cake!

I finally used my cake pans for their intended purpose after having bought the pans years ago. I also layered the bottom of each pan with baking spray and parchment paper. The cake recipe was, of course, the decadent Cooking with Sugar recipe, which is designed to put you into diabetic shock. My oven, being small, quirky, and a little temperamental, didn't handle the presence of both cakes inside it at the same time that well (I was worried about what might change if I did the bake one at a time). The result was, despite extra baking time, somewhat underdone and dense. But I went ahead and made a 2-layer cake anyway.

Here's the icing. Pretty much nothing but coca, sugar, butter, and heavy cream. I know what it looks like a lump of.

I'd expected the cakes to release easily from the pan after baking, but it turns out I needed my little offset spatula (here's a pic) to help persuade the cakes out. After that, peeling off the parchment paper was a breeze.

Crap, I'm terrible with frosting my cakes. It would help to have a proper rotating cake stand. It would even more to take a class or at least watch some videos on cake decoration.

the completed cake, frosted, looking evil and monstrous

That smear on the wooden cutting board annoys me.

probably the cake's best angle

how much was left when I finished giving out cake

I first gave cake to the security guards/concierges in the lobby. The one guy told me there were only two staffers this evening, but there'd be two more tomorrow, so he greedily sliced the cake in half with my plastic knife, then cut that half into four pieces—two to be eaten tonight, two to be wrapped up and given to the other staffers tomorrow. I had brought everything: picnic plates; plastic spoons; a plastic cake knife; a plastic, wedge-shaped spatula for lifting the cake slice and placing it on a plate (always a balancing act); and shower-cap-shaped plastic wrap to cover the plates of the cake meant to be eaten tomorrow.

Next stop: the downstairs grocery, where I see the same overworked staffers day after day, working hard on Christmas. I gave out five slices of cake—three to the staffers I immediately saw, and two for the other (I assume) two staffers roaming around out of sight. I told everybody, the guards and the staffers, that I had no idea how good or bad the cake might be, and that they could throw the cake away if they didn't like it.

So here I am now, alone again, with my one remaining slice of cake, which is all mine. I shall now consume its soul because, no matter what anyone else thinks of my cooking, I like my cooking. Yes, even when it sucks. Unless it's that keto stromboli I'd made the other day.

the victim awaits, trembling

the Kevin must be propitiated

(insert horrific slurping, sucking, and chewing noises)

That was a heavy cake, too—easily more than a kilogram. All gone now.