It’s um, well…it’s supposed to be a lighthouse. If that wasn’t clear. It’s sort of dinky-looking. Only after revisiting the photos am I realizing this. It’s really not…not that great, is it? Isn’t that the worst, when that happens? You accomplish something, and you’re all jazzed, then you see the inadequate fruits of that accomplishment in the cold light of day.
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This cake celebrates the 24th birthday of friend James. You may ask – why would a 24 year old man request a lighthouse cake? Is it a metaphor? To which I would respond – what in the hell sort of metaphor would this be, fool? What kind of lame high-school-remedial-english-class teachings could possibly allow you to extract meaning from this? I would then direct your attention to this comic I made, which explains in detail the origin of the birthday lighthouse, and then you would feel silly.
Oh YEAH. Breakfast sandwich. I will never tire of these things.
I started this cake on the afternoon of James’ birthday party. The celebration took place at an uptown bar called Pat O’Brien’s, which is actually 6x more Irish than you are imagining it to be. It was a party for a kid with a last name “Slattery,” at a Boston-College-centric bar called Pat O’Briens, where one had the option of paying a fixed amount to drink literally as much beer as the ol’ gut would allow, and then some. So, naturally, the bar shut down forever a few days later due to an explosion in the Paddy valve. (That’s not racist. I’m extremely Irish, as well. My mother’s maiden name is Cleary, and her and her sisters are named Ellen, Kathleen, Patricia, and Margaret.)
The party really did shut the place down.
So the start of the cake was more of an exercise in anger management than it was productive. We were running late, but I was determined to get the cake covered. I stacked three 6″ cakes, smothered it in ganoosh, and threw some fondant on it. It was probably the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.
At the beginning of this cake year, I choreographed a cake blog oath. I know what you’re thinking. How does one choreograph an oath? Is there dancing involved? The answer is yes. There is. But the point is – this was a very specific and beautifully choreographed oath, and the most important part was something about honesty. About sharing all of my mishaps as well as my triumphs. So far I’ve made good on that promise, but that ends today. There is no photographic evidence of the lighthouse in its infancy. Deal with it.
I experimented with styrofoam for the lighthouse topper. In all honesty, it tempted me to switch from cake to styrofoam from now on. It’s rigid, it’s sturdy, it keeps its form, and it doesn’t make you fat.
If I could go back, I’d spend more time trying to find appropriate wire for the detail. I used florist wire here, which is the flimsiest, most relenting wire available. Its main purpose is to coexist with the delicate stems of the daintiest flowers.
What is that – I can’t – even – I just – ugh. Let’s get to the part where James spills wine all over the cake.
I would have been angry, but this felt similar to the feeling I had when I learned that SURGE, that neon green soda from the 90′s, was discontinued. For a second I was like OH NO but then I was all, meh.
And just look at this happy boy. You can’t stay mad at this.
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