So, it wasn't enough that I've written two, very long, blogs on the subject, plastered proof of my novice capabilities on my facebook page, and have whilst become utterly obsessed with finding the perfect recipe, I now needed official judgement passed on my delectable edibles...or at least I hope they're edible!
So, I put my pride on the line and hastily put together a panel of judges to participate in the cake-testing. They were to provide culinary insight and critique, to the most important question of the year to date: Which cake shall be the one worthy of presenting (and eating) at Giovanna's birthday?
You know, how did this whole thing get this far anyway? One day, a fickle 4 year old requests a Minnie Mouse cake, and for the next three weeks, I devote hours and dollars to this, oddly addicting (possibly successful, home-based business if all goes well) hobby. I've had to question myself on several occasions, "what is the real motivation behind all of this?" Most people would've just gone to the store and bought the first chilled cake that was the right color and filling from the bakery section of the supermarket. Or, I suppose the really devoted homemakers, would have bought a box cake, slapped some frosting on it and called it a day. I, on the other hand, have baked a total of 8 trial cakes of varying sizes and flavors, and 4 sample buttercream icings, after researching different recipes and variations of ingredients on online websites and blogs. Let's keep in mind, before I started all this, I didn't even know the purpose for baking powder. Or that, if whipped enough, eggs can practically (or definitely -- I didn't whip that long) turn into a solid. As a result, I now have a wealth of knowledge of the chemistry of baking, the difference between using oil, butter, or applesauce, the effects of cold milk, and the fact that what makes cake flour different from all-purpose flour is its gluten content. Impressive, if I say so myself. But back to the question at hand: Why, then, do I become a perfectionist about certain things in life, when the majority of the things in my life are completely, un-perfect?
I'm not organized, I procrastinate, I can be very messy. A sink-full of plates can remain for days without evoking the slightest care. I could walk by the same Mr. Potato Head ear part for days before finally bending down to pick it up - - and then place it on the side table instead of putting it away with the rest of the haphazard, half-missing Mr. Potato Head parts that have miraculously found their way back to their intended storage bin. Yet, when I open my cupboards, inevitably after a visit from Blanca, my mother-in-law, who most likely was the one to wash that sink full of plates, and has now put away the dishes at random, I find myself annoyingly arranging and rearranging, and perfectly aligning the tall glass set with its alikes, and the smaller, blue, plastic tumblers with their partners. Everything else in the house can be randomly strewn throughout the living space, but my coffee table line-up, that includes a serving tray decoratively displaying 3 design books, a candle, and the controls for the TV, has to be perfectly (yet random-looking) placed at its intended 45 degree angle, opposite the vase of fresh flowers (only orange-y/red tones will do, of course, to match my decor). My bed has to be made a certain way, with the pillows aligned just like I like them - - if I actually decide to make my bed, that is. These contradictions in my personality are just confusing to me.
What's more confusing, is my absolute need to try to conquer any new skill that piques my interest, yet get bored with it once I've mastered it, like I've done with my husband. I'm just kidding! (It was too easy to resist). But some true examples are, like when I was in sixth grade and I was learning to play the clarinet. I started out 4th or 5th chair, and I tell you, I wasn't having it. I was determined to declare first chair, and I practiced, and studied, and blew my little (well, I've always been big actually) heart out until I won that chair. Then, as if in vain, I lost all interest in woodwinds, and didn't even become affected when I eventually lost my spot at the top. Or when I obsessively challenge the enemy in some video game, losing sleep, continuing the fight in my dreams once my eyes have become too strained to stay awake any more, only to never play again once I've triumphed, and released the spell the evil dragon had cast on all the village for centuries. And now, cakes. I have not stopped until I succeeded in creating a perfectly moist and delicious combination of flavors for all to enjoy. And you know what? I'm willing to bet that after I bake that special cake on Saturday, it's likely to be my last.
You know, I think I may know the culprit of all of this systematic chaos. It has been pointed out to me recently, that perhaps I've struggled with ADD throughout my life, and am now continuing to battle it as an adult. It would make perfect sense. I'm here and there and everywhere, never able to finish a project, grossly procrastinatory, yet at times meticulously devoted to a particular, unimportant detail. I have trouble with memory, and I have bouts of extreme displays of forgetfulness.
You see, I'm doing it now, getting sidetracked. I came here to write about cakes, and doggone it, that's what I'm going to do!
