Thirty! Welcome! (June 4th, 2011)

I’m back! Isn’t that wonderful. I’ve got quite a backlog of cakes so this post right here is but a tip of a large iceberg, as it were. I’m going to be honest with you right now, reader. What I’m about to say is coming straight from my heart-area.

I am so sick of cake.

I never want to eat, nay, look at another piece of cake, as long as I live. But, like it or not, I’ve got another four months left, and I will have to power through. What this means to you, devoted reader, is that you are not likely to see me or my roommates (as they have also more or less decided that cake is boring) happily enjoying the taste of cake in future posts. Instead, you’ll see my meager attempts at compensation.

You may or may not be wondering why the first picture in this post is of me, instead of this week’s cake. I decided to shake it up and do a live-blog of sorts. That photo is of me, about 10 minutes ago, as I sit here, at 9:51 on a Friday night. I wouldn’t fancy myself a social butterfly, but living in Manhattan with four friends has definitely made a solo friday night a rarity. But tonight, June the third – the planets have aligned and i find myself in a perfect storm of autonomy. I’ve got my Chicken/Coo-coo

my three-buck-chuck

and I’m ready to write a BLOG.

So let’s get to BLOGGIN.

This week’s cake was inspired by Adam Ellis, but, I mean, what isn’t, these days. I let him decide what my next cake would be, on the condition that I get to assign the topic of a future blog post of his.
Adam: wait
Adam: you have to make four cakes
Adam: a ms. pac man cake and three ghost cakes

Here’s another honesty nugget, since we’re all being honest tonight

I hadn’t revisited that gchat conversation since it had happened, on May 11th, so I am just now realizing that I did not quite hold up my end of the bargain.

Yeah. That’s the male pac man, not ms. pac man, and i’ve only made two ghosts, when Adam clearly specified three. OH WELL. Let’s get to the construction.

Jack ate cake bits.

I cut cake (like a boss)

Brittany came over, and brought Henry.

The cakes were simple shapes. Nothing elaborate. So I cut the cake, dyed the fondant, and got to wrapping.

I used the hot-knife technique this time, meaning that once the ganoosh set on the cake, I took a long offset spatula, let it sit for a few seconds in boiling water, and then used that hot-ass blade to smooth over any imperfections on the cake surface, so that the fondant would lay flat. I mean, it wasn’t perfect.

Then I magicked the cakes into existence

And then

Ahmmm, and then

And then I waited about a million weeks, until the cakes were far too old to consume. That’s another truth bomb.

At that point it was clear that no one would be eating these cakes. They were old, they had withstood some un-airconditioned weekends. They were a liability. So we took them to the streets. Wall Street, more specifically.

George Washington did that, for real. Most people don’t know that.

I thought that that one was hilarious

In the end, though, after we introduced the cakes to the financial district, we reasoned that there was really no need for the little fellers to come back up to our apartment. And seeing as I am a true believer in the sanctity of life, I gave them a proper burial.

Again. Hilarious.