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A bloom of summer strawberries and cream adorned plate, she called it her Wimbledon cake, and said it was made from "all-love."

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I'm sure it's a wonderful cake, yet what makes me happy is that you remembered and got me something to show how much you care. That's what matters. I love you too.

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The yam cake with its sweet glaze was quite the perfect accompaniment to the coffee. Rich and moist with a flavour that felt hearty and solid, it was quite the popular choice with the ladies who lunched.

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The cake upon her birthday was a gift of the heart, for in that moment of giving lives a moment of divine vulnerability. In that, more than a sweet treat, it is gift of part of the self, a chance to deepen bonds of love.

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A kiss of mango, a crush of pineapple and a generous lick of rum - it was the cake the women of the WI hoped to find on the table come 7pm on Saturday evenings.

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The cake was the perfect size, a sort of cupcake set upon a cookie, and all of it chocolate on chocolate. It kinda sucked to spend his birthday alone, yet the arrival of this cake meant more than words could say.

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The cake is a triumph of sugar and flour, towering with buttercream and strawberries to bring it that celebratory colour and freshness. This Victoria sponge is birthday cake, the sort my son loves best. He craves the simplicity over the complex. A cake is a cake, beautiful as it is.

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We cook to nurture, we bake to keep our bonds strong, and so I ever remain appreciative of all your efforts. This cake, as lovely as it is, could never be as sweet as you.

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If anyone knew how to bake a cake it was Ivy; she made the most special birthday cakes of anyone around town. From her run down house, from inside the graffiti adorned walls, she made cakes fit for royalty. For Ivy the "royalty" were the kids of her estate, the ones growing up on food-stamps and love. Whatever spare money she had it went to buy ingredients; whatever spare time she had it went to baking cakes and cookies. It was on her garden wall, on the first day of winter, that she found River, his worn baseball shoes kicking at her creaking gate...