T-5 Hours: Cake vs Cake

Ever since cro-magnon man married the first neanderthal lady, there have been wedding cakes and for almost as long, there has been a groom's cake to accompany the main cake designed primarily by the bride. [Yet somehow, I never heard of nor saw a groom's cake until planning this wedding.] Never ones to pass on more cake, Liz and I of course had both.

The wedding cake was an impressive construction unto itself, composed of three tiered layers of different flavors mixed with difference fillings. The top layer consisted of chocolate cake complemented by a peanut butter ganache, the middle layer was a simple yellow cake with a passion fruit and lime zest, and the bottom layer was another layer of chocolate with raspberry filling. The entire cake was frosted with the world's most delicious almond buttercream colored in a vibrant red-orange-yellow ombre pattern. And just because that still wasn't enough, a cascading fall of vanilla mermaid nguyens adorned one side. Of course the piece de resistance was the cake toppers: two cute little felted sloths decked out in their wedding best. They unfortunately, or fortunately, were the only part of the cake not edible though Planty and Butternut may have thoughts otherwise.

[You better believe that every aspect of this cake has a backstory. We browsed cake toppers for ages, debating which style, which animal, or maybe little people figurines in track suits, okay sloths, which felt artist would make the best sloth, and then had to send back our sloth because the original hat looked too silly. I made a waterproof butt protector (with more rainbow duct tape) so that the sloths could keep their felty furry books clean of frosting, so they could have a second life in our display case at home. One of my earliest cake decisions was that I wanted a cascading element, and I was into the idea of a cascading vertebral column. Scooter was lukewarm at best about this idea, and I couldn't really figure out how to work it, so I later changed it to the much cheaper, simpler merengue cascade. I informed the baker, who requested that we provide the merengues (?), so we bought some at Trader Joe's and dropped them off on our way to Nevada City. Then, the baker got cold feet about the merengues and thought they wouldn't look good, so she didn't place them, and told the coordinator to double check with me and if I actually wanted them, she would come back and place them. The coordinator checked with me, I asked her to ask the baker to get her butt back to place the merengues, and they looked totally perfect.]

The groom's cake was in the end not a cake at all, but a donut castle. Initially conceived to be a donut pile, it was quickly upgraded into a more proper donut tower before evolving into its final, more grandiose, form of imperial donut fortification. [There were many aspects of wedding planning that elicited great indifference from Scooter. The donut pile was the element he felt great passion for, so I encouraged him to follow his heart, hoping the passion would spill over into decisions about table settings and dinner music and aisle decor.] It was constructed out a variety of donuts followed by a few replacement donuts [thank you, Best Woman] after the wedding work crew ate a few -- a crime for which they are still awaiting trial. The final construction of cake, yeast, and bar donuts was further accented by a generous addition of red, orange, and yellow pennants crafted with the help of family [and balls of string derived from the fabric garland -- I knew they were worth keeping, but their final disposition as castle ramparts was a last-minute decision]. The donut castle stood in full majesty for about three hours before being devoured to its crumb cake donut foundations. Eyewitnesses blame the Huns.
 

My crowning achievement as an accomplished donut architect.

 

Almost as beautiful as delicious.

Me and Liz.