Happy Birthday to me. (By the way, it’s chocolate or die.)

Long ago and far away, my parents brought into this world a bouncing baby girl. She was followed two years later by her brother, who’se been chasing her ever since. (Nanny nanny boo boo, and your mother dresses you funny, Stuart.)

I’ve been faithful in every way, but must confess a long-running affair with chocolate — the darker the better. Hot chocolate, chocolate cookies (I’m dieting, and this blog is killing me), chocolate candy, and especially chocolate cake with chocolate icing. No lightweight red velvet, strawberry, or pound for me. “CHAW’-CO-LET.”

As a “from-scratch” organic cook, cakes rarely happen in my kitchen. They’re a hassle; baking at altitude can be disastrous; we’re empty nesters; and the freezer is always full of high-quality protein — hard to find in this valley unless you shoot or catch it yourself.

The cake in this photo has to be my perfect cake: it has M&Ms on top. When I married Mr. Wonderful — longer ago than I’ll share — people dear to us didn’t throw rice or rose petals when we sashayed from the church. No, indeedy. They threw M&Ms. My oldest friend, Kathleen, was photographed patiently sweeping piles of colorful candies in front of an antebellum chapel. It was a very good day.

I ration chocolate now, being careful about boring things like calories while facing a slowing metabolism. But tonight, my blog friends, I’m going to find the biggest piece of the best chocolate cake this valley has to offer. And I’m not sharing — one fork only, please.

Happy Birthday to me.

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