The Fourth of July, for most in our section of the US, is observed by attending small town parades, enjoying grilled hamburgers and potato salad, and lighting sparklers for the kids once night has fallen. Fireworks are enjoyed as a community and are left to the local government to plan and light (theoretically; it's not legal for the average Iowan to purchase and light fireworks, however, many Southern Iowans do given our close proximity to the less-than-stringent Missouri border). And my family is no different, particularly since Independence Day is my husband's favorite holiday. But I grew up with one very odd tradition perpetuated by my mom: the Fourth of July Cake. No ordinary confection, she begins planning it's facade up to a month in advance. There are only two rules this tradition has: the cake must be thoroughly American-themed and it must be truly hideous. This is in no way a comment on America, rather, the result of one accidentally bad cake after another that established a precedent my sister and I began expecting at each year's celebration.
Past bad cakes have included: Mom's attempt to mix green and yellow to make blue frosting (poor thing was the only non-artist in the family until my sister and I married our husbands); a cake that was so heavily dyed it turned everyone's next day bowel movement grass green; and a rendering of the Washington Monument that looked unfortunately similar to male
genitalia. She did have a really stand-out good cake one year: a tribute to the famous Iwo Jima sculpture. It featured plastic army figures.
This year's cake was an "innovative" use of nonpareil sprinkles and almond bark-covered popcorn. Very crunchy.
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