I started the day with the plan of making a cake. Not just any cake, but a blood orange cake with blood orange cream and layers. The recipe was rather long, a whole page with extremely detailed instructions. There was also a warning about being careful if it was too humid out and such. Okay so not just a long recipe, a bit challenging. Okay so daunting is the right word.
But the whole day stretched endlessly in front of me and why not. The cake was for a friend who had just started up a new business and was in need of a pick-me-up. So yes bring on this daunting recipe. I’m ready. Or so I thought.
And then the daunting recipe was brought forth with ingredients and measuring implements. It may have been the apron that started the process. Yes the apron. The one I never wear. Except today for some reason I felt the need to wear it. That may have been the beginning of the great unravel.
Or perhaps it was when the first orange decided it didn’t want to be zested. I mean it did protest via squirting me on the eye when I set about to juicing it. I should have taken all those signs into account and questioned if the cake would really do justice for my friend.
But that’s just not me. I’m too determined or stubborn. So I carried on making the cake. I mixed and stirred and sifted and baked. I whipped and spread and tried like crazy to make it all level. Surely it’s okay if the cake looks homemade. I mean we all know I’m not a professional baker. It’s the thought and all that after all.
So it is a bit lopsided and the blood orange cream wasn’t spread perfectly. But no big deal. Nope the big deal wasn’t even all the dishes, amount of time or anything like that. Driving the cake to my friend, not a big deal. Making the cake and delivering the cake are what you do for a friend after all. Dropping the cake on her floor? Priceless. In the wrong way. Other than she had a few good laughs, the kind of laughs that make you cry. But the thought and the heart-felt intent is there right?