**Hi! I’m super late with this post! Please don’t hate me!**
Welcome to more adventures of Orange Mixer!
This month, Orange Mixer is joined by his trusty sidekick, Gin!
Wait…gin wasn’t one of the ingredients in this month’s cake? Are you sure?
Well that might explain quite a lot, actually.
I’m not going to lie to you, Interwebers, and I’m going to forewarn you: this month’s baking adventure did not go as well as I’d hoped, ergo you may encounter me dropping a lot of F-bombs in this post
Like I said, you’ve been warned.
It all started off fine and good. I sprayed the shit out of the pan with some butter-flavored Crisco spray, and gathered up all my ingredients, noting that the one thing I did not have.
Also, in addition to gin and a possible gratuitous use of the F-word, I am blaming this baking failure on lack of vanilla. Even though the recipe only calls for barely any of that ever-present-in-baked-goods liquid.
It all seemed so easy to put together, this pudding cake. Plus, I was jazzed at the concept of “pudding” and “cake” all in one.
I do so love pudding.
Right! The cake! So like I said, it all seemed very easy, and I was on a good start, what with the Crisco, and the pan, and the ingredients. I had my laptop perched so I could have the recipe in full view, with The Biggest Loser playing in the background. Because let’s face it, nothing says Time To Bake like listening to an episode. Not that watching episodes aren’t fun as well, but if I’m being honest, I only care to watch the first 15 minutes and the last 15 minutes, so I can see how much weight everyone lost that week, who gets kicked off, and what they look like now.
In any case, it’s good background baking noise. Just trust me on this one.
I melted the sugar and butter and water down just fine.
I threw all the ingredients in Orange Mixer and let it whir away, dumping the mess into my lovingly greased pan.
Pouring the caramel on top, I thought to myself, “Fuckin’ A! This is awesomely easy! And it’s smells so cinnamony!”
I carefully, as instructed, put the cake in the oven, set the timer, and went about my business finding out who fell below the yellow line this week.
And that’s when the motherfucking pudding wheels fell off the motherfucking pudding cake.
I don’t know if I let it bake too long, if the oven isn’t calibrated correctly, a combination of both, or I did something completely wrong (fucking vanilla), but that cake. GAH! That! CAKE!
Looks pretty nice, doesn’t it?
I let it sit in the pan for a bit as directed, then put a plate on top and inverted.
I reverted and ran a knife around the edges, pulling and dragging it through spots where the fucking caramel had attached itself like a barnacle to the side of the pan. I put the plate back on top and inverted again.
To no avail.
It was at this point that the longest string of expletives known to man flew out of my mouth, as I proceeded to try and cut a piece out of the pan.
And by cut I mean claw with knife and fork.
I lamented about the disaster cake to The Swede whose response was, “Cover it in egg nog! Everything’s better with egg nog!”
Sadly, even this cake could not be saved by nog.
Not that I tried it, because actually that would be kind of gross, all soupy, soppy cake and whatnot. And I don’t think downing a quart of heavily spiked egg nog would make this better, either.
Sad, cinnamon pudding cake panda.
But when I did manage to tear some of the cake out of the pan, I did see what the caramel bits were supposed to look like.
On to next month’s cake. And more gin.
Not that there’s gin in next month’s cake, either, but you know, maybe if I drink more of it the cake will turn out better.
Or at least I won’t give a shit if it’s another disaster.