Fifty Sense...

Over the next few years, most of my pals will be celebrating the golden anniversary of their birth. OK, OK...were all turning 50.

In fact, it seems that every few weeks another one of us teeters off the precipice of our 40’s and slides down into the wacky rabbit hole that is our 50’s and beyond.

Some friends make the quiet leap in pensive denial while others literally climb a mountain and shout from the top for everyone to hear, “I made it!”

Some scrape together their miles, jet off to London, eat fancy chocolate and shop at Hermes, while, God love ‘em, there are a handful who would love nothing more than to celebrate lakeside with a long nap in the tent followed by squishing their unmanicured toes into the cool mud, sharing a bottle of bubbly with the girls at sunset.

Most often though, as part of this rite of passage into our second half, we seem to make our way to a watering hole of a different kind


In tribal ritual, we prepare for celebration by painting our faces with collagen enriched products and adorning our bodies with the latest statement pieces from Stella and Dot. We pour ourselves into a triple layer of spanks, shimmy into our “skinny” stretch jeans, hoist our hooters into steel girded support systems we still call bras and gather at a local establishment as if driven by primal instinct.

We proceed to drink twelve dollar Margaritas, shovel down chips and smoky salsa then share over-priced entrees while lovingly telling each other lies like, “That guy was “totally checking you out!” or “50 really is the new 30!”

We sit with our legs crossed because we laugh so hard that we have to.  We wipe mascara from under each others’ eyes, exchange silly greeting cards with saggy boobed old ladies on them and celebrate, with confidence and humor, this new chapter of our lives that we are so very, very grateful to share.

I don’t know about you, but one of the most surprising joys I have found in this whole aging thing has been recognizing the fact that without these years, we would have no history…no triumphs to regale, no war stories to lament and most importantly no arsenal of friends and family to share it all with.

The other day…I was reminded of just this.

I grew up on a street filled with kids…a suburban haven of five houses encircling a pebbly asphalt cul-de-sac. We spent our summers playing kickball until dark, jumping up and down in the pool until our feet bled and roller skating behind bikes with sissy bars.

We built forts in the yard, slid down the grassy hill on cardboard, made mudpies that we would sell to our parents for a tidy sum then promptly spend the profits on Slurpees and nickel candy at the 7-11 down the street.

We shared a fence with a family of five kids…all girls…and for this girl who has no sisters, it was heaven-on-earth. Between my collection and theirs, plus a cool stash we picked up at the neighbor’s garage sale, we could build a Barbie complex that would span two rooms.

The two oldest girls in the family were high schoolers, offering me titillating insight into the world of female teenage life. The middle girl, Robin, was “the helper”: a little too old to engage in our elementary high jinx but young enough to still be interested in passing out the cupcakes at my birthday party or keeping an eye on the baby while Mom doled out the tacos. Julie was a year older than me (still is!) and Elena was the tag-a-long little sister whom we'd let play with us but also served as an attentive companion for my baby brother Michael.

Elena, in the blue baby doll dress, Julie, behind her with the big grin and Robin, in the snappy sleeveless shift behind her.

Julie and I were thick as thieves. We earned our Girl Scout badges together, cheated our younger siblings at board games, swapped secrets and sleepovers and spent hours on covert projects like making mock “wine” out of Pyracantha berries and hiding the jug in the park...that is until Julie’s Mom found out and made us dump it for fear that the “hippies” would find it, drink it and die.

Fast forward 40 years.

The other day I got a call from Elena.

“Julie’s 50^th is in two days and I want to surprise her. I’m calling Peggy and Gabi (two of her other best childhood friends) and the plan is to show up on her doorstep after work tomorrow night. I’ll bring a lasagna, you bring the cake…she’s going to freak!”

Oh, I’ll bring the cake alright…

I had to do it…Julie must have her first Barbie cake. Mom made one for me almost every year for my birthday and Julie was there at every party to watch me make the first cut.

This year…it was her turn and I had one day to slip it in under the wire before the odometer clicked over to 50.

Here is the birthday card I made for her from one of my old photos. That's Julie in the stripes, waiting for me to blow out the candles on my cake...that year it was chocolate.

Here's that bundt cake beauty a little closer up.

Well, I am happy to report that Barbie cake technology has improved since the 70's and I am now the proud owner of an official doll cake mold...no more upside down bowls and retro-fitted bundt pans for me.  If you're ready to go "all-in," here's a link to one of the many places you can order the kit. 

http://www.amazon.com/Wilton-2105-565-Wonder-Mold-Kit/dp/B0000VMHIW

Otherwise, go ahead and fiddle with stainless steel bowls until you get the size and shape you desire.

