Kiss The Cook

Last Sunday we had our small group over and I made a cake for Michael Homan's birthday. It was simple but (if I do say so myself) quite delicious. Our small group consists of five couples and usually half of us have dessert. With that in mind, I cut some pretty large slices. I would cut, Adam would pass, and pretty soon I noticed he kept reaching his hand out to grab another plate long after I thought the passing would cease. I started panicking. The cake was getting smaller and smaller and I felt like Milton from Office Space. What if I didn't get a piece? I don't believe there has ever been an event where cake was served and I did not have at least one piece. I often think in fractions so I judged the remainder of the cake by quietly saying to myself "3/4... 2/3... 1/2... 1/3... oh no.... 1/4..." As the cake got smaller, the beads of sweat on my forehead got larger, and I was in quite the state. Finally the last piece was served and there were still a few slices left. WHEW.

When I am responsible for dessert I almost always have leftovers, which I enjoy over the next few days. There were no leftovers. In my book, that is not acceptable. So after our trip to Dallas this weekend (details later), I told Michael I would like to make another cake. And this time we would share it with no one. One cake split between the two of us lasts an entire week. My dream come true.

We did not have any cake mix or icing so while we were out yesterday we stopped at Target and I grabbed both. Once I was home I turned on the oven and started pulling out the ingredients....and realized we had no eggs. I yelled to no one in particular, "We don't have any eggs!?" And no one replied, "No, I thought you knew that!" I did not. My lip stuck out. I looked down at my clothes and debated whether or not I could really pull off the look in public. Old yoga pants with a Cheetos stain on the leg, man's undershirt, and long socks with rubber nubbies on the bottom. Definitely not ok. Michael rolled his eyes and was out the door and in his car before I knew it. Did I feel bad? Terribly. Ok, maybe just a little. What a guy!

He came back 20 minutes later with the eggs and I got to work again. Baked the cake, waited for it to cool, and prepared myself for my least favorite part--icing the cake. As I removed the two layers from the pans they both crumbled. What was going on? I tried my best to put the pieces back together and my glorious cake turned into the cake from hell (aptly named as it was Devil's food cake). The white icing turned a lovely shade of grey as it mixed with chunks of chocolate cake. How depressing. I cut myself a huge piece (which immediately crumbled into a gigantic mess) and curled up next to my husband to watch a movie. He laughed at my creation and I (quite rudely) stated, "I have no idea what is wrong with this cake. I know I did everything correctly. It only has four ingredients, there is no way to mess it up!" He continued watching the movie. I continued staring at my cake. I thought back to what I'd been doing an hour ago. I added the water. I added the oil. I added the eggs. Wait. Wait a minute. I don't remember throwing the egg shells into the sink with athletic precision. Surely I...

I slowly stood up and walked to the fridge. Opened the door and there they were, the untouched eggs that Michael had made a special trip to the store to buy so I might have my cake. I walked back to the couch and sat down. Michael looked at me and asked what was going on. I shook my head. And then I felt my face turn red velvet (since we are talking about cakes--when in Rome). After my face contorted into a mixture of laughter and humiliation he said, "You forgot the eggs, didn't you?" I kept staring at him as he slowly shook his head. One wasted trip to the grocery store. One wasted cake. He reached out and gave me a hug as my dream of cake for an entire week vanished.

I think we're going to have biscuits and eggs for dinner tonight. You're welcome to join us, I am quite confident we will have enough.