I'm afflicted with an illness that a friend has dubbed my ICDT ("I can do that!") problem. You know the phrase "Fools rush in...?" That's me. Now I'd like to think that I'd be the one lemming to curve to the right and save myself from the cliff fall, but there are moments when the ICDT issue can be problematic (the 24 hour quilt comes to mind).
I'm cooking for a friend's wedding this Saturday. As in, tomorrow. The original count was 30 people. It's since grown to 50. It also went from being a relatively casual event to a more formal event. Oh why didn't I heed the warnings in the writings of the The Food Whore? Scope creep has definitely crept in. Alas, in addition to my OCD, and my ICDT, I am also cursed with an inability to comprehend fear or self-preservation. So I'm also making the cake.
The food is on target and near completion. No emergencies. No worries. It's food. It speaks to me. My hands know what to do.
The cake. Alas.
Desserts I can make. But cake is not my milieu (except for my wedding cake, but I created it based on a family recipe that I've been making for almost 20 years). Krista's wedding colors are red and ivory so the wedding cake is supposed to be a red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting. I was going to wrap it in white chocolate modeling paper. Smooth like fondant. Not disgusting tasting like fondant.
Two months ago, I made seven recipes of red velvet cake to get to one that passed muster for lightness, airiness and fluffiness, as Southern Red Velvet Cake likes to pretend it doesn't have pounds of butter in it. I finally found one that was deemed exceptional and everything a Southern Red Velvet Cake is supposed to be. But by this point, Greg was refusing to eat any more. I should have known then, given the hell I endured finding this perfect recipe what it portented.
I baked for a three tiered cake last night. After appropriate cooling and preparation, I started to frost a crumb coat. Part way through, I stopped, went into the TV room where Hubby was busy killing Covenant forces on the X-Box, trembling and pale.
"What's wrong?" he asked, after looking at my shell-shocked expression.
I sat down on the couch, stared at him, then: "OH MY GOD! WHO THE F!@#$%^&* DO I THINK I AM? WHAT THE F!@#$%^&*( POSSESSED ME TO THINK I COULD BAKE A F!@#$%^&*(ING WEDDING CAKE?"
"Um, why can't you bake a wedding cake?"
"Go look in the kitchen."
Eyebrows rose. "It can't be that bad." He went to look. And came back. Slowly picking up his controller, he turned to me, real pity in his eyes. "Oh."
When I used this recipe previously, I didn't frost the entire cake; I only frosted one layer. So. That lightness, airiness and fluffiness? It gives the cake absolutely no structure. Which means icing, decorating and tiering the cake is nearly impossible. The cake is so moist, it sinks. If handled, it explodes into a million little red crumbs.
I went home at lunch today to try to figure out some solutions. I was so frazzled I came back to work wearing my black socks and blue house sandals.
Holy f!@#$%^& s&*().