There’s all kinds of action on the childhood development front these days, which means I’m dishing (and I do mean dishing) out rewards as fast as I can bake them. This pink cake was a “congratulations and keep up the good work” award from the wife and I to you-know-who. It’s one of my regular mini-efforts, a spontaneous affair made possible by a frozen 6-inch cake layer I had stashed in the basement freezer.
Take note, friends, to always make extra cake. I never fire up the stand mixer for anything less than a double batch of butter cake. For one, because I like to load my 9-inch layer pans up with a full 26.5 ounces of batter regardless of what the recipe says. The extra volume gives me more room for error when I go to trim the layers down, and what can I say, I like tall cakes.
Second, the leftovers. With all that batter leftover I’m free to bake up an extra 9-inch layer, maybe a 6-inch or two, and of course a few cupcakes in the bargain. It all freezes beautifully when wrapped nice and tight, though the cupcakes rarely make it that far. Trimmed and ready, the layers are cakes-in-waiting for whatever dessert-worthy event might come along. This little pink job is nothing more than a single six-inch layer split in half with a little store-bought strawberry icing to cover. Yes, I said store-bought. The little girl pooped and wanted a reward, what am I, a miracle worker? And anyway, at 3, she likes a sweet grocery store icing more than my buttercream.
But didn’t I launch into this post with the intention of talking about eggs? ‘Deed I did. Go back and take a look at that cake picture and tell me if that isn’t the richest yellow you’ve seen outside of a Duncan Hines box. It has nothing to do with me, it’s those Kentucky eggs I’ve been telling you about. Fresh-off-the-farm gold they are. I tell you, if it’s wrong for a grown man to love a chicken, I don’t wanna be right.
More on this later, I’ve used up my morning blog time.