half baked! – a cake. me: a culpa
I have been a fan of those popular baking-themed reality shows for a while now.
(I, myself, subscribe more to the Duff Goldman/ Ace Of Cakes school of jocular gastronomic philosophy rather than that of yeasty wiseguy Cake Boss Buddy Valastro)
So, today, I foolishly supposed that I too might just be accomplished enough to attempt the seemingly simple task of baking a birthday cake for My Old Lady.
Yet, as you can see from this photographic evidence, the only accomplishment I achieved today was degenerating the art and craft of baking back by 2,000 years.
Despite painstaking measurement and the cautious following of straightforward instructions, somewhere, somehow, more than likely in part to my amateurish impatience on a overconfident homestretch, things went horribly wrong.
The only surviving parts of this entire calamity, ironically the project’s most intentional, most detailed, and smugly incisive features, were the misspelt fondant inscription and whimsical decorations.
Yet within minutes of the cake’s completion, even these deft yet superficial touches succumbed, and melted off the cake faster than the Nazis at the end of Raider Of The Lost Ark, in so adding one final tragic chapter to what had now become more cautionary tale than sugary culinary treat.
I shudder unspeakably as I write this, at the mere thought of not only having to eat this myself, but also allowing others; other more innocent, god-fearing people than I, everyday people with small children, volatile pets or sensitive temperaments, ordinary people with mortgages, responsibilities and true selfless purpose, the common folk filled passionately with life’s verve and a taste for the finer things of the world, to partake of this monstrosity, as hesitant hostages of my home economical megalomania.
The horror, the horror, and mortal terror of even considering, willingly conceiving and thoughtlessly continuing to concoct such a hideously baked beast to full-blown fruition is something that was never covered by Chefs Goldman and Valastro, and my memory of this venture, these sickly saccharine scars against the palettes and glimpses of humanity, will no doubt trouble me for the rest of my days.
What remains are these photos, which are for insurance purposes.
It’s a chocolate cake with caramel filling, by the way.
“It’s not the end of the world,” she said.