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The pounding rain had turned to a drizzle when she walked into my kitchen. Her silver lamé gown hugged her curves like aluminum foil over last night’s lasagna. My mouth began to water instantly; that was some good lasagna.
She leaned in close, flashing a pair of spectacular baby blues and crooned, “Patty cake, patty cake, baker man. Bake me a cake as fast as you can.”
“What did you have in mind?” I asked, still thinking about the lasagna.
“I want a cake that looks like a t-shirt.”
“No problem,” I replied, “I’ll just make a sheet cake and give it a crew neck.”
“I don’t want it to look like just any t-shirt,” she countered, “I want it to look like this shirt.”
She held up a stylish shirt featuring a cartoon of a devil happily making snow angles.
“It’s from Threadless Tees,” she said forcing a smile and a little product placement.
I admired the shirt thinking that a line of clever t-shirts like that could put an end to nudity forever.
“I want you to interpret this design in cake,” she continued, “Something pleasing to the eye and the palette. Maybe you can make it out of angel food cake,” she mused.
I said .angel food wouldn’t be strong enough for what I had in mind and I would have to crumb coat the cake with icing made from shortening rather than butter. After this rain stopped it would get very steamy around here. She rolled her eyes looking nonplussed.
I got to baking and she played with her iPhone. “Anything I can do to help?” she asked finally.
“Yeah, document the process with this camera,” I said gesturing to a small digital device on the counter.”
“Sorry, no can do,” she said, “I don’t really exist, I’m just a figment of your twisted imagination. “
“And not a very helpful one either,” I muttered under my breath.
“I heard that,” she said not looking up from her iPhone.
After the cake was cooled, trimmed and frosted it was time to apply the fondant. This cake was getting a light blue “under layer” of fondant and a white top layer to better recreate the colors of the t-shirt design. While I rolled and draped the fondant, Ms. Silver Lamé made helpful comments like, “I think you’re doing that wrong,” and “Why is this taking so long?”
I cut out the shape of the snow angel and hoof prints from the white fondant revealing the blue layer beneath.
“So,” she asked, “gum paste figure?”
“No,” I replied, “between the cake and the fondant we have enough vanilla flavoring to go around. What this cake needs is an infusion of cocoa butter and corn syrup.”
“And that means…?” she asked.
“Modeling chocolate!’
“I’ll alert the media,” she said without emotion, turning back to the iPhone.
While I mixed up some modeling chocolate Ms. Silver Lamé reviewed the photographs I had taken thus far.
“You’re rubbish at photography,” she concluded.
“Shut your big fat face,” I suggested. She was right, of course, but I wasn’t in the mood for honesty.
I sculpted the figure while she browsed the Threadless Tees online catalog. Then she looked at some of the other entries on Threadcakes. “Wow, these are good. You don’t have a snowball’s chance of beating these folks,” she said.
I renewed my suggestion of a reducing her mouth’s hours of operation but had to admit there were some seriously rockin’ cakes begin created.
With the cake completed, Ms. Silver Lamé slid down from the stool she had occupied since arriving. “See ya around, cake boy,” she said running her finger along my jawline and flicking my chin. She turned and walked for the door.
“Aren’t you gonna try any of this cake?” I asked.
“Maybe next time,” she said closing the door behind her.
I cut myself a slice and tasted my creation. Not bad. OK, maybe a little bad but mostly, not bad.
