Finally, a blog post about actual food! Food I made! Made with two hands! Two hands attached to me! I really missed the Ham part of The Hamazon — and also the making of ham, or in this case, cake.
I’m officially back from Weddingland, an isolated resort for mostly-women where one eats, drinks, sleeps, and excretes all things matrimonial. Our friends got married last weekend, and I was lucky enough to make some cakes for their Deception Pass wedding. One turned out pretty good, and the other turned out to be the Satanic love child of Bad Planning and Good Intentions. Hey, it was my first foray into Cake City since the previous summer, so a small comedy of errors was expected.
What I did not expect:
-Hanging out with a leisure-suitted Batman in an adult blanket fort.
-Cake miscalculations of the kindergarten kind (cream cheese and butter melts in the sun, you guys!).
-“God, you have the same sense of humor as Archer, you sound just like him,” but it was said to me kind of annoyed, like I was annoying him in the exact same way that Archer would annoy him WHICH IS THE BEST COMPLIMENT IN THE HISTORY OF EVER.
-Being 200 times more prissy than I needed to be about goose poop.
-One hundred million (NOT EXAGGERATING) mosquito bites, in places my fiancé hasn’t even seen.
-Staying up to watch the sunrise.
-How many photos I would end up taking of this floating neon T-Rex.
My favorite moment of the wedding, besides their beautiful vows that made me want to shove railroad ties directly into my heart, was when Batman and the mayor had their picture taken together. Someone shouted “BUT WHO’S WATCHING THE CITY?!” which made me laugh into the wee hours of morning.
Besides unbelievable wedding drama of the legitimate kind (Not Legit: “They sent the wrong-colored napkins! Uncle Marc is drunk! My bridesmaids are ugly! The supermoon ruins everything!”), the wedding was really beautiful. Looking back, it was The Little Wedding Phoenix That Could. Many people worked together, despite various odds and dead-ends, to create something nice for a couple who had a lot on their disappointment plates. In the end, we’re glad they married and they are, too. But if anyone deserves a do-over (maybe in the form of an elaborate anniversary party set in outer space and catered by robots!), it’s probably them.
My mom came up and helped me in a big way getting these cakes done, since I wasn’t totally sure what my healing arm could handle. Any or all fuck-ups after that were mine and mine alone. The groom’s cake was an easy butter cake recipe adapted from disgracist butter queen, Paula The Popeye “I is who I is” Deen, slathered with lemon curd and raspberry jam, then covered in a lemon-cream cheese buttercream frosting. Yeah, that’s a lot of cream, whatever. I got some compliments on it, but mostly confused adult faces wondering why anyone would ruin a good cake with kraken tentacles. I IS WHAT I IS, THAT’S WHY.
[drops mic, walks off stage]
The other cake was a naked strawberry shortcake – naked in the ‘no frosting’ sense, not some skanky T+A confection – which was maybe okay-ish in taste, but failed in other ways. Besides some of the technical things I would do differently, I wish I’d waited until right before it was cake-eating time to pull it together. That would have been ten times better, but since timing during the event was sort of ‘on the fly,’ I was trying to think ahead which I will never, ever do again. Thinking is for other people.
In life, especially relationships and marriage, there are going to be curveballs. That’s pretty much where the stupid sports analogies end because I don’t really get baseball, but imagine I said something about hitting the ball as hard as you can, or maybe keeping your eyes open for opportunity. The important part is how you deal with it – whatever that curveball is – and who is truly on your team when it inevitably arrives. Jesus, I loathe sports analogies, but I didn’t think Game of Thrones comparisons would work very well, either.
With our wedding coming up in December, I have to remind myself what’s really important: I picked the right guy. This is a guy who’s willing to face a metric fuck-ton of curveballs with me (even though he calls athletics “SPORT!”); a guy who makes all the shitty life surprises seem, well, not gone, but at least smaller and less important; a guy who moves through life like a boss. That’s what’s most important to me, that and the color of our wedding napkins. I’m glad our friends found each other so they could slay life dragons and face the world together. I don’t believe in luck, but I still think they’re lucky.