This is The Molly.  Why is it called the Molly?  Molly was the first customer to demand (yes, demand) a vanilla cake with vanilla icing from me, and when I pressed her to spice it up a bit (since Red Truck is all about going over-the-top) she simply took a wistful breath and uttered what struck me as a few well rehearsed words “Why mess with perfection”?  I found it difficult to argue with this logic.  She went on a bit to discuss how she loved vanilla, and it was in that moment my mission to get this just right for her became something very important to me.  I can't think of a better namesake for this bit of vanilla perfection than my perfect customer who perfectly loves vanilla.  
 
Vanilla. 
 
Maybe that’s all I needed to say because those who love vanilla will already be very excited for this cake.  But then there’s the rest of you, particularly the chocolate crowd, who might be quick to dismiss this because it's "just vanilla".  I woudln't blame you.  Vanilla has become a synonym for ‘plain’.  No frills.  Boring.
 
Boring?  Well let’s see if you still feel the same after reading this:
 
Poetic Description:
 
What is vanilla?  Vanilla is home.  Vanilla is the perfect smell of the ancient bookshop owned by the quiet fella with kind eyes.  Vanilla is the soft glow of candles on a first date as the sparks dance in her eyes as her hair shines like a goddess as you fumble and stutter as you realize this is the woman you’re going to marry.  Vanilla is an old grill that’s passed countless burgers and hot dogs for years of family gatherings and bonding of friends to eachother in the good times.  Vanilla is a soft perfume on her pillow that you inhale when you’re doing a little extra and make the bed.  Vanilla is a new puppy in the house and a warm snuggle at your feet on a cool night as that little ball of fluff consumes your heart.  It’s a promise of a wooden spoon, licking the ice cream off a paper lid, and the excitement of fun games on the playground with special friends.  Vanilla is a sun pouring from the heavens, warming you by the cool promise of the community pool and the smell of chlorene, wet concrete and tanning oil.  Vanilla is a drive-in theater creating a memory for tomorrow.  It’s counting stars on a clear night.  It’s dragonflies swooping in their glorious colors.  It’s stopping to taste the sweet honeysuckle growing wild on the fence on the path home from baseball practice.  Vanilla is perfection in its own singular way, both beautiful and soft.  It is eternally reliable and incredibly delicate.  And as Molly put it, vanilla is perfection.