Mmmm, Yummy! This cake tastes like...Styrofoam?

I once heard my sister describe what it was like to complete her first Iron Man race (yes, first. She's a glutton for punishment like that), and I often think that making wedding cakes is the same way. While you're in the process of doing it, all you can see and feel is how heinous and difficult it is. It's completely unenjoyable, and you tell all your friends and family to remind you of how much you hated every second. But then you get done, and you think "Hey! That wasn't so bad! I feel pretty good! Let's do it again!"

Remember how in the last post I said that I had a wedding cake in progress? Yeah. What I didn't say was that I finally broke down and decided that God gave me talent in certain places--and house cleaning isn't one of them. So I had a cleaning crew come in. They swarm my house like cleaning ninjas--except they're hardly stealthy. When's the last time you saw a ninja sneak up on someone while running a vacuum? Anyway, they swarm like LOUD cleaning ninjas and are out of here in an hour or less. Only this last time, they saw the cake-in-progress on the table, with the black fondant layers covered while the other two were still just naked styrofoam. The first reaction from cleaning lady #1 to #2 was, "Oh, wow!" The reaction from cleaning lady #2 to #1 was, "Yeah, but see this black fondant and how hard it is to get totally smooth and not wrinkly? That's why I did buttercream."

Speaking of "totally smooth," cleaning lady #2, that wasn't. Nope. Not smooth at all. I could hear you, you know. As criticisms go, that's hardly harsh. But it still irked me. And it's not easy to get fondant smooth and perfect when a) you don't work with it much, b) you have hades-level heat going on, and c) 70% humidity. But anyway, I digress.

I got the cake done! Woohoo! And it even looked good! I mean, sure. It's waaaaaay easier with styrofoam. No leveling, no baking, no filling. No crumb coat, no chilling. Just carefully, carefully roll out that fondant, wet the styrofoam, say a prayer, and hope the fondant doesn't tear. Then when it DOES tear, you sigh, grab the shortening, knead it all together, roll it out, say another prayer, make sure the styrofoam is still wet, and drape the styrofoam with the fondant ever so carefully. And when it tears again you stifle a curse, grab more shortening, knead it all together, roll it out, wet the styrofoam again, say another freaking prayer, and drape the fondant on the dummy layer.

When it tears AGAIN, you stop stifling the curses and swear like a sailor, causing your husband to come to the kitchen in alarm and then back out slowly when he sees you armed with a rolling pin and spitting mad. That's when he'll ask--from out in the hallway--if there's anything he can do. And that's when you shoot him the narrow-eyed look that says, "I'm about 30 seconds from a homicidal rage. There's nothing you can do, my sweetie, my one true beloved, but duck and cover--because when I blow my lid, there will be collateral damage."

It's really amazing how one look can say so much.

So then you mumble your final prayer, because if it doesn't work this time, to hell with it and you can buy them a cake at WalMart on your way to the wedding. And the prayer is sincere, even though you're spitting it out through gritted teeth and it's littered with f-bombs and pent rage. You're up to your elbows in shortening now, just trying to get this $#@& fondant pliable enough to drape. And you roll it out, keeping it as thick as you possibly can while still having enough to cover the dummy layer. Then you carefully, carefully--carefully, dammit!--drape the fondant again, holding your breath, massaging the little cracks back together, cutting the excess weight as soon as you can, and then---and then--praise be, it holds!

Your husband hears your sigh of relief and comes creeping back into the kitchen.

"Got it now?" he asks.

"Yeah, finally," you reply. Then he sighs with relief and offers you a glass of wine. And as he hands it to you, you think, "Lord, I love this man."

Anyway, you get the point. This is turning into another novel of a post. But look at the cake! Look at it! It's so pretty! I thought about titling this post "The Cleaning Lady Can Suck It," but that just seemed mildly inappropriate. And again, my grandma reads this blog. And no, I totally didn't ask my husband to stand outside on the porch holding a wrinkly bedsheet up behind the cake while I took a million photos. I mean, who would do that?

I had made the fondant flowers throughout the week, and I sat down Thursday night and wired them all while I was in a nearly zombie-like state with a cold. Then Friday my good friend V came over and helped me make three giant sheet cakes for serving. She had to leave before we were nearly done, but she will never truly understand how grateful I was to her. I kept plugging away for the rest of the day, and I used some of the scraps to fill in part of the bottom dummy layer that I had cut out. This was the part of the cake that the bride and groom would cut for pictures and tasting.

So of course that meant that I had to cover one more layer--the largest--with fondant. Expecting the worst, I held my breath again and gave it my best shot...and for whatever reason it worked perfectly the first time. Whatevs. I'll just be grateful and pour myself another glass of wine.

I carefully stacked the cakes, aligning them all to the back in a more contemporary style, and then I used needle-nose pliers to stick each flower into the cake. I mourned the loss of many a flower whose delicate petals decided to wuss out on me (I could have blended in gumpaste with the fondant to help with that, but I didn't because I liked the final look of the fondant better for this cake. That's why I made 6 billion extras, anyway).

Then I stood back, eyeing the cake critically, beckoning my husband over to look for gaps or issues. I even pulled out my phone and took some pictures, because I've discovered that sometimes you can see flaws in pictures that you can't see in real life while you're standing two feet away. I don't know why that is, but it works for clothes in the dressing room, too. You think you look all hot when you look at yourself in the mirror, but then you take a picture and realize it's more hot mess than hot damn.

Anyway, with a little flower there and a wee tweak there, I had the presence of mind to stop and be done, before I ruined it by adding far too many.

The great thing about the styrofoam is that it was unaffected by the heat and it was a dream to travel with it in the backseat of my car for the hour-and-fifteen drive to the wedding.

And the bride and groom loved it, which was the important thing. Sure, the cake might not have been perfect, but it was still one hell of a wedding present, no?