Peanut Butter Cake

y wife, Deborah, is from Perry, Georgia, and came from a very close-knit family. She had five aunts, and standing on her front porch, you could see four of the five aunts’ homes. Big Annie was one of the aunts. She was 97 when I met her, living comfortably and independently by herself. As she greeted us, that classic Southern hospitality kicked in, and she took us to her porch freezer. She pulled out this brown cylinder, tightly wrapped in plastic. I thought, “This is interesting.” We headed back to the parlor, talked for 45 minutes, and then Big Annie excused herself and returned saying, “I thought you might like to try my peanut butter cake.” She served us cake wedges thick enough to choke a horse, but I