I’m taking a different approach with this week’s cake. Instead of slapping you in the face right off the bat with a picture of the end result, let’s take a look at some first impressions.
My god, Kristin. What is that. It looks like:
“…The Creature from the Black Lagoon.”
“…the sun got too close to the earth”
“…some sort of first grade project”
“…the last scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark. You know. Melting Nazi heads.”
“…a frog emerging from a psychedelic pond.”
“…the top half of H.R. Puffinstuff”
“…that slime volleyball game we would always play in high school”
“…those scrubbing bubble enzymes. With the little pubic hairs that, you know, hang down.”
“…a toad right after I licked it”
“…John 3:16′s illegitimate child”
“…an octopus with really short legs”
“…VOMIT!”
Truth be told, the cake wasn’t really supposed to be anything. It started out as an exploration of the drippy technique I used on the HelvetiCake, then it turned into oh hey how about it’s an egg, since it’s Easter Sunday and all, which quickly devolved into um Kristin that actually looks nothing like an egg, seriously – which led to panicking and questions of general worth, as in my worth as a human being, if I can’t even pull off a goddamned Easter Egg cake, which inevitably caused my mental meltdown resulting in hasty moves, such as giving the thing both eyeballs and eyelids so it could effectively look me in the eye and judge me along with everyone else in the room, especially my mother. Because you know how my mother gets when I make a bad cake.
Anyway, here it is.
My greatest achievement to date. I can’t even begin to explain what happened that day, in my head. It was just one terrible decision after another.
I was home for the weekend, for Easter. That might have been my first mistake. I have been known to balk on cakes when they are intended to be eaten by my family. I couldn’t tell you why, but yeah. That was mistake #1.
Number two was the vagueness of my plan. I wanted to make some great drip effects with some awesome colors. That was the extent of it.
Number two and a half was the ease in which I was convinced to complicate the plan. Make it an egg! Make the egg cracked! Make it so that the egg is cracked and it’s bleeding and it has this look of just like complete agony on its face. Make it so that this egg was cracked in a crime of passion committed by its ex-lover, and make sure that the expression on its face conveys the delicate mixture of both physical and mental anguish.
In the past, on-the-fly decisions like this have sometimes worked really well. Not so, on this day. No – on this day, Jesus was too busy partying to watch over my cake construction, as he is contractually obligated to do. It’s like, Christmas isn’t enough, he’s got to have a REbirthday. So self involved, that Jesus.
Here’s the photo montage of my mental cakedown.
Yikes. As you can see, I quickly abandoned the cracked egg idea and went instead with a nondescript blob. In the end, it was a complete failure. At that evening’s Easter dinner, I was sullen as I nursed my glass of wine. I shared this mood with future sister-in-law Kateri, who is extremely pregnant and was inexplicably angry at the cheese dip. Like, angry at it. As if it had wronged her.
When it came time to decorate eggs, I was maybe three glasses deep and took control of the operation. I made the radical decision of not diluting the vinegar for the color cups, which, needless to say, did not go over well with the elders. Further acts of rebellion included using sharpie on the eggs, and using coffee as dye.
That middle one is supposed to be Mr. T. How I managed to squeeze so many failures into one afternoon, I will never know.
No comments:
Post a Comment