27 Feb Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker’s man…
I never thought I would say this, but I’ve come to hate birthday cake. Of course, it is entirely my fault. I was foolish enough to make my godson’s cake for his birthday, and now have a list of requests for the rest of the family calendar year. Did I mention that we have had three family birthdays in the past week?
Now, I could understand the enthusiasm if my cakes were a sight to behold. However, the first two were not exactly bakery quality, what with the melting whipped cream icing, sliding layers and other monstrosities. You may be asking yourselves, “what the hell are they thinking?” Alas, kind readers, though my cakes may look less than stellar, they taste really good. Really good. Perhaps my visual mistakes are a Freudian attempt to be free of the job. No such luck. 3 down, 17 to go (18 should I decide to make my own).
I am taking a classical pastry class in the fall to help improve these sad skills of mine. That may not be a very smart move, given that The Family may further procreate, but the perfectionist in me simply cannot have sloppy cakes. I want them to look professional, dammit. And if I can master the creation of fruit tarts made from scratch, then by the gods I can make a perfect birthday cake. Let’s see…if I start charging for each cake, I’ll have enough for class tuition by summer…