Gran's Birthday Cake

It was my Granny's Birthday last week, so I was very, very busy. That is because I decided to bake her a cake.

 What a lucky Granny, I hear you exclaim.

Yes, she is, although truth be told, my family has banned me from baking cakes. Fortunately, my Grandmother suffers from bouts of selective memory, so I thought it was a good excuse to perfect my cake-making skills and forge a new family identity for myself as a proven cake-maker superior!

                                                                           

                                     

I was so ambitious and motivated I goggled impossible cake recipes...hell, I wasn't going settle for making just your average sponge cake for my début, no I intended to truly impress my Gran and family.

That idea didn't last long. 

Only long enough to read a recipe, impossible Mexican flan. One quick glance in the cupboard and I realised I didn't have the right spices, condiments, never mind flour or fishball powder. Cake baking has advanced at a rate similar to computer technology and in ways that I can not fully comprehend. It has developed well past the simple egg, butter, sugar flour, mix, bake... cavewoman style I've enjoyed in the past. 

It was these high, heady heights of ambitious cake-making that earned me my lowly reputation as the one who brings desserts that should be avoided if you want to save your taste buds from an extended epileptic fit.

I didn't notice at first that my cakes weren't being devoured with the same relish and delight that a chef de excellence would expect. Instead, they were being politely and discretely dumped in the host's bin. It was not one of my happiest days when I discovered this.

I went home to drown my sorrows by eating my favourite uncooked cake mix, butter mixed with sugar, and a good handful of flour. Yum. I immediately felt worse and had to go to the bathroom to vomit.

Now, my family meekly suggests, 'Please, Bimbo, don't trouble yourself with baking. You work hard all week. Why not bring one of your nice garden salads?' When I assure them that I haven’t worked too hard that week and have ample time to tackle the new treacle dumpling Chinese cake recipe I’ve found on the web, I’m met with blank, stunned expressions. I got the hint, unsubtle as it was. 

So, dusting off my electric egg beaters like a battle weapon and reclaiming the salad bowl from the feral fruit, I mixed equal quantities of eggs, butter, sugar, flour, and a big dollop of granddaughterly love. In 10 minutes flat, it was ready for the preheated oven.

It smelt great and looked picture-perfect. Perhaps just a little plain, it was easily fixed with a trick Gran herself taught me: soak it in a little rum and melted butter. I admit now that maybe I used a drop too much rum, and possibly it was a little high on the alcohol scale, possibly fueling the resulting fire. However, I do believe it was a little excessive for Uncle Bert to put all 90 candles on Gran's cake.

Here is a picture of Gran with her cake. She said at least it kept her warm as it was a dismally cold day.

Everyone seemed happy they didn’t have to eat the cake, as it was quickly burnt to a dark lump of waxy charcoal.

Here's a useful weblink how to make an exploding cake. I’m treating Uncle Bert to one for his next birthday because he was far too happy and relieved that Gran’s cake burnt to smithereens after he diligently hid it under a forest of birthday candles.