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The Day My Cake Died

Unlike cooking from a recipe, which anyone who can read can do, baking takes practice. It’s a solo pursuit for perfectionists.
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February 4, 2025
Dzina Kryshtopchyk/Getty Images

Of all the insights offered by my first therapist, the one that still reverberates is that I am  “kitchen proud.” She accused me of caring so much about food that I was off-balance. I thought she was over-analyzing. So I turned it into a career.

The next 40 years were a whirlwind of developing recipes, writing cookbooks and feeding others. Occasionally I wondered: How could my self-esteem be so tied up with producing the best coconut cupcakes for an elementary school bake sale that I would give up sleep? I put my nose down and kept on cooking.

Eventually, with the kids gone and the hubby a vegetarian, my cooking slowed down. These days I rarely cook a dinner party completely from scratch. Instead I dress up various prepared foods on pretty platters, pick up a crusty sourdough bread from a bakery, select a good wine, and enjoy the conversation. Baking, on the other hand, I can’t give up. Nothing compares to making a French lemon tart or pound cake, a flourless chocolate cake, pistachio madeleines, or a simple apricot tart in the summer. My guests expect it and I enjoy the activity.

Unlike cooking from a recipe, which anyone who can read can do, baking takes practice. It’s a solo pursuit for perfectionists. The joy is in crafting something sublime out of the simplest ingredients—eggs, butter, sugar and flour. Baking takes precision, focus and the ability to move slowly and confidently through a list of ingredients and finicky techniques. There’s a reason the pastry station in fine restaurants is usually set in a quiet corner, away from the hustle of the line. It takes concentration. Even the best baker fails sometimes due to a mismeasurement, a forgotten ingredient, an urgent text, or the humidity in the room.

Being the cake lady in the neighborhood is like being Santa Claus. You have to show up with treats; people expect it. Adults revert to childhood around pretty cakes. You don’t have to be Freud to see the triggers. Cakes are perfectly round confections of pastry spread with chunks of juicy fruit, whipped cream, shredded coconut or nuts, and topped with waves of frosting, bright candles and happy messages.

They are the perfect food for sharing, though cutting into a cake is a tense moment for the baker. Once you pull out a slice, failures become evident. Occasionally they stick to the bottom, or they just collapse! Cakes are served at celebrations like weddings and birthday parties because, like a champagne toast, the ritual brings us together. For that reason I was never a fan of the cupcake tower.

This Hanukkah I had a chance to work my old magic. When a good friend invited us over for the first night I was so happy I decided to pull out all the stops. I made a favorite single layer dark chocolate orange torte topped with a glossy chocolate butter glaze. Pulling off this elegant flourless cake meant measuring tiny quantities, separating eggs, melting expensive chocolate, zesting an orange, using a thermometer, and then finally removing it from its pan while praying. It took several hours over two days to make.

It took several hours over two days to make.

Transporting my creation was a minutely planned operation. My husband has been trained. He knows to hold it with two hands while we take turns getting in and out of the car. He drives slowly, takes turns with care and is light on the brakes when pastry is onboard. To protect my cake from the bustle of latke-making in the kitchen when we arrived, I placed it on a high shelf and told the hostess to let me know when it was time to serve.

When the last latke was eaten my friend hoisted my dream cake in the air like an Olympic torch, cleared her throat and asked, “Are you ready to slice the cake?” Before I could stand, my creation took a nose dive off its sleek platter. Then, in slow motion, it did a double flip down a spiral staircase and crash landed, upside-down on the steps and walls. The whole disaster took 20 seconds.

I was broken. Guests got busy scraping frosting off the stairs and sweeping moist crumbs into dust pans. A few sliver-lining types even said that the hideous mess still tasted delicious. They swallowed crumbs to prove it. I suppose they were trying to help me feel better.

But recovery takes time. I’ve decided that the next time a friend asks me to bring a cake I’m buying a mix just like normal people do. The kind that takes 30 minutes to make and doesn’t serve your heart and soul on a cake platter. Promise you won’t tell anyone?


Los Angeles food writer Helene Siegel is the author of 40 cookbooks, including the “Totally Cookbook” series and “Pure Chocolate.” She runs the Pastry Session blog. 

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