The Cake Is Not a Lie
Dec. 29th, 2019 03:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
billroperSo it was time to go to bed. We pried Julie off of the computer in her bedroom and sent her out the door and off to bed. And as she exited our bedroom she said, "I smell cake."
Now, we had intended to bake a cake for Christmas. There was a recipe that I'd gotten from Amy McNally that I had wanted to try, but I couldn't find my printed copy, so I found a similar recipe and figured we'd try it. Except the best laid plans went where best laid plans go and no cake baking actually occurred.
Gretchen replied, "There is no cake."
"I smell cake."
I wandered out the door of the bedroom. I smelled cake too. "I smell cake. Is someone baking a cake?" I asked, noticing a faint glow somewhere downstairs.
"I'm baking a cake," came Katie's voice faintly from the kitchen.
I am a little surprised by this, it being midnight and all, but it was clear that cake was in process.
"Fine. We're going to bed."
Apparently, Katie had found the recipe for the three layer chocolate buttermilk cake and had decided to bake it. The next morning, we came downstairs and found two layers of cake, the third layer having been carried away and consumed, partly by Julie and mostly by Katie.
This left two unfrosted layers of cake, which Gretchen and I decided would be improved by executing the accompanying frosting recipe. The Mixmaster was pulled out that evening, and I proceeded to very carefully blend together three sticks of butter, an eight-ounce package of cream cheese, 1.5 cups of cocoa, some vanilla, and seven cups of powdered sugar to produce enough frosting for a three-layer cake. It was lovely, light, and fluffy. And a calorie bomb.
I handed it to Katie, who frosted the cake, which was then cut, consumed, and pronounced quite good.
The remaining frosting was shoved into a container in the refrigerator, where it now, no doubt, bears a distinct resemblance to fudge.
I'm sure we can find something to do with it.
The cake, meanwhile, continues to become smaller. I suppose I should have another slice before it disappears altogether, leaving nothing but a smile...
Now, we had intended to bake a cake for Christmas. There was a recipe that I'd gotten from Amy McNally that I had wanted to try, but I couldn't find my printed copy, so I found a similar recipe and figured we'd try it. Except the best laid plans went where best laid plans go and no cake baking actually occurred.
Gretchen replied, "There is no cake."
"I smell cake."
I wandered out the door of the bedroom. I smelled cake too. "I smell cake. Is someone baking a cake?" I asked, noticing a faint glow somewhere downstairs.
"I'm baking a cake," came Katie's voice faintly from the kitchen.
I am a little surprised by this, it being midnight and all, but it was clear that cake was in process.
"Fine. We're going to bed."
Apparently, Katie had found the recipe for the three layer chocolate buttermilk cake and had decided to bake it. The next morning, we came downstairs and found two layers of cake, the third layer having been carried away and consumed, partly by Julie and mostly by Katie.
This left two unfrosted layers of cake, which Gretchen and I decided would be improved by executing the accompanying frosting recipe. The Mixmaster was pulled out that evening, and I proceeded to very carefully blend together three sticks of butter, an eight-ounce package of cream cheese, 1.5 cups of cocoa, some vanilla, and seven cups of powdered sugar to produce enough frosting for a three-layer cake. It was lovely, light, and fluffy. And a calorie bomb.
I handed it to Katie, who frosted the cake, which was then cut, consumed, and pronounced quite good.
The remaining frosting was shoved into a container in the refrigerator, where it now, no doubt, bears a distinct resemblance to fudge.
I'm sure we can find something to do with it.
The cake, meanwhile, continues to become smaller. I suppose I should have another slice before it disappears altogether, leaving nothing but a smile...