I've even figured out how to add an 8" round to the base to make Barbie a bit more statuesque (you'll probably need to use at least two boxes of cake mix). Here are Julie's cakes just into the oven...the clock is ticking.

After they cooked and cooled, I stacked them up on a cardboard round, sandwiched the layers with a big blob of frosting and carved the edges to fit just right. And, yes, your eyes do not deceive. That's Funfetti boxed cake mix...gotta draw the line somewhere. Let's face it, taste is not a priority here. You''ll find my recipe this month on the back of that box!

After a dainty slather of good ol' Betty Crocker canned frosting as a crumb coat and a quick chill in the fridge, this princess was ready to get dressed for the ball.

Shall we go blonde or brunette?

The little lady on the left is the doll that came with my cake mold. She is all torso with a plastic pick at the waste instead of legs. If you have the time to  plan ahead, I recommend finding one of these (available at cake supply and craft stores).

If you can't get your hands on one, I suggest dismembering an old Barbie by ripping off the old girl's legs (that's what I did to blondie on the right).

Most Barbie's are too tall and will stick up high out of the cake unless you do. Here's a cutie my neighbor and I threw together in an hour on a whim for her niece's birthday. Auntie really wanted to let her keep the doll afterwards so she couldn't bare to rip off the legs! The trade off resulted in a a more "shapely" figure camouflaged with loads and loads of filler frosting slathered on a still warm cake! Even with its lumps and bulges, this blonde beauty could not have been a bigger hit and will no doubt be remembered by that six-year-old sweetie forever!

I decided to go brunette for Julie.

When you make yours, don't forget to give her (the doll that is, not the birthday girl) a Saran Wrap turban to keep her flowing locks out of the frosting. Shove her into the top of the cake, smear those ta-tas with frosting...

...then have at it: ruffles, sparkles, bows, pearls...whatever floats your boat.

This princess ended up in hot pink (I went a little heavy with the red food coloring) with a touch of just about everything including some rapid-fire lavendar rosettes and a last minute free-form candy pearl splatter. Throw in a lace doily...and she was good to go.

Despite her less-than-well-planned design and execution, once again, Barbie did not disappoint. Come on...is this worth it, or is this worth it?

But the birthday girl was the most delighted of all! At 49 years, 364 days, my friend got that Barbie cake of her very own...and even better, she got to share it with her little princess as well!

Looking back, I must admit that the tradition actually never really died in my household. I remember making one for my friend Linda's Sweet 16 in high school...

...and, after a bit of a break, I resurrected the lost art when Carly came along. Here's the one Mom and I made for her 5th birthday tea party.

One year, we even added mini-doll cakes to our repotoire and let the kids have at it themselves...one for each!

Carly even made a mini one for my last birthday...

And here's the one my neice Lili (age 3) made for herself that same night. She was so anxious to eat it, Barbie never made it into her dress!

She had so much fun with it, that when Lili turned 4, Mom and I decided to give it our all. Lili placed an order for Ariel (of Little Mermaid fame)...very specifically represented in human form (thank goodness...we weren't quite sure how to get Barbie to sprout fins).

As opposed to my quickie creation for Julie, this little princess was a bit more of an investment in time and resources. With a gold-encrusted pastry platform, pounds of hand-sculpted fondant, and a complex structural engineering plan designed to keep "her highness" from imploding, Ariel stood proud...and so did we.

To see the birth of Ariel, start to finish...click on this link:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/76544713@N05/sets/72157629305345965/


But I think the thing that makes me the most proud of all is the fact that Carly, on her own accord, elected to make this special cake for her friend Amy when she turned 16 (and transport it to the beach, no less)!

It seems you never really know how much your efforts are appreciated until you see them payed forward to someone else. Mom crafted these treasured memories for me, I made them for Carly and now she is doing the same. Maybe someday she'll let me help make one for her little princess.

I guess this has become part of that personal history I was talking about...those silly little experiences that, all of a sudden, pile up and, like a jigsaw puzzle, make sense when you stand back and look at them all put together.

I'm glad that at my ripe old age of not-quite-50, I have this history to share with you. Here's to the next chapters...and that we all live happily-ever-after!

Coconut and Karma

Funny how the universe has a way of working things out. Sometimes it takes twenty years...but when payback is due, one must pay.

You see, it was about twenty years ago that I asked two of my best girlfriends to make my wedding cake.

Seriously?

What was I thinking?

Were these gals professional pastry chefs? No. Were they trained in food service or food preparation in any way? No. Were they particularly crafty or foodie? No. Did they even like to cook? I think you know the answer...

