My Other Blog

What's a Wreck?

A Cake Wreck is any cake that is unintentionally sad, silly, creepy, inappropriate - you name it. A Wreck is not necessarily a poorly-made cake; it's simply one I find funny, for any of a number of reasons. Anyone who has ever smeared frosting on a baked good has made a Wreck at one time or another, so I'm not here to vilify decorators: Cake Wrecks is just about finding the funny in unexpected, sugar-filled places.

Now, don't you have a photo you want to send me? ;)

- Jen

Who You Callin' 'Pro'?

You all know I only feature professionally made Wrecks here on CW. The irony, of course, is that I mistake pro for amateur way more often than the other way around! Heh. So anyway, while I've been told that today's Wrecks are indeed made by real, honest-to-goodness, got-paid-for-their-efforts cake decorators, part of me still refuses to believe it.

I'm still posting them, though, because they're all wedding cakes. Served at people's actual weddings. And even if one was actually made by Aunt Mildred who calls herself a pro but really isn't, I think the world deserves to see this cautionary tale.

Plus, it's kinda funny.

Whew, thank goodness for fresh flowers! Too bad they didn't have enough to hide the fact that the cake is being served on a giant dry-erase board, though.

I also like the gentle placement of the topper. That took "finesse."

Apparently this was taken during The Great Icing Shortage of '73 - back when grooms were stayin' alive with their groovy butterfly collars and the bridesmaids wore Frigidaire green. Looks like they ran out of flowers here too, though, and raided the fruit bowl instead.

Hey, "Love to Highway", right? And getting married doesn't mean the groom has to give up his matchbox cars, right?

And now, a haiku for you, wedding cake:

red bleeding ribbon
did the cake get in a fight?
lumpy icing tiers

And finally, before I show you this last Wreck, I feel I should reiterate that the bride herself *assured* me she paid actual money to an actual professional to make it. Honest. Really.

Now, in the baker's defense, I'm told the insides of all the cake tiers were raw.

How is that a defense, you ask?

Well, um...

Oh! Imagine how hard it must've been to stack all those raw cake tiers! Eh? Yeah, I like to look on the sunny side of things. Which is good, because this cake is so sunny I think I can hear my retinas sizzling.

Hey, Grace C., Tony M., Anony M., Anony #2., & Anita R., "sizzling retinas" would be a terrible band name. Really. Just awful.


Frosting 101

"Settle down, class; it's time to begin. I would welcome you to your second day of Frosting 101, but frankly after this many years of teaching I find your eager little faces to be an inexorable scourge, dragging me down each day to fresh depths of hellish ineptitude.

[brightly] "So let's just get started, shall we?

"First of all, you should note that I often use the words 'ice' and 'frost' interchangeably. So you brown-nosing idiots with the bags of ice can just go dump those in the sink. Yes, now. Thank you.

"Okey dokey, I will now hold up the results of yesterday's pop quiz and mock you each accordingly. And since I can't be bothered to remember your names, I've assigned you each a nickname based on the individual horrors of what I will laughingly call your 'cakes.'

"Let's start with you, Mr. Gap-Cracky."

"Yes, you. Your name is now 'Mr. Gap-Cracky' because I've seen less gaping holes in some of your hipster friends' jeans. Ever heard of a spatula? Or do you coil all your icing at home?

"Oh, be quiet; that was rhetorical.

"Next up is Ruffles."

"My dear, how is it that you managed to change the colors of your icing, but not the tip on your pastry bag? Is that leaf tip glued in place? Or are you just sentimentally attached to making really, really ugly things?

"Oh, you think that's funny, Stegosaurus? How about we look at *your* cake?

"Do you know why your nickname is 'Stegosaurus,' son? No? It's because the Stegosaurus has a brain the size of a walnut. What'd you, spread this with your feet?

[rubbing temples] "And next we have Sprinkles."

[sighing] "I would lambaste you with a withering criticism, Sprinkles, but I can see from your vacant expression that intelligent thought is lost on you. So just give me your sprinkles jar and go sit in the back. Go on. There's a good boy.

"I have to hand it to you, Ms. Puff n' Stuff; if I hadn't cut into your cake I might not have discovered your deception:

"Gopher guts, girl, I've seen meringue pies with less filling! What are you, some kind of plant sent by an insulin manufacturer? Are you trying to kill us all?

"What's that? You like icing? Well, Duncan Hines, girl, *I* like my pancreas. You think we can reach some kind of compromise that doesn't include me in diabetic shock? Hm?

"And finally, for your final classmate, I'm afraid I ran out of clever nicknames.

"So I'm just going to call you Crap Pile, son. Judging by this cake, I'm sure you're accustomed to answering to much worse.

[bell rings]

"Ok, class, time for you to get back to your bakeries and ruining the happy occasions of cake lovers everywhere. Have fun. I'll just be here, weeping for your clients."

Hey, Courtney H., Kristi R., Gaye E., Jennette F., Jennifer V., & Val S., check it out; apparently the good teacher here also moonlights as a therapist: