I decided to bake a cake for work last night. Not because it was my birthday or anything, I just decided that I wanted cake and tea on a Friday afternoon at work. It was such a comical event in my kitchen last night, I was wholly surprised when an actual cake emerged from my oven 20 minutes later…
Relying on information given to me by my husband (there’s my first error) we had all of the ingredients required to make a cake. I get the recipe book out, find a simple enough Victorian sponge recipe, and start pulling all of the ingredients out of the cupboards etc. The very first ingredient, is 175g of castor sugar. I don’t even have white sugar, let alone castor sugar! So coarse, granular brown sugar was weighed and thrown into the bowl. I then needed 175g of unsalted butter. I had 98g in my fridge; the balance was salted margarine in my fridge. After this I just knew that this cake was going to be of atomic tastes – hahaha! I said a silent prayer for my kitchen and colleagues, and I was honestly shocked and gobsmacked when the 2 halves were taken out of my oven looking relatively like cake rounds… My best part was when the recipe called for ‘sifted self-raising flour to be folded into the mixture carefully with a spatula or wooden spoon.’ I was like, wait, what?!
Needless to say, I smooshed the jam between the 2 cakes this morning, and went completely overboard with the sprinkling of the icing sugar, but, in the all important taste test, everyone survived! They actually complimented me! No, I did not tell them what a comedic nightmare it was making the damn thing! (I had 3 pieces myself, after someone else tasted it first).
So, I am perhaps not the worst baker-person-female in the world, and after last night, maybe not in my family either.
Well, that might be pushing it. A bit. No. A lot.