I could not help myself.
I baked a cake.
I know. It looks pretty delicious. It tastes pretty delicious. I even cut it open to try.
|Do not make eye contact.|
But do not let this confection deceive you, with it's mint green creaminess, or the gooey bath of dark chocolate ganache. Even the fudgy layer of decadence in the center of this treat cannot be trusted.
This cake is evil.
Look. See how it mocks me?
"Rachel. How could you say such a thing? What did the cake ever do to you?"
OK. It all started on Monday morning, when I realized that a co-worker of mine was having a birthday. "Yeah! Time for cake!" And my thoughts went rolling. I knew I had a six inch layer of chocolate and strawberry cake in the freezer, and I thought that making a vanilla cake would complete the Neopolatin trifecta. How delicious would that be?
So, I sat out all of my ingredients to soften and come to room temperature. A few hours later, I went into the kitchen to start on my cake.
Butter: creamed; eggs: separated; vanilla: check; almond extract: check- oh. Oh no. Oh crap. Oh words worse than "crap."
Peppermint. Everyone take a moment to put their peppermint into the back of their pantries until next Christmas. What?? What was I thinking? Why did I not read?
Is there anything flavor more obnoxious- more repugnant than peppermint? I tried furiously to remove the poison, when I realized that even a drop of the stuff could ruin (or make, I suppose-in some cases) a cake. So I left it.
I baked it.
And then I stared at it. What to do? Peppermint in a white cake? Peppermint in February?
I anxiously googled and googled to find some way to make peppermint less obvious. Perhaps there is a food pairing- some hip, new trend that I am unaware of- lemon? Berry? Sounds more like a pack of Orbitz gum than a slice of cake to me. So I folded.
Green. Chocolate. Sure. Why not?
As I frosted my creation, my husband set up a mini-studio in the kitchen (as he often does). We have a wonderful gadget called a "ring flash," which looks like a 36" mylar balloon with a light in the middle. We love this flash (we have many times tried to sleep with it, but he always steals the covers). It has become a vital part of portrait work, and when it crashed to the floor- the $80 bulbs breaking into tiny shards of dispair- we were really, really not happy.
|Buah ha ha.|
See? It cackles. Why do you hate me, cake?
As you can see, I cut it open. No one needs this sugary lump of bad luck as a birthday cake.
No matter how good it tastes. Or looks. Or tastes.
Yum. I mean, "grr,"
Manage to have a beautiful day.