The fact was that one of them (Onnie) had recently taken a cake decorating class with her sister and I made the executive decision that she, bolstered by the moral support of our other friend Susi, would be more than adequately qualified to bake, decorate, assemble, and transport a four-tiered wedding cake for 200. Wouldn't they be honored by my request? Wouldn't they be relieved to have their wedding gift choice made for them? Wouldn't they think it would be "fun?"

Never mind that Onnie's experience went as far as the remedial weekend course at Cake Art. Never mind that, at the time, Susi's idea of fine cooking meant that she actually took the tortilla chips out of the bag before serving them. Oh yes...did I mention that Onnie was about 22 months pregnant? No problem.

So, of course, my dear, dear, friends said yes...and the adventure began.

Needless to say, I dictated the cake recipe (one ladened with rich almond paste, sugar and eggs), the filling (wouldn't lemon curd be a lovely addition?), the frosting (a cream cheese buttercream) and a detailed piping pattern straight out of a book called  "Weddings" by some new upstart named Martha Stewart). Not to worry about keeping the rich, buttery, concoction cool. The wedding was in January after all.

Well...it doesn't take Einstein to do the math.: twelve logs of almond paste, ten pounds of butter, eight pounds of cream cheese, four dozen eggs, a small tree full of lemons, a giant sack of cake flour and a bigger one of sugar...add a pinch of inexperience, a 75 degree January day, and what do you get...the leaning tower of cake.

It gets better.  Charlie's dad was, at the time, the president and long-standing member of the golf club where our reception was held. As my friends walked through the door, gingerly transporting each tier to the cake table, the layers continued to shift like lemon-filled tectonic plates before their eyes and the catering manager watched in horror, shaking her head, as the tower began to buckle.

"Do you realize who's wedding this is?" she said to them as they stacked and centered and shimmed. "The groom is the son of a very important member and we just can't have this!" My friends stood there shaking in their patent leather pumps.

She had no idea that they weren't professionals...that they were my faithful friends, delivering a a labor of love filled more with their blood sweat and tears than sugar, eggs and flour.

The florist (thank goodness, another old friend) came to their aid, scurrying around the layers like a frenzied worker bee, shoving ferns and flowers under every divot until, when you looked at it from just the right angle, it shined like the masterpiece it was. I can still see them intercepting me at the entrance of the club before I could make my way to the cake table. They each took me by the hand, looked me sheepishly in the eyes and said, "at least the cake is moist."

It was beautiful. It was delicious. And, I can't imagine a more perfect cake.

Now the payback.

About a year ago, my friend Cherie announced that she was engaged, a wedding was in the works (yay!), and, by the way, would I make the cake (huh)?

OK. So I do like to cook, I've baked a cake or two in my day, I am a little bit crafty, but my "customers" are generally a bit less discerning and my home spun, boxed Betty Crocker creations usually take the shape of a  pink barbie doll, a fire engine or a space shuttle designed to serve 10-12 sugar-crazed kids who's only concern is if they get the piece with the rose.

Will insisted that his macho fire truck have pink roses like all of Sissy's bday cakes

A wedding cake? A creation that will be showcased and immortalized in photos on one of the most important days of my friend's life?  I broke into a flop sweat. "OK kiddo," I mumble to myself, "you're in the big leagues now."

Well, a couple of months passed, the wedding got postponed due to a move and I figured that I had fooled fate and dodged the cake bullet....until I got the call this May. "We're doing it. The wedding's on, it's in June and, by the way, you will still make the cake...right?"

Thank goodness Cherie scored much lower on the "Bridezilla" scale than me. Her only four requests were that the cake have a coconut flavor, that it not be dry, that the flowers match her bouquet and that I use the hand-crafted, monogram topper she ordered that was to arrive a couple of days before the wedding.

Alrighty then...I can do this. For three weeks, I'd lie in bed at night, visions of coconuts dancing in my head. What recipe would I use? How would I prevent a reenactment of the leaning tower? Should I risk adding a flavored filling? Would the layers slide? Was my fate already sealed?

Why even try?

But try I did
.

In the weeks that followed, my family and neighbors ate more coconut than the combined cast of eight seasons of Survivor. Don't like coconut? Don't care. I forced a bite on anyone that came through my door, seeking any opinion on the perfect combination of flavors and ratio of frosting to cake.

So here is my first attempt. I went for alternating layers of super-tangy lemon curd and cream cheese frosting. The thick curd oozed out the sides as I frosted and the unevenly-baked dome-shaped layers really looked awful when sliced...even if I did try to level everything out with gobs of icing. I tried a new coconut cake recipe too, looking for an alternate to my old standby (a recipe from a local cafe) that Cherie remembered as dry!

