Insecurity.

There are few things that keep me up at night.  I sleep well.  I do so much in a day; when it is time for bed, I am zonked.

Out.

Notice, however, that I said "few" things.

I am a perfectionist of sorts, although I do know when to stop.

There is a moment when finishing a haircut when I can sense the receiving party on the brink of annoyance:  stop.

Those last two bobby pins that cause a person to wince...  stop.

That little ripple of frosting that doesn't want to go anywhere... stop.

OK.  One more foil.  Because I swear, when you sit on your bathroom counter with a magnifying mirror and go through every section of your hair, you will see it and curse my name.

I would do it.  Don't you?

Magnifying mirror?  Anyone?

Leave it, Rach.  It will be OK.

Saturday night I had an updo: a girl's first.  Now, ordinarily I really could not care very much about what... hmm.  I will hold it there.  But this was not just any teenager.  She is a special one.  I like her.  I like her sisters.  They are like Disney princesses.  There is a brunette, a blonde, and a red-head.  I imagine that when their alarms go off in the morning, they all take a moment to swish their breathtaking locks back and forth, and then brush them 50 times together.

The youngest of the three sat in my chair, and with very little instruction, she allowed me to force her curls into an enormous, woven updo.

I loved it.  I really did.

She... really did not.

We pulled out a few pieces, tucked a few in, ironed her fringe, whatever she wanted- and when we were done, she forced a smile.

I hate those smiles.

And I did not sleep.

Sunday brought no relief, despite an assuring text from the sweet girl.  Because Sunday afternoon, I made this...

I know.  Beautiful.  Perhaps the prettiest I have ever made.

Vanilla Cake with Chocolate Ganache and Raspberries.

Why would such a cake stress me out?  Many reasons.  I start to feel crazy just looking at it.

I offered to deliver this cake Sunday afternoon for a baby shower.  The person who ordered it lives by the church I attend, and I had to go to rehearsal that evening.  I would drop it off on the way.  Simple enough.

Well, when I "map-quested" the house, I discovered that they did not live on the way at all, and I should have left 15 minutes ago.  Oops.

I stuck the kid and the cake in the car, and made a mad dash for the highway.  OK, not true.  I spent 5 hours on that cake.  I drove like a granny for the highway.  A granny with cake.

I made it to her neighborhood about 25 minutes later (5 minutes until practice, and 15 minutes away), and pulled out my directions.

"512.  512 should be on the ri...oh.  Oh.  Why is 512 an incomplete house?"

Oh, no.  Oh!  My phone.  I'll look it up in the email...

No phone.  Phone is on the kitchen counter.  Hmm...

What do I do?  Drive really slowly and look through windows for balloons?  OK.  Sure.

Stop complete strangers and ask, "Do you know where Kelly lives?"  Check.

Drive down long driveways and look into garages for church bumper stickers?  Yes.  I did.

Drive to Subway and ask to borrow a phone?  Sure.

"Ma'am.  I think your phone is broken.  Is there a reason it might not be working?"

"How (3 syllables) 'bat now?"  she replied.

"No.  Still nothing."

"Now?"

"No.  Not now.  Um..."

BTW, I am now at a point of complete panic.  10 minutes late for rehearsal, a half an hour late for cake delivery... disaster.  The young girl graciously gave me her cell phone after 6 tries on the store phone.  My husband miraculously answered his phone (513), and I drove to her house (still, like a granny.  Nothing was toppling this cake).

I made it to rehearsal with 5 minutes remaining.  I could not remember feeling more irresponsible since high school.  And in high school, I was the picture of irresponsibility.

To add insult to injury, I did not get any feedback on the cake for about 20 hours.

Do bakeries worry about every cake that goes out the door?  No.  But this cake cost me a reputation.  I like being on time.  25 minutes late?  I deserved a good evil eye (although I received none).

"But... I was delivering a cake."  Lame.

And these insecurities cost me sleep, as they often do.  I am not sure that it is humanity's approval that gets me, or reputation, or if it's thinking of myself in a 16 year-old's shoes.  This was her prom.  As much as I want to roll my eyes, I remember how important I thought that night was.

"And she didn't like her hair," I thought.

"Someone trusted me to make a cake, and she was disappointed."

"I was 25 minutes late, and I have let down friends and leadership."

So frustrating.  So common.  So thankful that most of the time, these accusations are unfounded; and when they are, I can learn from them.

After I cry.

Time to clean up the kitchen.  Or watch a movie.  Or decorate the cake that is waiting in the fridge.

Or sleep.

Nigh nigh.

Rachel Bee

Get into the van...

