The Great Cake Disaster

So the other day my friend April called to remind me about the Octavia-Smithville Volunteer Fire Department Cakewalk.  Wow, that was a mouthful.  She didn't really say it like that.  I just wanted to be thorough.  She actually said something like, "Hey, can you bring a cake and some beans to the cakewalk on Saturday?"  Ben is on the fire department, so I have wifely duties when it comes to these types of fundraisers.  Of course I said yes.  I like to bake anyway.  Whip up a couple of cakes on a Saturday morning?   Sure!  No big deal, right?

Well.

This morning I get all set up in my sunny yellow and green kitchen to whack together a couple of strawberry cakes from an old family recipe.  I chose strawberry cakes because for some unknown reason I have a huge bag of frozen strawberries in the freezer that I am never, ever going to use.  I'm not even sure where it came from.  So, Patience and I are happily licking pink cake batter off the spatula, putting on a pot of beans, enjoying the spring sunshine streaming through the green gingham curtains at the window.  I slide the cakes in the oven, set the timer, and promptly forget about them for 25 minutes while I do dishes and pick up toys.  When the timer goes off 25 minutes later and I open the door to remove my cakes, I am surprised to find partially baked pink batter in the pans and a lukewarm oven.  The pilot must have gone out.  Happens all the time.  No big deal.  I know how to light a pilot.

So I drag the racks out of the oven, take out the tray, and cheerfully hold a lighter to the pilot while holding down the knob, just like the directions on the inside of the oven door say.  Only it won't light.  I try again.  Still no luck.  Okay, so I call Dennis, our landlord who lives down the road.  For some reason that I don't understand he isn't dressed yet at 11 a.m., but whatever.  I'm not going to judge.  He promises to come as soon as he can, and in the meantime I pray that my cakes will not be ruined, stir the beans, and make Patience a sandwich.

Dennis finally comes, and after trying to light the pilot he tells me the thermocouple is toast.  I have to have a new one.  The good news is that they only cost about five dollars and can be found at most hardware stores.  The bad news is that there is no hardware store.  I thank Dennis, give him the rent check, and stand at the kitchen counter pondering how to finish the cakes while the beans boil over and Patience rubs mayonnaise in her hair and squeezes all the juice out of her pickle slices.  I just love it when she does that. 

Okay, my genius mind quickly devises a plan.  I call my one and only neighbor, Ada Gray, a widow who is usually willing to help me out in a pinch.  Now, Ada is not your typical widow lady.  She doesn't make cookies, she doesn't wear aprons, she doesn't go to the hair dresser and she doesn't go to church or attend community events.  She spends her time cutting up wood with her chainsaw, shooting at stray dogs from her front porch, and watching NASCAR.  I'm serious.  And she only tolerates children if they are well behaved.  Lucky for me she seems to put Patience in the well behaved category, which is why I am able to call and ask her for favors.  We love Ada.  She's hilarious.

So I call and ask if I can bring my unfinished cakes over and bake them in her oven.  Of course she says yes, so I now turn to the problem of getting Patience, the cakes, the glaze for the cakes (has to go on while they're hot) and myself over to Ada's house.  It isn't far, but driving would be fastest. 

Wait, can't take the car because Ben took it to town today.  Okay, I'll take the truck. 

Nope, can't take the truck because its still hooked to the trailer which is loaded with shingles.  I'd like to see me back the 25 foot flatbed trailer down the driveway with a manual transmission Dodge dually one-ton.  Not. Happening.

Okie dokie then, so our other vehicle option (other than the four-wheeler - I didn't see that going well either) is the red wagon.  So I wipe the mayonnaise off Patience's face and mostly out of her hair and cram her in one end of the wagon, load a canvas bag with cakes, etc., shove it in next to Patience (who, by the way, thinks this is really fun), command her not to touch ANYTHING, and start bumping down the dirt driveway to Ada's house.  The sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, the daffodils are waving along the fence row, and a brisk walk will do me good.  These are the things I'm telling myself in order to not get mad.  It worked. 

I wish Ada didn't live up a hill.  After dragging my pregnant self and the loaded wagon up go her front door, I could barely breath.  There's no reason for that.  I don't care how pregnant I am, I ought to be able to pull a wagon up a little hill without falling apart.  Its getting ridiculous. 

Well, Ada kindly invited us into her kitchen where she had the oven pre-heated for me. Patience behaved herself, thank goodness, so hopefully we didn't get on Ada's nerves too badly.  Finished the cakes, finished the glaze, glazed the cakes, traipsed home, put Patience down for a nap, stirred the beans, and here I am.  And I just noticed that I have a big streak of pink batter on the front of my shirt.  Right on the boob.  Awesome.  It kind of blends in with the lavender and white striped t-shirt I'm wearing.  Maybe I just won't change and no one will notice at the cakewalk tonight.  Or maybe they will notice and I just won't care.  That's what I'm leaning towards.

So this evening I'll swing by Ada's and get the cakes, which are cooling on her kitchen table.  Hopefully Ben will be home by then because I am not, I repeat, AM NOT, taking the red wagon to the cakewalk tonight.  Its way too far.  I would never make it. 

But I suppose we could try the four-wheeler...

                                                   *****************************

Grandma Trammell's Strawberry Cake

1 white cake mix

1 small package strawberry jello mix

1/3 cup water

4 eggs

2 cups sliced strawberries, fresh or frozen

2/3 cup oil

Glaze

1 pound powdered sugar

1 stick butter

1 cup sliced strawberries, fresh or frozen

Mix together the white cake mix, jello mix, water, eggs, and oil until smooth.  Add the sliced strawberries, stir it up, and pour it into a greased 9x13 baking dish.  Bake at 350 for 25 - 30 minutes, or until cake tests done.

Don't start the glaze until just a few minutes before you take the cake out of the oven because you're supposed to pour it on while the cake and glaze are both hot.  To make the glaze, just melt the butter in a small saucepan, add the strawberries and powdered sugar, and mix it all up until its smooth.

Pour it over the top of the hot cake.  Sometimes I even like to poke holes in the cake with a fork so some of that sweet, sticky deliciousness soaks in.

I've thought about making some whipped cream with a cup of whipping cream and a dollop of powdered sugar.  It would be fun to add a few drops of red food coloring to make it pink, too.  Spread it over the top of the cooled cake, and I bet it would be amazing. 

The last time I made this cake I took it to my brother's house where we were having a family get together and my dad ate about a quarter of the cake right out of the pan before we even ate supper.  I told him he might as well just put his face in it.  He has no self control when it comes to sweets.  And neither will you when you make this cake.  Enjoy!