Carpe Cakeum
Spousal Unit's birthday was this weekend. We went to his parents's house, and I was all prepared to make his delicious birthday cake - with a TIE fighter, as requested. Then, I found out he'd told his mom I was making pizza.
I did make pizza for his birthday dinner the previous night, but hadn't planned on making it for his party. But his mom had already bought a cake. What to do? Spousal Unit reasoned that you can never have too much cake, so I went ahead with my original plan: a melted ice cream cake.
The recipe calls for a cake mix, three eggs, and a melted pint of Ben and Jerry's. Spousal Unit wanted red velvet, so I used a red velvet cake mix and vanilla ice cream, but there are many more interesting combos out there. Mix everything together, and you have the moistest cake in the world.
I'm pretty sure it's supposed to be baked at 350 for about 35 minutes, but having two cake pans for a layer cake made it take much longer, so I was in a rush by the end. Throw in a kitchen I'm not comfortable in, and you get a cake that looks like this.
It was rather lopsided, and the (canned) buttercream frosting was infested with crumbs. My mantra for the day was, "It's not much to look at, but damn is it going to taste good!"
After everyone's bellies were full of ribs (except mine), I applied the candles and searched for a lighter. Spousal Unit's dad swooped in to set the cake ablaze.
However, Spousal Unit, in his birthday shirt from me, did not find the cake pleasing.
There was no TIE fighter on the cake.
(See that bottle in his hand? He'd had a few at that point.)
I rolled my eyes, though I'd expected nothing less from him. So I lightly carved a TIE fighter shape into the icing. He and his brother came to examine it.
"That's pretty good," his brother praised.
"Yeah, but it's missing a couple of things," Spousal Unit critiqued.
He picked up the knife.
This was the only picture I got of the original design, and you can't even see it. Yes, that's Spousal Unit holding the knife.
In the end, I guess it still looked like a TIE fighter, but there were way more crumbs in the frosting than before. Moral of the story, which I already knew: keep drunk spouses away from knives.
I did make pizza for his birthday dinner the previous night, but hadn't planned on making it for his party. But his mom had already bought a cake. What to do? Spousal Unit reasoned that you can never have too much cake, so I went ahead with my original plan: a melted ice cream cake.
The recipe calls for a cake mix, three eggs, and a melted pint of Ben and Jerry's. Spousal Unit wanted red velvet, so I used a red velvet cake mix and vanilla ice cream, but there are many more interesting combos out there. Mix everything together, and you have the moistest cake in the world.
I'm pretty sure it's supposed to be baked at 350 for about 35 minutes, but having two cake pans for a layer cake made it take much longer, so I was in a rush by the end. Throw in a kitchen I'm not comfortable in, and you get a cake that looks like this.
It was rather lopsided, and the (canned) buttercream frosting was infested with crumbs. My mantra for the day was, "It's not much to look at, but damn is it going to taste good!"
After everyone's bellies were full of ribs (except mine), I applied the candles and searched for a lighter. Spousal Unit's dad swooped in to set the cake ablaze.
However, Spousal Unit, in his birthday shirt from me, did not find the cake pleasing.
There was no TIE fighter on the cake.
(See that bottle in his hand? He'd had a few at that point.)
I rolled my eyes, though I'd expected nothing less from him. So I lightly carved a TIE fighter shape into the icing. He and his brother came to examine it.
"That's pretty good," his brother praised.
"Yeah, but it's missing a couple of things," Spousal Unit critiqued.
He picked up the knife.
This was the only picture I got of the original design, and you can't even see it. Yes, that's Spousal Unit holding the knife.In the end, I guess it still looked like a TIE fighter, but there were way more crumbs in the frosting than before. Moral of the story, which I already knew: keep drunk spouses away from knives.
I need to get Rasputin a shirt that says "Save me, I'm married to an artist"
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