Ms. Bean Birthday Fairy

It’s the day before the big day. One of the kids has made it yet another year. Her eyes are glowing and her little mouth won’t shut with all the excitement of what’s to come. Another year, another birthday, and with that another cake!!

Just two nights ago, I tried to settle for apple pancakes instead but I was shot down almost instantly…NO CAKE ??? Oh, but of course, my little Bieneken…I was just kidding, you little love bird.

Ah, the cake. I am not the greatest cook but I am much worse with baking. Cooking at least doesn’t require measuring cups. I am a generalist. I am not good with details: Anything below one pint for me is negligible. Lists of ingredients, small print, and sets of measuring spoons all make my brain go lalalala.

But I have over the years managed to master one recipe that has produced decent results. It’s a vegan recipe I got from a friend who actually is a vegan. It combines six ingredients and it doesn’t require a noisy blender, and also I get around counting eggs.

Needless to say that recipe last night was still in some box underneath four other boxes in a house 500 miles away.

So, there I was the night before the big day, and opposite from me there were two boxes of Plan B, Dr. Oethker’s Vanilla Chocolate Chip Ready Mix, politely waiting on the counter.

My level of guilt at having resorted to preservative-loaded, taste-enhanced material that probably glowed in the dark hovered at a tolerable level. As a single mom right then it was basically that or nothing (which, as I already pointed out, was not an option).

The real issue at hand was whether I would be able to do it at all, especially considering the fact that I had forgotten to buy the one additional ingredient required: butter.

Luckily, there was a ‘light’ version printed on the back of the box that suggested to substitute most of the butter with other less potent dairy products.

I took a deep breath, scraped together whatever I could find in the 100% fat department, got out a mixing bowl, and started ripping open packages (including those that were meant to stay shut).

I preheated the oven, I measured the Quark (no advanced degree in astrophysics required), I greased the cake pan…I even (minuscule little detail) warmed the scraps of butter up to room temperature by placing it over a vent.

All was under control. I felt big. It was a good feeling but it only lasted until I had pushed the cake into the oven, closed the oven trap, and saw the lumpy pile of butter still sitting there on top of the vent…or should I say slowly disappearing into the vent.

That’s when the beaten up brass ensemble of the circus with the one-eyed poodle should come into play. It’s when ‘grotesque’ remains the only word to describe what followed in a series of unfortunate details:

Semi-melted butter dumped in bubbling batter, rushed whisking of not-to-be whisked ingredients inside a burning hot cake pan, and a second attempt at closing the first act of a doomed production.

Oven trap shut. Sweat contained. Cake saved.

But the grace period only lasted fifty-five minutes. At least I did manage to extricate the cake when it was time. And for just one moment, it looked perfect like a freshly fluffed pillow.

But then in an audacious if not to say outright foolhardy attempt I decided to turn it up-side-down for extra effect. Unfortunately, only one third of the cake followed Newton’s law.

What a pitiful sight it was: My wonderful creation diminished to a sorrowful crooked pile of what looked like steaming cow dung. But great minds rebound fast, right?

I took out a spoon and in an attack of mad genius scraped what remained in the pan onto the counter, formed a ball out of it and stuck it onto the pile.

Then I got out the chocolate glaze and generously lathered every inch of that dough ball creation until all traces of disaster were sufficiently covered.

A dusting of chocolate sprinkles and a halo of candles was to ensure that nothing was going to come between me and the excited screeches of my six-year old.

Did I say nothing? But at 6am…who really gives a damn. We ended up having a lot of fun! Hurray.