Family Daze

This evening away from kids most definitely took the cake

By Debbie Farmer

I knew I needed to get out of the house more often the day I started to cut up my husband's steak during dinner.

"I think you should take a class or something," he said between bites. "If you go in the evening, I can stay home and watch the children."

The next day I got a brochure from the local recreation department and scanned the offerings. I looked for a class where I could unleash my surpressed creativity, enhance my personal growth and meet new people whom I didn't have to feed or take to the bathroom. I quickly eliminated anything that required physical coordination or a concentration level longer than 15 seconds. Cake decorating was the only class left.

My husband looked surprised when I told him. "But your idea of cake decorating is ordering a cake from the bakery and telling them what color frosting to put on it."

"Exactly!" I said. "After this class I'll be able to custom make all of the children's birthday cakes."

I couldn't wait to get started.

The teacher introduced herself and passed out a syllabus on the first day of class. Then, just as I was beginning to relax and enjoy myself, she announced we'd need to bring a cake and confectionery frosting for every meeting. I thought she was kidding until she handed out the recipes.

On my way home I went to the store to stock up on the ingredients I would need to get through a six-week class: 10 pounds of flour, several dozen eggs, three different kinds of sugar, food coloring, and six tubs of lard for the frosting. As I stood in line I started having flashbacks of my first pregnancy. Then I noticed a tired-looking woman behind me who had 10 bars of baker's chocolate, five pounds of marshmallows, a jar of peanut butter and a half-dozen bags of walnuts.

"Advanced candy making," she said. "And you?"

"Beginning cake decorating."

She nodded knowingly.

The next week it took me awhile to decipher the cake recipe, since "sifting" was something I usually did through drawers. When I got to the class, I was relieved to learn that our first project would be to spread the white frosting smoothly and evenly on the cake. I figured it would be easy, since confectionery frosting is similar in texture to Play Doh. But when I was finished, my cake looked as smooth and even as an avalanche disaster site.

I brought it home to show my family.

"Great snow scene, honey," my husband said.

The next week, we were supposed to learn how to make roses, so I had to bring pastel-colored frosting in my pastry bag. Unfortunately, the directions for making pink were written in the same secret code as the cake recipe and the closest I could come was bright orange.

I arrived at the class in the middle of the teacher's explanation on how to make intricate spring flowers. I grabbed my frosting bag, attached the appropriate tip, and tried to follow the directions. When I finished, I had made several orange lumps instead of flowers, and the cake looked like it had broken out with the chicken pox.

This time my family greeted my masterpiece less enthusiastically.

"Another cake already?" my husband said.

"What are those orange things?" my daughter asked. "Gross."

The next week I didn't have time to bake a cake, so I spread frosting on a chunk of Styrofoam I found in the garage. It would've worked great, but when I got to class I found out it was the day to do layer cakes and I had to cut the piece into two equal halves with a utensil as sharp as a butter knife.

As I sawed into the Styrofoam, I had a suspicion Julia Child didn't start out this way. I ended up with one large rectangle and a smaller piece that sloped into a triangle. I slathered the outside with white frosting, mounted the triangle on top of the larger piece, and decorated the corners with orange roses. When I got home I tossed the cake on the kitchen table.

"I quit," I said. "The only thing I've learned how to make is a mess. The next cake I decorate is coming from the bakery."

"What do you mean?" my husband said. "That's a great looking boat."

"It's a layer cake." I glared at him.

But I figured the class wasn't a total waste of time. At least I can custom make a birthday cake if my children ever have a party with a nautical theme. But, as my son flicked an orange frosting ball across the table and made a sound like a torpedo, I vowed that next time I wanted to get out of the house and meet new people, I'd take up aerobics.

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Readers can contact Debbie Farmer at debbie@ecis.com.

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