Queenie wasn’t much on wasting food. Leftovers from a full-size cake languishing on the counter for days on end would have really set her off. While she had a boatload of children to feed, along with various nieces and nephews who dropped by from their house across the road, she never really knew how many to expect around her table. And later, when her older children had moved away and were starting families of their own, grandchildren scrambled to spend as much time as possible with her and Grandfather. I’d jump in the car with any relative passing through Nashville heading for Riddleton (or “the country” as we called it), a village of less than 500 people about 50 miles east. There, after a morning of playing croquet on Grandfather’s manicured court or “helping” Grandfather at his general store and post office, we’d all gather in the dining room for one of Queenie’s midday dinners with homemade bread and vegetables from the garden. When evening came, supper might not be much, but there was always a little cake to top it off.