C's birthday was Saturday, and I decided to bake him a cake. If you knew me IRL, you'd be rolling on the floor right now, because me in a kitchen is a recipe for disaster. (Get it? Recipe for disaster?)
A little background: my reputation for stirring up trouble in the kitchen started in the ninth grade. My mom was working late one night, and I "helped" by frying up some bratwurst. I'm still not sure what happened exactly...but somehow dinner caught fire and everyone panicked. My sister grabbed the dogs and hid under the (wooden) piano bench. My dad rushed forward with a large fork, screaming something about saving his dinner. He rescued the bratwurst from the fire (well, what was left of them, at any rate) and then extinguished the blaze. As for me...I'd like to say I ran to get a fire extinguisher, but the truth is that I just stood there looking at the fire, because I thought it was pretty.
Not much has changed since then. However, C takes such good care of me, and I have put him through so much lately with my hormonally-induced craziness, that it seemed really important for him to have a proper birthday cake this year. We follow a very strict diet free of gluten and refined sugar, which added substantially to the challenge, but I was able to pull it off! I made a three-layer gluten-free carrot cake, sweetened with blue agave nectar. And it wasn't even charred!!
(Well, okay - I did burn it a little. But that's what frosting is for, right?) Now head over to Mel's and check out what the rest of the class brought!
9 hours ago