So, the website is called cakewrecks.com
Pictorial evidence where someone thought, hells yes I’m going to smash these Cookie Monster cupcakes, only to end up with Cookie Monstrosities.
Oh, you want nothing written on your red velvet cake? You got it.
I wish I could bake well. I’m too much of a food freestyler to be disciplined enough to follow a recipe, and baking is, well, science.
However, in August, I was hand-balled the responsibility of mum’s birthday cake (I’m usually in charge of salads at family get-togethers, but… challenge accepted).
Her birthday fell on a Friday, so the night before I made a red velvet cake. Actually, Betty Crocker made it. Cake-shame me all you like.
For this non-baker, I have a stack of cake tins but made the rookie mistake of using one which was way too big, so it ended up pretty flat.
The next day, after I got home from work, like two hours before I was expected at dinner, I looked hard at this flat cake which screamed ‘unspectacular’.
I looked at the time, then the cake, then looked at the time again.
I looked in my cupboard.
I couldn’t believe it, I happened to have everything in there to bake a chocolate cake.
But if I chose to do it, it would have to be Masterchef style, I’d be right up against the clock.
So I looked up an easy recipe online, chucked on The Black Keys and got to it.
It turned out OK.
However, I hadn’t factored in cooling time and it was still thermonuclear.
So, into the freezer it went.
A shower, makeup and hair shake later, I took it out.
Then I tried getting it out of the tin. It was like a Monty Python sketch.
I decided this would be the bottom layer.
The cream cheese icing acted more as a glue than purely a topping.
The thing is, it was messy and made on the fly, but damn delicious. Low expectations can do that.
Cake wrecks are the reversal this fluke.
Sometimes when you have unrealistically high expectations, like tackling an Elsa cake or hoping for one specific outcome, you’re probably going to have a bad time.
I had a situation the other night where I was out with some friends and the expectations were zero.
Because they didn’t exist, the blinkers weren’t on and therefore was open and relaxed. It was one of the best nights I’d had in ages. It also involved an attraction with a guy that, to me, came straight out of left field.
The very next night, I went out again (yes, the guy was there), but something had shifted. My expectations had shifted.
Little did I know, by over-thinking how the night was going to pan out before it had even happened, I had already cake wrecked myself.
Sometimes, especially when you have anxiety, it’s really tricky to manoeuvre your way out of this spiral.
Believe me, if I could just recognise it and shut it down immediately, I would like nothing more than to do exactly that.
But sometimes you just can’t unbake a cake.
And yet sometimes, you can.
There’s this thing The Mister taught me fairly recently: Clap your hands, once, really loud and just say ‘Hey! stop this!’
OK, so while it isn’t a tip straight outta Hogwarts, it is one of the cheapest, quickest circuit breakers I can think of.
Unrealistic expectations can kill good times, and cakes, for no good reason.