The Thanksgiving Cake Catastrophe

Although a little belated, I wanted to document my first Thanksgiving as a married woman, as a member of the Hornbuckle family. Seeing as how it was my first Thanksgiving, I really wanted to impress my in-laws, so I offered to bring dessert. I had seen a recipe for this beautiful Italian Cream Cake in a cooking magazine J.T. (my husband) purchased as part of my birthday present, so this is what I signed up to bring. As I was later told by my mother, making a cake from scratch is difficult. What an understatement! It was absolute hell.

J.T. and I arrived in Mobile late Tuesday night; the same night I was to begin the cake-making festivities. We came to Mobile laden with the non-perishable cake ingredients; J.T. went to the store for the rest. By 11 p.m. (many hours past my usual bedtime), I had finished baking and icing the cake. The layers were a little flatter than I would have liked; the meringue or icing was a little less fluffy than it should have been; but alas, it was finished, and I could go to bed.

The next morning I went for a run with my mom and began getting ready for a day of house-hunting with J.T. Before we left for house-hunting, I decided to take a peek at the cake sitting in the refrigerator. I opened the door, picked up the gorgeous glass cake plate with lid, and carried said covered baked good to the counter for inspection. When I pulled off the lid, I let out a shriek of sheer horror! The icing had disappeared! The meringue was no more! The layers of the too flat cake were completely and utterly exposed! Needless to say, I was devastated. Shortly thereafter, I began to cry (a lot).

J.T. walks into the kitchen to find me crying with my mother trying to console me. It seemed as if my day and my first Thanksgiving were ruined. No one could understand my dismay. They all said it was no big deal. No big deal? The cake was a symbol of several things: 1) my first Thanksgiving contribution to my new family members, 2) my abilities as a competent cook and woman, and 3) my pride (which had been irrevocably squashed). I wanted to prove myself an asset to the Hornbuckles; I wanted to "bring something to the table" both literally and figuratively.

In the end, we ended up buying a pecan pie from this great bakery in Foley, Alabama, called Sweetie Pies. We paid a pretty penny for their baking expertise, and everyone's taste buds were satisfied. I guess all's well that ends well.