So tonight, we went to the Claim Jumper, which is basically just a really nice restaurant with GODAWFUL HUGE PORTIONS. Three of us ordered ONE entree and split it and we could barely move afterwards.

But that might have been because of the Motherlode.

People in Denver, have you ever been to Claim Jumper? Have you ever had the Motherlode? Keeeee-ryst. For those of you who’ve never, allow me to explain this so-called desert:

First, start with chocolate cake. Don’t picture normal Betty Crocker chocholate cake, either. Betty Crocker is a prison bitch. This is some of the darkest, blackest, chocholatey-ist cake on the face of this small planet. So start with that. Now bake up Seven of them in 14-inch round pans. Yeah, that’s right. Seven.

Now, you’ve got to stack seven layers on each other, so of course these layers need something to cement them together…

How about a quarter-inch of chocolate carmel between each?

Most people would stop there. Most sane people would be happy with an eight-and-a-half inch stack of black chocholate cake drooling with carmel. But not the Claim Jumper, oh no. That’s the warm up. Now, you whip up some of thickest, creamiest, homemade chocholate icing that you can find a recipe for. Make a lot, because you’re going to cover the WHOLE CAKE in another quarter-inch of this stuff.

You think I’m done? Helllll nah. You haven’t even studded the thing in crushed walnuts yet, or drizzled the leftover chocholate carmel over the top.

No, I’m not kidding.

Now, here’s the funny part: when some poor sucker sees this on the menu and decides they just have to see the slice of cake that could POSSIBLY cost 7 bucks (apparently they just charge one dollar per layer), you cut out a slice for them.

The slice is the FULL HEIGHT of the cake, and is four inches wide at the outer edge. It weighs about 5 pounds. It takes up an entire entree plate. They sprinkle powered sugar over it. It’s obscene.

So, that might be why I’m a little slow-moving tonight.

But it’s a good anniversary. Anybody hungry? (Hell no, we didn’t finish it, we didn’t even make a dent. There’s six layers left in the fridge!)