Let Them Eat Cake

Sometimes work is like high school. Cliques, gossip, unnecessary drama, people getting their feelings hurt, etc. And sometimes it's like middle school.

Example: Jane is getting married. Sue, Joe, and Sally decide to ask Mary to get a cake from the awesome bakery near her house for a wedding shower. Suddenly it' s announced that Karen is the new Social Director for the office (yes, we have a Social Director), and she will be planning the shower. Rather than go to Karen and tell her they've asked Mary to get a cake, they assume that will hurt Karen's feelings and step on her party-planning toes. And instead, they sulk about how they want a cake instead of the new plan of cheese and champagne. They ask Mary to get a cake anyway, but feeling like she's been put in the middle, she refuses. Commence back room bickerings. And hurt feelings. Then Karen gets wind of the drama and says cake costs too much, which just confirms Sue, Joe, and Sally's feelings of frustration. Conclusion: I volunteer to make a goddamn cake.

So because I'm an eternal overachiever, I decided to go all out. And thanks to www.smittenkitchen.com, I got the recipes and instructions I would need to make (da-da-dah):

Vanilla Buttermilk Cake with Mango Curd Filling and Swiss Buttercream Frosting

It contains a whopping 2lbs of butter (in the 6.5lb cake!), and about 11 eggs. Step One was making the cake itself, which was far messier than my previous cake making attempts, primarily because it was not out of a box. Also, because it expanded more than expected, and made a huge mess in the oven.

Step Two was the curd--a bright yellow, gooey, deliciousness intended for the layer filling. Mango, sugar, lime juice, and some fancy cheese-clothing and over-boiling-water-whisking. Mmm...tasty.

After this step I somehow managed to have seasonal allergies at a whole new level that left me in the fetal position on the bathroom floor, unable to breathe or swallow, with Jackson curled up next to me, ready to eat me once I finally died. Fortunately the broken boy came to my rescue (talk about the blind leading the blind) just in time, and several medication remedies later, with no success, we resorted to feeding me siracha sauce to open my airways. And oddly enough, it worked. But I digress.

Of course, the best part (Step Three) is the frosting, which is sweet, but not too sweet, and melt in your mouth fabulous. Just like the author of Smitten Kitchen warned me, it looked like a disgusting bowl of, of, well, I don't know. I can't think of a good analogy and I'm tired of sitting here and trying to think of one. But it didn't look like frosting. And then, in one magical spin of the whisk, it suddenly became the thick, creamy, buttery, spreadable, amazingness I was hoping to discover. Let the frosting and filling begin!

After crumb-coating/dirty-frosting (the correct term depends on which cake decorating show you're watching), I had my canvas. Unfortunately, the decorating turned out to be the much more difficult part. After many failed attempts at colored flowers and polka dots and lines and other not-so-complicated-sounding decorations, I stormed out of the kitchen frustrated and ready to leave the cake white. Then, inspiration hit when I saw the dark chocolate raspberry hershey kisses. I jumped into action, melting the chocolate and spraying designs of it across pam-sprayed wax paper. Into the freezer they went, hardening into beautiful chocolate-y strokes that I then tucked into the base ring of frosting. Good enough! Now refrigerate a few hours to set. Then, serve.