It's official. I will never attempt to bake again. The picture you see above is what the cake should have looked like. What I concocted was something different. Oh, what plans I had to bake this wonderful cake for Easter! I even traveled with a friend to a dilapidated farmhouse outside of Dallas looking for only the freshest ingredients. We arrived only to my friend being scolded by the lady farmer/owner for not knowing how hard it was to get organic farmers to come sell at her farm. (We knew the reason, but obviously she did not. The place was pretty scary.) Not to be discouraged, we headed for the Farmers Market where my sweet Anna, who never lets me down, sold me some goods. I then went and purchased organic strawberries, 3 pints worth, per the recipe directions along with organic eggs. Arriving home, I began my quest for the Southern Living look-a-like Strawberry Mousse Cake. I would not fail. Well, that's exactly what I did. After 3 LONG hours of mixing, chilling, stirring, waiting, chilling, stirring, waiting, I did EXACTLY what the recipe called for. I layered each tier, adding mousse in between each, then applying the icing. What happened you ask? The (cuss word) tiers started sliding out from the cake plate. My fingers where dripping with icing all the while I'm trying to slide the (cuss word) cakes back into place. My daughter is looking at me (she was supposed to help) asking "Mom, why are you gritting your teeth?". This is one of those moments where I could be a good mom or a bad mom. "Go outside". My next thought was to quickly put the (cuss word) cake into the fridge where hopefully the (cuss word) icing and mousse would harden enough to stay put. Good idea, right? This is a four tiered cake, just to give you an idea that has about 4-5 cups of strawberry mousse and icing. After 30 minutes, I stand before the fridge hoping that my idea was in fact genius, when I opened the door. Not only did my idea not work, but one of the tiers had completely rocketed itself to the other side of my fridge splattering about 2-3 cups of mousse and (cuss word) icing ALL OVER THE INSIDE OF THE FRIDGE. I sat there stunned. A few tears came. It was then that I made the realization that although I can prepare an amazing meal, baking cakes is not something I can do. I said it. I can not do it. So instead of throwing a tantrum like the last time, I called my daughter and 4 of her friends to the fridge, handed them forks and told them to dig in. Yes, in the fridge. One kid thought I was the coolest mom ever for letting him do it. My daughter thought I was high. They all commented on how good it was, which it should have been for all that went in it. And if it wasn't, they weren't going to tell me if they knew what was good for them. My husband later came home with me waiting on the porch, bees hovering above as they likened to the smell of sugar that coated me head to toe, beer in hand. "Honey, next time I get the novel idea to bake, please (cuss word) tell me I can't." End of story. If you you'd like the recipe, let me know because I'd like to to see the finished result. In fact, I'll hire you to bake for me.
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