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Transforming My Dad’s Story Into a Unique Birthday Dessert

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Several years ago, I began creating edible illustrations to celebrate my dad's birthday, each depicting a dessert version of one of his childhood stories. Here's this year's birthday bake – all flavors of lemon, yuzu, and almond.
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
My dad was born and raised in Honduras, and my childhood memories will forever be colored with the stories he’d tell us about growing up running wild in the mountains and jungles. My grandpa was a vaquero, a rough and rowdy man who put my father to work when he was just a little boy. Despite having to keep up with work and responsibilities, my dad still always seemed to find time for ADVENTURE. He was a deadeye with a slingshot and was rarely seen without one. He grew up hunting and fishing to help feed his family. He was a scrappy brawler and a warrior-provider.
Despite the hardships that peppered his childhood, I’ve always been mesmerized by the cinematic images he’d conjure for us: the time he hopped on stones to cross a river and accidentally landed on a submerged alligator; or the time his neighbor's longhorn calves kept disappearing and my dad found and vanquished the culprit – a giant anaconda; and the occasions when my grandpa would take him deep into the tropical mountains to work alongside the native Garifunas. And the animals! He held yelling matches with spider monkeys, came face-to-face with jaguars, swam with dolphins, and his mom once liberated a flock of brothel parrots (their vocabulary was legendary).
He’s always been a bit of a real-life Mowgli to me, but I like to imagine him like this scene: part of an enchanting world I’m not sure even exists anymore, but one that’s still very much a part of him. Happy birthday, Dad – thanks for feeding my imagination since day one! 💙
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
My dad was born and raised in Honduras, and my childhood memories will forever be colored with the stories he’d tell us about growing up running wild in the mountains and jungles. My grandpa was a vaquero, a rough and rowdy man who put my father to work when he was just a little boy. Despite having to keep up with work and responsibilities, my dad still always seemed to find time for ADVENTURE. He was a deadeye with a slingshot and was rarely seen without one. He grew up hunting and fishing to help feed his family. He was a scrappy brawler and a warrior-provider.
Despite the hardships that peppered his childhood, I’ve always been mesmerized by the cinematic images he’d conjure for us: the time he hopped on stones to cross a river and accidentally landed on a submerged alligator; or the time his neighbor's longhorn calves kept disappearing and my dad found and vanquished the culprit – a giant anaconda; and the occasions when my grandpa would take him deep into the tropical mountains to work alongside the native Garifunas. And the animals! He held yelling matches with spider monkeys, came face-to-face with jaguars, swam with dolphins, and his mom once liberated a flock of brothel parrots (their vocabulary was legendary).
He’s always been a bit of a real-life Mowgli to me, but I like to imagine him like this scene: part of an enchanting world I’m not sure even exists anymore, but one that’s still very much a part of him. Happy birthday, Dad – thanks for feeding my imagination since day one! 💙
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