Ok...test cake #2.  Let's try a less cloying frosting: a Vanilla Swiss Meringue Buttercream and a more subtle lemon curd. I'm gonna use my old standby recipe too (I don't remember it being dry).  Let's even throw some flowers on from the garden to get in the mood...

OK. We're getting somewhere. The layers were not so humpy, the new lemon curd recipe and a combo of filling and frosting in each level versus alternating proved much more subtle. I was way less heavy-handed on the frosting repair too and, dog-gonnit , I'm using my coconut cake recipe...the bride just got out-voted. We also tried a little toasted coconut in the filling layers but nixed that idea...too chewy.

OK. T-minus two days until the wedding...time to get organized. First, under cover of darkness, we stole our lemons from the neighbors trees.

Next, we made four trips to the store for the ingredients...is it really possible I will be using all of this butter? We even had to buy more!

Now, time to make the lemon curd filling and get it chillin'. Butter, sugar, lemon juice, lemon zest and eggs, heated and stirred until you can run your finger across the back of a wooden spoon and it leaves a track.

Time to bake us some cakes...

Here's what happens when a teen-aged girl is your sous-chef...

God forbid, our layers aren't level (or someone find a long blonde hair in their slice)...

So far so good: 2 batches of filling made, twelve layers of cakes baked...time to whip up four batches of Vanilla Swiss Meringue Buttercream (that means four pounds of butter), recipe compliments of our friend Christa, a real live pastry chef!

Carly...let's do this thing. First, a little lemon curd...

...a little buttercream...

...just right.

Can't stop...must keep going.

Oh, did I mention that the cake topper (a shell-encrusted monogram of their last name) arrived...

...and although gorgeous, it was almost as big as the cake. No problem. "Carly...get out the glue gun and the hula shells. We've got us a topper to make."

Do you think Cherie will notice that we made a new one half the size? Gonna have to roll the dice on this one.

Let's start to put this puppy together.

We loaded all three tiers and ourselves into the car and arrived at St. Vincent's kitchen in close to one piece. We crossed our fingers and started to build. Sturdy wooden dowels inserted at each level did their work...

...and the improvised topper glued firmly to the top of a sharpened dowel got skewered through the whole tower...this thing was a brick house. Thank goodness Onnie and Susi took the bullet for me on Cake Construction 101. Had mine not buckled, I'd never known the questions to ask to make sure this sucker stood.

I dare you to knock it over!

Now the best part of all...flowers! Carly was genius. I couldn't have done it without her.

Carly...quick...take a picture with your phone! The wedding is about to start!

To our delight, the catering staff had moved the cake to the reception area while we enjoyed the beautiful ceremony. Phew...better them than us! High fives all around when we saw it safely in place.

I think it's safe to say they liked it!

So, when all was said and done, I'd have to say that as far as karmic payback goes, I got off pretty easy on this one. Convinced that the universe would not let me succeed after my torturous request twenty years ago, it turns out that the beautiful gift my friends made for me back then was one that kept on giving. Not only do I smile from ear to ear every time I come across those old photos but , twenty years later, I was able to learn from their stumbles and pay their gift of love forward.

Cheers to you Cherie and Jason. May you look at these photos twenty years from now and smile like I do about times shared with friends and gifts given with the love only a "sister" can give.

Vanilla Swiss Meringue Buttercream

Whisk in the bowl of a stand mixer and place over a water bath (bain-marie) and heat, whisking constantly (be careful not to scramble the egg whites), until the mixture is warm and sugar is completely melted (you should feel no graininess when you rub it between your fingers):

• 4 egg whites
• 1 cup plus 3 Tablespoons of sugar

Remove from heat and whip at high speed until it's cooled to room temp and is light like marshmallow fluff. With mixer on medium-high speed, add soft butter a few tablespoons at a time, allowing each addition to fully incorporate before adding another:

• 1 pound unsalted butter, softened 

Add and beat well:

• 2 teaspoons good quality vanilla

*Note buttercream will look "broken" part way through the mixing process but will come back together as soon as all of the butter is added. May be refrigerated for 5 days or frozen until needed. Return to room temp and beat with a paddle attachment of a stand mixer until smooth.

(The Art and Soul of Baking by Cindy Mushet adapted by Christa and Donna)

Here are the links to the lemon curd and cake recipes...

Lemon Curd: http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/lemon-curd-tart-recipe/index.html

Comforts Coconut Cake: http://www.tastebook.com/recipes/1283401-Comforts-Coconut-Cake-with-Cream-Cheese-Coconut-Frosting