It's Sunday, and the day is gray. Outside rain is dotting the swimming pool with little concentric circles, and inside I am laid back in my recliner while football flickers across the gigantic television screen. Off in the kitchen I can hear Mark banging around, with the various gadgets he uses to create his masterpieces, whirring, and grinding away. The first football game of the day is almost over, and I can now smell something wonderful coming from that kitchen. By the time the second game of the day starts, Mark is over in the dining room smearing icing on a layer cake.
"What kind of cake did ya make?" I ask.
"It's called a Lane Cake. It has a filling of pecans, raisins, and a full cup of bourbon."
By the time the Chicago Bears game on Sunday Night Football starts, half the Lane Cake is gone, and I now have a craving for a cocktail. And some of you wonder why I keep Mark around.