As you all may have gathered, I am a busy girl.  I am a wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, stylist, knitter, baker, and song writer.  I like to picture myself as a mother of 9, driving all of my kids around in a gigantic blue van.  Each of my children gets her time in the front seat.  We chit-chat; labouring over dreams, successes, and failures.  Our heart-to-heart lasts until either one of my other babies clamours for attention, or I am simply annoyed, fed up, or even disappointed with our time.

Usually, life in the van is without major incident, but last week we picked up a pesky little hitch-hiker, by name: "The Cold."  He was malodorous, obnoxious, and selfish; not willing to share the front seat with anyone.  Sometime yesterday we pried him from the vehicle, and now I have 9 neglected and malnourished babies to care for.

Yikes.

So lets begin with a strawberry cake recipe, shall we?

Strawberry Cupcakes

Strawberry Cake

2 cups white sugar
1 package strawberry gelatin
1 cup butter, softened
4 eggs (room temperature)
2 3/4 cake flour
2.5 t baking powder
1/4 t salt
1 c whole buttermilk
1 t vanilla extract
1/2 cup strawberry puree

Preheat oven to 350.  Prepare your pans.

Cream together sugar, gelatin, and butter for 5-7 minutes, until light and fluffy.  Beat in eggs, one at a time, until fully incorporated.  Stir in vanilla.

Mix flour, baking powder, and salt in a bowl.  In another, mix together buttermilk and puree.  Add the dry and wet ingredients to the butter mixture, alternating between the two; beginning and ending with the flour.  Scrape the bowl between additions.

Divide between pans and toss into the oven, baking...

25 (or so) minutes for 2 8" rounds
15 (or so) for cupcakes

I say "or so" because I do not trust my oven sometimes, so I always start checking for doneness about 5 minutes beforehand.  These cakes look very moist, almost undone when they are finished.  Make sure you check with a tooth pick.

For the frosting I used the recipe found here for Marshmallow Frosting, but I added some pink food color.  You could also do a Cream Cheese Frosting (without the lime zest), or a Swiss Meringue Buttercream, but please, do not be fancy and try to add  too much strawberry puree to butter-based frosting.  It will separate and end up in the trash.

And you will cry.

Couldn't you just leave well enough alone?  It was pink!  It was sweet!  It had little strawberry seeds in it, making it adorable!

But you just had to add another tablespoon, didn't you?

Oh.  Sorry.  I digress.

So, enjoy this Strawberry Cake.  It tastes like spring.  It is pink.  It is delicious.

And maybe a skein or two of yarn can make it into the front seat of the van this evening.

Have a beautiful Monday.

Rachel Bee

Crazy ol' St. Valentine...

Oh, St. Valentine.

We learned who he was in school.  I think I might have even seen a play about his antics.

Crazy ol' St. Valentine.

I don't know what I truly think about his holiday, as we haven't observed it in 6 years.  I think I have told myself that everyone else stopped observing it as well.  As I flip through Valentines Day memories in my mind, more of them are tear-filled dramatics rather than observances of romantic bliss.  My Facebook updates show that the boyfriends of my unmarried friends shower them with presents, as my married friends tend to post an amorous quotation; or spend the evening grilling out with their children.

As I have been married for nearly five years, I have realized that flowers are too expensive for something that ultimately ends up in the garbage.  The chocolate that comes in heart-shaped boxes is usually poor in quality and is not worth the calories.  Dinner out means sitting with complete strangers and spending money on something one could do better at home.

But is it all a sham?

A day to celebrate romantic love?

Well, whatever it is or isn't, one thing I know: it is definitely a day for eating cake.

Or cupcakes.

Heart-shaped doilies.  I love them.  

Well, everyday is a day for eating cake, in my opinion.  I had some leftover coconut cake for breakfast.

What?  shut up for two seconds and give you a closer look?

OK.

Chocolate Cupcakes

I actually made these for a married friend of mine who celebrates Valentines Day.  Go figure.

Moist Chocolate Cake topped with my favorite Swiss Meringue Buttercream, tinted the most delicate of pale pinks; the deep blackness of the Oreo crumbs nestled on the blush of buttercream is a sight to behold.  What you cannot really see are the precious pink fondant daisies.  They were adorable.

So dear.

I also made a cake with the other half of the frosting and batter.  You will see it soonish.

So, romantic love.  Whatever this day dedicated to it is or isn't, I accept it for the sugar it offers.

Because cake is delicious.  And the affirming smile I get from the one who took the pictures is a celebration to me.

Chocolate:  Mi Amour.  

Have a beautiful day.

Rachel Bee