Earthquake Cake

A very unassuming-looking guy flagged me down at Valencia and 16th in the afternoon of Thanksgiving Day. Like most passengers on Thanksgiving Day, he was carrying some food. He was going to a friend's house on Liberty and Dolores.

"So you're bringing a pie?" I asked him.

"A cake actually."

"What kind of cake?" And this was when he turned from unassuming to debonair. He cleared his throat before answering as if he felt a tinge of embarrassment.

"Earthquake cake."

"Earthquake cake?"

"Yes. It's my grandmother's recipe."

"What's in it?"

"Chocolate, cheesecake, coconut."

"That sounds delicious." I seriously considered asking him if I could try a piece but restrained myself.

"It is."

"And why is it called earthquake cake?"

"Because there is this messy cream part in the middle that you don't expect and you don't see it until you cut into the cake."

"Ah."

"I had made it last year, and all my friends had loved it. So they asked me to make it again this year but I told them no, that I didn't have enough time to make it."

"But you did make it."

"Yes."

"So you lied to your friends in order to surprise them?"

"Yes."