Last week Wednesday, we made cake with some friends of ours, as The Young Lad had done quite well, and I had promised him a “Chocolate Cake Experience”. Little Person understood that the cake was not for her, but participated in the occasion with great enthusiasm, although she also spent time perusing a recipe book before pronouncing a desire for “A Pink Cake” (you could hear the capital letters in her voice). [Subsequent investigation showed that this was a Battenburg Cake recipe. That said, I did promise that we would soon make cake for her.
Since it is now a week later, I could delay no longer. Time, and preschoolers wait for no man (or woman). Cake Time it was, despite my cold. And aching joints. And better judgement. I have done baking in a sorry state before – that normally involved mixing ingredients for biscuits, or even just pulling ready-made dough out the freezer and using that. I have made cakes before too, but seem to have forgotten that with my sous chef, it can be a little … adventurous.
So no. We should have done the biscuits. I should have checked that I had the ingredients. I should not have pulled out the complicated recipe books that require that you mix egg whites in one bowl and batter in another and fold the two together. I should have realised, since she had been asking every day that she would ask today, and made sure to eat a decent snack before picking her up. But no. I did none of these things.
It was the grumpiest cake I ever made.
But Little Person still enjoyed licking the bowl. And the cake appears to be alright (although I broke it getting it out the tin).