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Title: Blacking Out Over Wedding Cake
by Stephanie Sorosiak
I am by no means a confrontational person. Most of the time, I prefer to be the observant one in the room rather than the one making noise. But let me tell you, voluntarily smashing a wine glass onto the floor is extremely relieving. Not so much the clean up that ensues afterword, but that mere sense of relief as the glass hits the floor is enough to make you want to do it again. Amidst my disastrous attempt to bake my first wedding cake, I did this twice. And it was worth it both times.
Five years ago I decided to launch my own baking business. I have no culinary school training, just loads of insight into restaurants and my personal curiosities. At this point I was working as a pastry cook for a corporate kitchen, but my daily tasks consisted of flourless chocolate cake, coconut chia seed pudding, and fresh pasta. Out of some bout of defiance, I thought offering to make my ex-boyfriend’s sister’s wedding cake would be the perfect introduction to the business. Wrong. It couldn’t have been more opposite. But along with being quiet, I am also strong-willed. I knew I had to push through this obstacle, one dirty mixing bowl at a time.
I don’t remember much of the process. I remember I started the cake a day before the wedding (laughable), and I had no proper baking tools, just a janky hand mixer, some counter space, and the Internet. Needless to say, a few hours into the mayhem I blacked out. I have vague memory of making the cakes. My kitchen became an incredulous mess as I used every inch of space to mix up batter. I fumbled through my Pinterest tabs to retrace my steps. Everything was done out of sheer panic. It was that moment when you realize you made the wrong decision, but have no choice but to keep going. All I knew was that the cake batter tasted slightly sweet, zested with lemon, and adorned with beautiful specks of vanilla bean, so it could have been worse, right?
The day of the wedding, I made my way to the kitchen to assemble the tiers and finish out my nightmare. The decoration looked awful. I ascribed the presentation to be rustic, when in reality I had no idea how to properly prepare tiered cakes. I prayed that if I swirled enough buttercream around and wedged enough fresh daisies in between the cakes, it would hide the mediocracy. The silver lining is that the cake tasted better than I thought it would; it was soft with a light crumb and paired with a tangy raspberry jam in the middle. Regardless of my personal anxieties, most of it faded as I went back for another bite.
Blacking out over making this wedding cake, and not the typical drinking act that occurs during its reception, was a definitive turning point in my life. I discovered two things: baking was a passion that I allowed to sit idle for too long, and practice defines your trajectory. Even the most naturally gifted people need exposure to those “Oh sh-t” moments in order to develop grit and perseverance. Deep down I knew I was skilled, but I hadn’t exercised that muscle until this moment. Deciding to launch myself into the world of baking by offering to do a wedding cake was one of those classically stupid decisions to make, but now I see why these decisions are made.


 

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