02 May

Don’t Stop Believing

When I started thinking through this post, I was fixing myself breakfast.  I was letting my dog out to go be with her boyfriend (she normally doesn’t want to go out until at least 6:30, but at 5:45, I can hear his bark next door, and she’s got to be out there, running along the fence with him).  I was singing this song in my head.  No, let’s just be honest, I was singing it out loud.  But it has nothing to do with the major point of this post, which is this:

Let’s just stop pretending that anything ever is perfect.  I know, I know.  This is a food blog.  Where the author eats loads of cupcakes and pies and never gets fat.  Where the dirty dishes created by cooking a) don’t exist, b) never appear in the background of photos, and c) never stress us out.  (I don’t have a dishwasher, so… you know… ha!)  Where we totally compost because like… omg, who doesn’t? but said compost NEVER attracts fruit flies.  Where you totally have a marble counter top, or, at the very least, something substantially better than white laminate.

Let’s just get something straight.  I’m pretty sure nobody ever has had a marble countertop.  It’s all angles, smoke, and mirrors.  Or more simply, a marble cutting board.  I often trick you into believing I have a wood countertop.  I don’t.  I just have a bamboo tray that a lot of my food ends up on because I rarely eat at a table.

But I really enjoy tricking the whole world into thinking my life is perfect, especially my food.  I never make mistakes.  I never run out of eggs mid-recipe at 5 in the morning.  I never get a tornado warning on my phone while I’m cooking that tells me to “take shelter now!”  It just never happens.  Not to me, anyway.

Baby Shower Cake

But this cake.  It happened.  It was undeniable.  It fell over during my walk to the car in the morning.  I fixed it.  It fell over in the car.  I fixed it.  And then it fell over while I was trying to find room for it in the fridge at work.  I cried.  And my coworker fixed it.

I had worked the whole thing up in my head.  Like anything I bake can make or break a baby shower.  Not one person said, “ew… who made the cake?”  Because not one single person was there for the cake.  Duh!  I’m just not that important to the whole world.

So go on over to Joy the Baker and make this cake.  Make some whipped cream and layer the cake with the cream and assorted berries.  Take it to a party.  Have a good time.  But whatever you do, don’t cry over it.  Perfection wasn’t going to happen anyway.  And nobody expected it.

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