There is a reason why I’m showing you two almost burned mini cakes. Truly. And it’s a matter of ego. Or learning to let go. Or something.
So Saturday was a pretty horrible day. We were supposed to go to my parents house for the holidays. We made it as far as Rochester before we turned around and came home.
I sat in my living room, cried, and ate a large amount of Swiss Colony petit fours. I then had to decide what to do with the rest of the weekend. I get to see my parents maybe twice a year and filling an empty weekend wasn’t part of my thought pattern last week.
I decided to put on a face-full of makeup and bake a cake. I was in the middle of prepping a vintage butter cake recipe when my oven went bottoms up on me. I watched the element spark, go dark, and give up the ghost.
In a fit of determined hysteria I put the cake in anyway and walked back to a pan full of unbaked batter. Not that I was terribly surprised.
After talking to my mom, I put the batter in to mini loaf ramikins I had for Christmas gifts and put them into the toaster oven. They baked, but you know the whole you plan and the gods laugh thing, they toasted on top.
They smell great anyway. With any luck I should have a new bake element soon and I can go back to not freaking out about my oven dying in the middle of baking month.