My mom had two best friends while I was growing up, Ann Butler and Ann Owen. One lived in splendor in Houston’s best part of town (oh we loved hand-me-downs from her), and the other lived in smelly, industrial Pasadena. I loved them both immensely.

Ann Owen, whom mom met when they were both Ph.D. candidates in psychology at the University of Houston, had a husband, Charles, and two beloved sons. Her sons were much older than Jennei and I, but would still indulge us. We’d all play Trivial Pursuit, and I remember her older son introducing me to the Best of The Cars, a cassette tape I still love.

Ann and Charles hosted my birthday parties at their sparkling new house as I grew up. One I remember in particular, as my mom bought me my much-coveted Bass loafers — a gift that cost so much that as she handed them to me she said, “I never imagined I’d have a daughter with $90 shoes.” Ha! That was just the beginning.

Ann was a great cook, and a wonderful entertainer, working hard to make sure everyone was comfortable and at home. She also had a streak of devilishness in her, which I cherished. When my mom was dating Lou, who she met at church, his family was quite scandalized by the dessert my mom adopted from Ann Owen, called Chocolate Orgasm.

It was really good — cake, pudding, whipped cream and candy in alternating layers in a clear glass jar. Still, my mom adapted the name to be Chocolate Trifle, and it became more acceptable to serve in mixed company.

Today, my husband and I made a pound cake to take to an Easter party in Seattle. The pound cake was gorgeous when we pulled it out of the oven, and then slowly deflated over the next hour to what was basically an uncooked ball of dough. In a panic, considering throwing it out, we googled “what to do with undercooked cake.” Several geniuses online suggesting cutting it into slices, cooking it in a pan, and then making a trifle.

In a flash, I pulled out Ann’s old Chocolate Orgasm recipe, written in my teenaged hand. We made it exactly as the recipe called for, with the addition of grilled pound cake, and it was as popular as I remembered it being at Ann’s house.

It made me feel a warm fuzzy for Ann Owen, Houston in the 80s, and my childhood in general. Thanks, Ann, for showing me irreverent is okay and scandalous can be funny. I hope you are doing well, wherever you are.