On Monday, I caught a death cold (wheezing coughing, extreme fatigue and so much mucus I thought I would never breathe right again) which was probably compounded by staying up until 1 a.m. to finish this cake for my sweet friend, Cali.
Once again, another roommate’s birthday has come and gone and while no one is going to award me prizes for making perfectly leveled cakes, at least everyone said this one tasted good.
Halfway (or so) through business school, I re-met my friend Skyler. We had been vaguely acquainted in college, but had never really interacted (save for one VERY MEANINGFUL MOMENT OF EYE CONTACT). But I ran into him at a concert in June, and then again at a shop in July, and at a friend’s pedal party, and then again while out with friends.
“I’m feeling so weird. I have no interest in making a cake.”
“WHAT?” Erik’s raised eyebrows were the equivalent shouting in surprise, given his level of exhaustion after days of working on his latest grad school paper.
You know how sometimes you just know?
Like when you sign up for a site where you get 50% your entire first order and you know your bank account is doomed (yikes, but really). Like how when Jennifer Lawrence steps on screen, you know something good is going to happen. And how you KNOW you did something wrong when your stomach feels funny and nothing tastes good.
Other times, you don’t know. Other times, in fact, call for complete indecisiveness. When it came to choosing this cake, I dithered over potential choices for hours before getting completely exasperated with myself; in the end, I basically closed my eyes and pointed.
Cake for days doesn’t even begin to describe the current state of my apartment.
After last year’s birthday cake bonanza of one extra-large Momofuku funfetti cake and a mammoth double chocolate cake from Costco, I promised myself never again would I put myself in the presence of so much cake at one time. Instead, I thought about making Sarah B’s wholesome riff on a judiciously-sized birthday cake this year before I ended up not making myself a cake at all.
Back up, back up. It’s not like I didn’t get a cake. I got almost two pounds of cake. And then made two more cakes for Erik’s birthday. But that comes later.