Cake By Jamie Kirkpatrick

I always thought it was Marie Antionette who once said, “Let them eat cake!” Turns out I was wrong. Historians now agree that the probable speaker was, in fact, Princess Maria Theresa of Spain and wife of French King Louis XIV who, when told that the peasants were starving, replied, “If they have no bread, then let them eat cake.” Whomever the culprit, the sentiment is clear: cake has become the symbol of the oblivious and callous nature of the aristocracy towards the suffering of the poor. The poor? You know, the millions of Americans who rely on food aid to feed their families. Certainly not the people who attended the recent Roaring 20s rager at Mar-a-Lago. More about that anon…

Millions of our neighbors live below the poverty line: for a household of four, that equates to a gross monthly income of less than $3,483 a month. Once upon a time, people who needed help with groceries relied on Food Stamps, but these days, it’s the Supplemental Nutritional Assistance Program (SNAP) that provides access to food for about one-in-eight American families— a little more than 12% of our population. At least, it did until the Trump administration slammed the door on SNAP. To make matters worse, our do-nothing Congress then left town for an extended paid vacation, so don’t expect relief anytime soon. I ask you: is there a large-enough mirror anywhere in which these people can see themselves? They are a disgrace and, mind you, I’m pointing my finger at both sides of the aisle.

Governance is a responsibility, not a mandate to inflict pain and suffering on one’s presumed opponents. And it should never, ever be oblivious to the vital needs of hungry people who need its help the most. There; I’ve said it. Now, back to Mar-a-Lago.

But first, a bit of background: a few weeks ago, I decided to read The Great Gatsby again. I read it first probably in high school, and, like most things from way back then, I had forgotten much of the story. But it all came rushing back quickly, old sport: West Egg and East Egg, the twin pillars of the toney North Shore of Long Island; the Jazz Age with its boozy, hedonistic parties; the mysterious millionaire Jay Gatsby and his awkward attempts to reunite with the love of his life, the beautiful Daisy Buchanan, now married (alas!) to her wayward husband, Tom; and, of course, Nick Carraway, Daisy’s distant cousin and Gatsby’s innocent but well-intentioned neighbor who is both the narrator of, and a participant in, Gatsby’s tragic saga. 

Now, I don’t want to spoil anyone’s reading pleasure, but suffice it to say, The Great Gatsby doesn’t end well for its eponymous character. A few weeks after I finished rereading Fitzgerald’s masterpiece, along comes the news (with photographs, old sport!) of Mr. Trump’s Halloween extravaganza at Mar-a-Lago, and its uncanny resemblance to one of Gatsby’s lavish Long Island affairs. I couldn’t help but marvel at such a confluence of fiction and fact. Moreover, the timing of the Mar-a-Lago bash—on the eve of the elimination of SNAP’s vital food assistance for millions of Americans, as well as on the very day when millions of federal workers would miss their first full paychecks—seemed beyond tone-deaf. It seemed vicious and cruel. It seemed like…cake.

“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” 

I’ll be right back.

Jamie Kirkpatrick is a writer and photographer who lives on both sides of the Chesapeake Bay. His editorials and reviews have appeared in the Washington Post, the Baltimore Sun, the Philadelphia Inquirer, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, the Washington College Alumni Magazine, and American Cowboy Magazine. His most recent novel, “The Tales of Bismuth; Dispatches from Palestine, 1945-1948” explores the origins of the Arab-Israeli conflict. It is available on Amazon and in local bookstores. His newest novel, “The People Game,” hits the market in February, 2026. His website is musingjamie.net.