It was about 8 o'clock in the Spina-Oneto household, which means everything was abuzz. TVs going, stoves cooking, kids running, the typical pandemonium that I, admittedly, cannot live without. However, for my sister Nicole, who prefers things to be more scheduled, had already eaten dinner, and was preparing for bedtime with her son, who had school the following day. But I made cakes and I was ready for them to be judged. Colie (our nickname for my sister) was initially against the idea of coming over for the sheer purpose of digesting unwanted calories caused by a jazzed up version of butter and sugar. She'd been talking for days now about how "fat" she's gotten recently, and how "bad" she's been because she bought a burger from McDonald's. We discussed, most recently, her only options for losing the 7 lbs she gained over winter would be, naturally, the most obvious solution, a colon cleanse. I also suggested a 10-day liquid diet. There was of course the option of starvation, which she offered to try. Oh, and how could we forget about that new berry pill craze thing, it apparently does wonders!
So, before I continue, let me introduce you guys to Nicole. She's a tall and slim, legs for days, raven-haired Scorpio. She's a fun and outgoing, sensitive and complex girl who has definitely had her share of memorable life-experiences, and an unusually high dosage of bad luck. When recounting her point-of view of a particular incident, or simply declaring something, she tends toward the dramatic, which in turn makes all of her stories colorful and hilarious.
"I'm stuck to wearing nothing but sundresses now that I've gained so much weight and my muffintop spills out over my pants," she proclaims. Allow me to insert picture here, so you get where the drama comment originates from...
Since Colie wasn't coming for the cake, I had to con her into it by bartering her presence for some already arranged, previously promised services, like cutting out her wildy overgrown bush in her wildlife preserve of a backyard, and staining the deck (that was supposed to have been completed the year before). Her son (my nephew) Noah, was along for the ride, anything to divert the ordinary and possibly delay his bedtime. And my mom, who happened to be in town, I knew would be game, since she's got the sweetest tooth of anyone I've ever known. I also invited Deisy and Javier, who had hopped on the cake-baking wagon after trying Dario's and my first-round flops.
I displayed all of the cakes on the counter, iced and decorated to my best ability. I created evaluation cards for the judges to critique the moistness, texture, icing flavor, and overall taste of each cake. I cut up an old shirt into individual blindfolds so when they bit into each sample, they could rely mostly on their sense of taste without an abundance of distraction. I set out shot glasses of water for each judge to rinse their palates between tasting. Between each bite of cake I placed on the small plates, I took care to remove the leftover crumbs from each fork, and dipped the cutting knife into water to wash away any lingering flavors from the previous slice I cut into.
Surprisingly, everyone was up to the challenge...well, at least the critique, if not the actual tasting. With each bite she took, Nicole reminded of a contestant on Fear Factor challenged to eat a fried tarantula.
Mom and Noah, however, seemed to be loving every minute, happily obliging to try each and every portion. Occasionally, they would get ahead of themselves, concentrating only on the cake itself, and not so much the evaluation, and forget to write down their comments, so distracted by what I can only imagine was the delicious taste of the samples.
Assuming the reaction would be drastically different between my American family and my Latino friends, I had them undergo the testing in waves. Plus, my American family had to get back to their schedule, for it was now past 9 and way too late to be out. Deisy and Javier, although they had to be up for work the next day, were leisurely enjoying some mate (tea grounds drunk from a gourd through a metal straw-like bombilla, typical in South America) with Dario, watching una novela on tv.
As expected, when they got around to trying my cakes, it was if I were in front of the American Idol panel and my family were Paula and they were Simon. I received encouraging and mostly positive feedback from my family. Deisy and Javier however, were harsh critics of the drier-than-they're-used-to cakes, that weren't even filled with any kind of fruit filling or dulce de leche (caramel). The torta de tres leches con durazno (three-milks cake with peach filling) Deisy brought to the competition to sample was the favored winner amongst them. (caramel)! Of course, the wonderfully moist,
Overall, I got some wonderful feedback from all of the participants and I really appreciate everyone taking part in my silly (to them, serious to me) experiment. It reminds me of how special friends and family are. They are willing to support you, to be there for you, to encourage you, to be honest with you, and to even partake in ridiculous, mock-judging panels from time to time.
Thanks guys.
And while the moral of the story has been revealed, I still have one last cake to bake. The cake that was overwhelmingly rated highest, happened to be the one that was the simplest to make, both the cake and the icing. A quick and easy recipe, that delivered good old-fashioned yellow butter cake flavor, with sweet icing that makes you want to dip your fingers into it and lick them all, one by one. And what I have decided to do, which is what I do most often in my current life, is infuse the styles of American and Latino by modifying that recipe oh so slightly. I will apply a milk wash to the cake to achieve high levels of moist and sponge-y morsels, while following the main ingredients of a normal yellow cake, with, of course, the ever-important Minnie Mouse design. If I throw some pineapple into the mix, I will have completed the triangle of cultures that define me by representing Hawaii too...NOT!!! That's one of the biggest misconceptions, that Hawaiian-style food is simply adding pineapple to whatever you're cooking. That's up there with the common and sometimes ignorant notions that we live in huts, wear coconut bras, and actually speak Hawaiian...but that's an entirely other blog entry!
Aloha y'all later!
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