He doesn’t even like chocolate cake…I mean… no words
He doesn’t even like chocolate cake…I mean… no words

He doesn’t even like chocolate cake…I mean… no words

Sat­urday night I went and hung out with some girl­friends, and when I got home Matt had made a chocol­ate cake. He iced it and everything. He had all the ingredi­ents for the cake, mixed it all up and went to pour it into two round cake tins, to make a lay­er cake. Turns out, we have only one round tin, because I gave the second one to one of the kids. So he made one round cake and one square cake. Once it was baked the square cake stuck in the cake pan, des­pite the fact that he greased and floured it, plus it’s a stone­ware pan that has­n’t had any baked good stick in it for years. So the cake kind of broke apart when he was get­ting it out of the pan, and lost much of its struc­tur­al integ­rity. It lost more when he cut the corners off so it fit bet­ter with the round cake. He suc­cess­fully stacked them, and then made icing.

Turns out we did­n’t have enough icing sug­ar to make the recipe so he sub­sti­tuted berry sug­ar, which is albeit not as grainy as reg­u­lar sug­ar, but is still grain­i­er than icing sug­ar. While mix­ing the icing with the hand mix­er he spilled a little, so he put the mix­er down so he could grab a cloth. While grabbing the cloth, the mix­er slipped and fell off the counter, splash­ing icing EVERYWHERE.

By the time I got home there was a beau­ti­ful chocol­ate cake on the counter, iced with chocol­ate icing, some of the leftovers of which he scooped from the bowl to let me taste it. It was deli­cious. A bit…grainy… but deli­cious. Then he told me the story, and poin­ted out that he had washed all the splashed icing off the floor, at which point I looked up, and saw all the icing splashed on the ceiling.

By this time he was so damn mad at the damn cake that he said, “I don’t even want this cake any­more.” So we gave it away to a friend who needed dessert for Sunday din­ner coz her mum was com­ing over.

 

As time has pro­gressed since then we con­tin­ue to find sploshes of icing all over the kit­chen. On the fridge, on the cup­boards, on the walls, on the note­pad by the phone, even on his com­puter screen (he had been fol­low­ing an online recipe). I feel like this story isn’t going to come to an end until the next time we ren­ov­ate the kitchen.