If she did have friends, they’d be missing out!