Yesterday Michael and I went to our second annual Jazz Art Concert at La Cite francophone, which is put on by Giselle and her nice friends at the Societe francophone des arts visuels de l’Alberta. It’s an interesting, fun, and social affair. Most attendees speak French, and this makes the evening seem like we are miles away from Edmonton, which is a nice break in the middle of winter. Although Michael and I speak English exclusively, our fellow guests take pity on us and switch to English when talking to us.

The jazz ensemble play their jazz music with their guitar, drums, keyboard, sax and trumpet, and an assortment of artists, do their artist thing using a variety of mediums – torn paper, acrylics, water-colours, etc. and create. Right there. In front of your eyes. There are two breaks, and during these breaks the art made by the artists during the music set are auctioned off.

During all this entertainment, there is a bar along the wall with people selling bottles of French wine (or by the glass for the more restrained), and for a person with the munchies, a nice table ladened with an assortment of crackers, stuff to put on crackers, as well as fruit and squares. Combine all this and you have a relaxing evening of magic and cut-throat bidding at both the silent auction and live auction.

I attempted my hand at the live auction a few times, but was quickly outbid. I was, erm, sampling quite a bit of the French wine, but still had my wits about me, and didn’t want to get carried away and bid a fortune on a piece of art I didn’t absolutely love. My resolve didn’t quite last with the silent auction. There were a number of pieces I bid on, enough that the name Cathy Walsh was being muttered throughout the room, complete with honourable mention by the MC who noted my name appeared to be on every bid sheet. Sadly, I am not exaggerating, but happily I can say I was outbid on most pieces, except the two nearest and dearest to my heart, and I’m happy to show them off to you here:

Although I had only the tiniest of headaches this morning, I know I’ve had too much imbibement because my body craves all things salty and sugary. Decided to bake a treat from my elementary school days called Candy Cake.

This was a creation of Sheelagh Taylor’s family (a girl from school who was not allowed to wear pants, whose father knitted, and who took me to Sunday school several times, transported by a blue van, and during that ride and I had to memorize verses from the bible). This cake will make your teeth vibrate for the sweetness, but it’s worth it every few decades.

The trick with this cake is when putting it in the pan to not pack it too tightly, or you will end up with an oatmeal brittle type of creation, or, pack too loosely so you end up with this:

As if there isn’t enough sugar in this already, as a kid I’d top it with a butter cream icing. Today, I mixed up the broken bits with vanilla yogurt instead.