Cake or Death: WTF? Interlude

This next post can best be summed up as: Things That Make You Go, “Hmmmm?”

   But please, don’t let my bad taste in 90s club music defer you from scrolling through my annotated gallery of crazy cakes I came across while researching my Cake or Death posts. The following cakes were not applicable to any of my CoD rants, but the’yre hardly rejects. No, in my book, the following cakes are ALL winners, and if I refrained from showing them to you, it’d make me a bad blogger. I think you need to see these cakes.  Your life will never be the same, trust.

   In writing classes (of which I need many, many more, thx), I remember being told that you have to start your story or whatever with a “hook.” Something to draw the reader in. Because the “hook” brings you back, I ain’t telling you no lie. The “hook” brings you back, on that you can rely. (ka-POW! It’s the one-two punch of bad 90s music up in here! I should be ashamed of myself, but I’m just not) Anyway, I you’ll agree that the first cake up on the carving station more than qualifies as a hooker (and on several levels, in fact!):

There are no words. Really, there aren’t. About the only observation I can make at this point is that the cake is shaved. (*retch*)

Cake or Death: Part II

Get ready to get OMFG SO EXCITED!

 

   It’s time to talk more about cake! And I’m PUMPED! Actually, I’m not pumped. I’m having a hard time finding a good photographer for my wedding, and I’m about to cry. Photographs are more or less the most important part of a wedding. Anyone who’s gotten married lately will tell you that the whole day is pretty much a blur, and were it not for the photographs, they’d forget everything.

   But whatever, the cake is SOOOOOO important, and I’m going to have to take time out of my life to meet with bakers and go to tastings and pay $700 for a mountain of sugar I’m not gonna eat and fuckety FUCK! Anyway, on with the goddamn show-stopping edible sculptures:

 

The Ernie K. Doe Factor

   Despite the teeny bit of mockery in my original Cake or Death post, let it be known: I love my mother-in-law. She is a lovely, sweet, big-hearted woman and did a wonderful job of raising the love of my life against many obstacles. HOWEVER, I am really, really morbidly fascinated with wicked mother-in-law stories. Love them. Eat them up with a spoon.

  If, like me, you love a good wicked witch tale, please check out this entry by Kadinsky over at Buttercup Punch. Also worth a once-over or two are the entries tagged My Mother-in-Law over at the Bewildered Housewife.

 

(This post, and any and all mother-in-law-related posts, will be dedicated to the late, great Ernie K. Doe. If you’re ever in New Orleans, please to visit the old stomping ground of the foremost Charity Hospital Baby: Ernie K. Doe’s Mother-in-Law Lounge.)

If any of you readers have crazy mother-in-law stories to share, they’re always welcome in the comments!

Cake or Death: Insanity Interlude

 

    Sooooo, while I was researching my fantasy confections for Cake or Death: Part II, I noticed some rather alarming trends in the baking world. Actually, it seems to have gone way beyond a trend, and is approaching a full-blown wedding institution. I really hope that this is just some instance where my chi is out of alignment and it’s throwing off my Google-fu or something.

Please to peep the newest, hottest, burgeoning trend that the internet has barfed up all over my consciousness after the jump.

 

Cake or Death: Part I

   

   I’ve only been engaged and wedding planning for 8 months, and yet I can’t tell you how many parental roadblocks I’ve encountered. Over really stupid shit like sash colors and fonts. Until now, I was never so aware of the degree to which Parents Just Don’t Understand . MY idea of classy and stylish is worlds removed from my parents’ ideas of class and style. Seriously, if it were up to my mom, I’d have sent my invitations out on postcards from Graceland and there would be nothing but pulled-pork barbeque at the reception. But at least she’s laid-back. If I had some uptight, Emily Post worshipping, Kennedy Dynasty type mom, then I’m sure I’d really have something to cry about.

  One place I didn’t count on a lot of static was from my fiance’s mom. This weekend we were casually discussing wedding stuff, and out of nowhere there was a very heated yet restrained pastry-related meltdown.

(after the jump!)