Comatose Cakes with the Delectable Carrie Nye

Gorgeous Carrie Nye, enjoying yogurt and a cigarette, in The Group (1966).

Carrie Nye was a talented actress, seeped in the Delta of Mississippi, carved to perfection at Stephens College and the Yale School of Drama, and marinated in the city of Manhattan, which she ruled with great style.

To be in her company was to hear many stories, all told in that voice that was inevitably compared to Tallulah Bankhead, and to be educated--on the proper manner of making biscuits; on the ideal venue for mail-order ham; how to sneak cigarettes into the Metropolitan Opera; where to eat the best lamb with the perfect mint jelly (it was the Hotel Carlyle, where I worked, and Carrie would lure me from my post to join her).

Carrie and I had a dream of writing cookbooks that would address the concerns that faced us: cooking while intoxicated and cooking for friends who belonged to a religion that had some seriously finicky requirements. We had an epiphany.

The first cookbook we tried and discarded combined elements of classic Jewish cooking with Chinese cooking tips passed to Carrie by her friend Craig Claiborne of the New York Times. We were going to call it "The Dharma of Derma," but we never collected more than eight or nine recipes (and fewer takers of our cooked items). We then looked downward, so to speak, and decided to find a way to bring all that we knew of Cajun cuisine and combine it with the high standards and historical offerings of Joan Nathan: We were going to call it "Jew with a Roux," but editors thought it was a humor book. Carrie Nye was not amused, even though the copy was hilarious. Nonetheless, our Kosher Gumbo is pretty damned good.

The book to which we always returned--both in spirit and consumed by spirits--was "Cooking For One While Drunk," which we then modified to "Cooking While Drunk," and it was full of recipes, created by us and sent to us by others, that one could make while under the influence. We categorized the recipes not by degree of difficulty, as Gourmet magazine liked to do: We categorized ours by degree of intoxication: Mildly Drunk; Seriously Sloshed; Jolly Juiced; Comatose.

I had found a recipe for Caramel Custard from the Asphodel Plantation that was deceptively easy and remarkably delicious, and that was our second entry. (Our first was the Air Sandwich, which was for the Seriously Sloshed and the Comatose, and was simply two pieces of bread slapped together---but not too loud.)

One of our favorite recipes is the Lemon-Lime Ice Box Cake, which is delicious, easy, and very calming to those who awake and need the sugar and the carbs that take the edge off of a night on the town. Carrie and I also loved that it required items from the cupboard that reminded us of our own childhoods: Jell-O, Dream Whip.

This recipe was concocted in my kitchen and in Carrie's hell-red kitchen that boasted a fake Blackglama ad featuring her face and body. (It had been used in an episode of Hart to Hart, in which she starred.)

It works every time, but I would suggest that the first time you try this, you be only Mildly Drunk. These things take time.

Lemon-Lime Ice Box Cake

Lemon cake mix

1 small box lime Jell-O

1 cup hot water

1 small package instant Jell-O lemon pudding

1 package Dream Whip

1 cup cold milk

Prepare lemon cake according to directions on box, then let cool. Gently poke holes all over the top of the cake with the end of a wooden spoon. Mix lime Jell-O with one cup of hot water and pour evenly all over cake.

Have a cigarette or another gin-and-tonic.

Mix one small package instant Jell-O lemon pudding with one package of Dream Whip and one cup of cold milk. Mix in mixer until thick. (By hand is best. You can use a mixer, but don't use a Cuisinart: It wakes up the house and can destroy your mix.) Spread this over cake like icing. Chill. Watch a movie like Notorious with Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman while sipping a pitcher of Sangria.

Serve.

This is also very good for a hangover breakfast. Or any breakfast. Or any time, for that matter. 

When poking your cake, you may be tempted to take out your hostilities. Don't: It will mar the cake, and then where will you be? Take out your hostilities on the least attractive of your house guests--never on the food.