Sweetness Aplenty, Despite Dearth of Frosting

I haven't done the full-production stacked birthday cake very often in recent years -- mostly I'm lucky to pull off a sheet cake, and sometimes I don't even turn it out of the baking pan -- I just slap on some frosting or whipped cream, sprinkle colored sugar on top, stick in the candles, and start singing. (And to be fair, this is probably the way to go for any cake that has to be transported to the roller rink in a car full of giggling tweens.)

But for the 50th birthday of a dear friend, sheet cake served in a baking pan seemed insufficiently magnificent -- the occasion called for layers, and lots of them. Given the risks stacking entails and the bumpy road over the hill to Morgan Street, I thought it wisest to arrive early and assemble the birthday cake on-site, and Amy graciously agreed to this. Unfortunately, the "arrive early" part of the plan came to naught. So there I was at 6:45 -- as guests arrived bearing gifts and salads and bottles of wine, as Andrew mixed champagne cocktails and two nine-year-old blondes distributed canapes, as conversations deepened and laughter rose and someone turned the music up loud -- standing in Amy's kitchen with my apron on over my party dress, whipping cream with the electric mixer, shimmying cake layers out of the pans, stirring sour cream into melted chocolate, and occasionally tripping over Polly the Hopeful Dog.

Everything went fine until I piled the chocolate frosting on top of the cake and realized there was nowhere near enough of it to cover the vertical expanse created by three layers of cake (two hadn't seemed like enough for twenty guests, but I had failed to up my frosting production accordingly).

I flashed back briefly to the first cake I'd ever made on my own, how the whole time I had this little movie in my head of my mother's hands pushing the creamy lip of frosting over the edge of the cake with the flat of the knife, rotating the plate as she smoothed the oozing goo around the sides, wiping away the excess with a damp paper towel. How proud I was that after years of watching her do it, I now possessed this skill myself, and could proceed with confidence. Right there, in the middle of making my own birthday cake, I realized I had come of age.

Last night, I called upon this confidence and went for an artistic chocolate-dripping-down-the-side effect.


I'm not sure I quite pulled it off, but the blaze of 50 candles and the undying affection of twenty high-spirited guests -- not to mention the glow emanating from the birthday girl herself -- hid any & all imperfections.


(That's Sarita lighting the candles for her mother. Full disclosure: there were really only 43 of them.)

Happy Birthday, Amy! What an honor & pleasure to be at your table last night.