I made this honeycake from a cookbook, because there was this whole story about a woman named Jenny who used to make it in Hungary, and Jenny died in Auschwitz and a relative experimented for twenty years before recreating the recipe. A compelling narrative will get me every time. So I spent forever on this cake. It involved rolled-out dough, cream of wheat, and preserves.* What I have upstairs looks like a giant undecorated Christmas cookie, stiff as a board, that's supposed to sit out overnight. The filling was hella runny so I kept adding more cream o' wheat, so now I have a bowl of Ancestral Breakfast in the refrigerator, where it will chill overnight, and then I'll assemble the boardlike layers. I was worried they'd fall apart in the oven. Hah! I could iron on them. So much for my fantasy of Mitteleuropean light'n'flaky pastry heaven.

*My rolling pin disappeared a move or so back, so I ran out to Big Box Bed'n'Bath, and I also got some silicon-coated sheet to roll out the dough on.