A very sad story about cake.

I'd like to take this moment to say that I'm not deliberately throwing wrenches into my projects so I have something funny/pathetic to write about. Although it does seem to soften the blow of culinary failure. I'd also like to point out that in this instance, my failure took many forms, and I contemplated sharing the story as a part of a three-part blog miniseries. But then decided that's not in anyone's best interests.

I've been fantasizing about making this coconut cake since I first spotted it on the cover of the "Southern Cakes" cookbook about a year ago. And what do you know, a friend of mine is having a bowling birthday party today! I imagined the hero I would be when I sauntered into the alley with this glorious creation in tow, and rehearsed my response to what would surely be a flood of praise. "I guess I just inherited the baking gene! *Wink*" And I bought my first cake carrier at Target today, to ensure it's safe delivery. I know what you're thinking: "Just when I thought this couldn't get any more tragic."

Ah, and things started off so well! I made a handsome yellow cake mix from scratch - thick and smooth - which ribboned down from my mixing bowl to perfectly fill my 9" cake pans. I slipped them into my geriatric oven - being careful to take into account its tendency to get about 25 degrees hotter than the knob would indicate - and even moved them from the too-low rack to the too-high rack at half time. After they started to pull away from the pan and spring back from my touch, I took them out, set them on the rack and took photos of how beautiful they looked resting on the cooling rack I also bought today in their honor. Fifteen minutes later I tried to take them out of the pans, and it's then when my error became obvious.

Somehow my temperature calculations did not add up - and what I thought were perfect, golden discs of deliciousness were hiding a lethal secret - big ole craters of un-baked lava-dough in their centers. In retrospect I realize I should have gone with the tried and true toothpick stab test - but all other signs pointed to victory.

After briefly contemplating making the same cake again, I realized that 1: I didn't have time, 2: I didn't have enough ingredients, and 3: screw that. I zipped down to the grocery store and grabbed a cake mix and set out to whip up some cupcakes instead. I refuse to be deceived by cupcakes.

I've decided to not write about how I then tried to salvage a small amount of pride and make the boiled-icing recipe that accompanied the cake and failed to produce that as well. In summary, my egg whites did not fluff. And I don't want them in my frosting anyway. It's cream-based sugar cement from here on out.

I'm about to head out to the party, with my cake carrier full of mini-cakes. Betty Crocker is much better suited for a bowling alley anyway.