The Cake Auction

My wife and daughter and I drove down to Luling, a small town south of Austin, a few weeks ago for their local festival. It was a little less than we expected, and we didn’t expect much, but our little one enjoyed the petting zoo and a few of the games. As for me, I was ready to leave and fill my belly with barbecued brisket until I heard a voice shout out that the cake auction was about to begin.

A tremor shook the earth. Or was that just my stomach growling? I turned to see the auctioneer, a tall cowboy with a ten gallon hat, maybe eleven, standing on stage. I surveyed the confection table: Italian cream cake, chocolate layer –all seemed normal. The games had been cheap, so I anticipated reasonable prices. I was prepared to go as high as forty dollars. For a night out in Luling, that seemed about right.

When the auction started, the last thing I expected was an opening salvo of two hundred dollars rising quickly to five hundred and more. What? My wife looked as shocked as I did. We stayed for the next item, a carrot cake. Prices soared. Carrots had suddenly become more precious than diamonds. Had Minnie Hoskins baked this, or was it an unknown Picasso? We decided to stay for one more cake, but this was our worst mistake of the night.

Up next on the block was a mayonnaise cake. Mayonnaise. Mayo. The creamy white poison in a jar. Of all the ingredients in the known universe, this baker chose mayonnaise. I couldn’t believe it. What was wrong with the standard ingredients: sugar, flour, butter, baking soda, milk, eggs? Wouldn’t vanilla extract give the extra flavor boost needed? The memory of eating a tuna sandwich every day in second grade came back to me. Gag!

Admittedly, I’m mayophobic. My worst recurring nightmare is of sitting on a dunk tank’s wooden plank hovering over a vat of rotting mayonnaise, a line of major league pitchers stretching into the distance. The fumes alone are enough to make me retch. As I struggle to hold my breath, the staff at Hellmann’s tops off the surface with fresh tartar sauce. Awful.

How dare this woman? The last food group holding the line against the encroachment of this vile substance was gone, and don’t tell me cake isn’t a food group. Go suck a vitamin. What’s next? Uranium streusel? Plutonium pie? Red velvet concrete?

The mayonnaise cake sold for seven hundred dollars. Minnie said it went to a good cause. What was it? To find the antidote?