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When I sat down with my three-year-old nephew to discuss what kind of birthday cake he wanted, he had only one request: "Blue cake."
I said, "Ok, blue. Do you want chocolate?"
"NO. Blue."
"Vanilla?"
"NO. Blue."
"Ok, blue."
I thought about a blue velvet cake or a blue whipped cream cake, but settled on a chocolate cake with chocolate buttercream inside, chocolate glaze on the outside, and blue fondant. Friday night I baked the cake, set it on cooling racks, and went to bed.
On Saturday morning, I tasted the cake. It was dry and flavorless. All three layers went into the trash. Then I somehow screwed up the first batch of buttercream, which was a feat even for me. That went in the trash, too.
The wife woke, saw the cake in the trash, saw me looking through recipes, and went back to sleep. I managed to get the whole thing done in only a few hours, even though the fondant came out looking like the surface of the moon.
My nephew was pleased. He screamed out "Blue cake!" then blew out the candles, ate the fondant off his slice, and went off to play with his toys.
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