Oh, my. I spent my Saturday evening watching a marathon run of Ace of Cakes, which is a Food Network program about the work of the talented folks of Charm City Cakes of Baltimore, Maryland.
I've never really been into reality-style television. I like a little more glamour in my tv shows and too many of these types of shows have people in them that look and/or act just like the other minions like me around the office. But I also avoid these shows because I fully understand how they are produced; I've seen the man behind the curtain firsthand.
Many of the shows may not be scripted (as I once argued when my friend Sandy, who was at the time also a coworker, during the first season of Survivor. She insisted the show was "real" as strongly as I insisted it was not. We disagreed until our cubicle mates became bothered by our raised voices), but they certainly are cut to fit a vision and that's what I was trying to convey to Sandy. What I meant to explain was that episodes were edited to suit a storyline - a narrative based on the producer's vision, which resulted from manipulation of the actors involved. And who's better at manipulation than reality-style television producers?
In any event, the appeal of me of Ace of Cakes is not as much about the episode's narrative as it is about the beautiful artistry of Charm City Cakes staff, about the creation of pieces of art that happen to be edible. This is art in cake form.
The show reminded me of a cake I planned to make to celebrate my son's third birthday.
Days before the Kid turned three, I called a local bakery (they did an awesome job on our wedding cake), to see if the baker could make a cake in the shape of the Stanley Cup. The baker got on the phone with me, mightily disturbed because I'd taken him away from his work and chortled at my request. A replica cake of the Cup would take him several days just to make the cake. In my best I'm-not-a freakin-crazy-hockey-mom voice that made it seem as that was precisely who I was. I'm not looking a life-sized version, I screeched, "The kid is turning THREE!!'
As you might expect, our conversation ended hastily.
With only days to go, I had to improvise. I trimmed and stacked three angel food cakes, covered them with Dream Whip and dragees, then added store-bought decorations and plopped the Kid's Stanley Cup toy on top. He loved it!
A few years later, the bakery had a fire and as I drove by the burned-out storefront one morning on my way to work, I wondered if the baker had pissed off a potential client with the same sneering attitude he'd given me. Within a year or so, it was back up and running, but I haven't dropped by.
Although the Kid's birthday is six months away, he's already looking forward to a cake as wild and original and amazing as those featured on the Food Network. (Preferably with the Leafs name engraved on a Stanley Cup replica. And he'd like me to make it!)
I think I have that bakery's phone number somewhere.
P.S. Check this out. Compare the store-bought cake we also had that year with CCC's Trogdor.
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