When my husband and his siblings were children in the early 1970s, they lived in Poughkeepsie for a couple of years.

In honor of his sister’s visit this week, we bought her a box of Drake’s Devil Dogs, to remind her of those long-ago days in upstate New York.

Disclaimer: I did not intend for the processed little cakes to serve as dessert on Christmas Eve – witness the homemade pear tart in the photo, which I toiled over earlier this morning.

My sister-in-law was justifiably very excited about introducing her kids to her childhood treat. And since we’re flexible and reasonable people, we broke them out, along with the doughnuts (!)she bought at the supermarket earlier today, so that the younger French generation, and Chloe and Sophie too, would have a chance to savor these two classic American delicacies (hint of sarcasm here).

Were the Drake’s cakes overwhelming hits? Let’s just say that nobody threw up and there are still plenty of Devil Dogs left. The photo of Sophie torturing hers with a spoon speaks a thousand words. I’ve captioned it “Death to Devil Dog.”