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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

Entries in Wedding Wrecks (38)

Tuesday
Aug142012

"Ham" Or "Pig Intestines?"

 Do you like

green, eggs and ham?


I do not like them,

Baker, ma'am.

I do not like

green, eggs and ham.

 

Would you like them 

at your wedding?

Would you like them 

in that setting?


I would not like them

at my wedding.

I would not like them

in that setting.

I do not like them,

Baker, ma'am.

I do not like

green, eggs and ham!


Would you like ham thinly sliced?

Would you like eggs nicely iced?


I would not like ham thinly sliced

I would not like eggs nicely iced.

Seriously, lady.

 

I AM NOT EATING THIS.

 

Thanks to Tracy C. for inspiring me to lay off ham sandwiches for a while. (But never deviled eggs. Why can't I quit you, you eggy devils, you?!)

Friday
Aug032012

Gag Me & Lace Me

[So I was trying to make today's post title a "Cagney & Lacey" pun, but I think I just ended up attracting a whole new demographic to the CW readership. Er. Hi, guys! Welcome! Perhaps the last cake in this post might interest you?]

Loyal wrecky henchperson Amy O. ordered this lovely lace-covered cake from a reputable, "established" bakery for her wedding:

And believe it or not, that lace is actually edible. The ribbons, too. Yep, Ron Ben-Israel is JUST THAT GOOD.

I did a little digging, and the general consensus is that Ron may have used a product called Sugarveil, which pipes like icing but dries flexible, like a net. (John and I got to play with Sugarveil at a cake show once, and it's pretty surreal to pipe something you can then pick up and drape a moment later.)

Anyway, it took me about 10 minutes to figure out how you might go about recreating a similarly lacy look. But hey, I'm not a pro!

As it turns out, the "established" "pros" can figure it out in under 30 seconds:

...right after a quick trip to the fabric store.

 

Now, if you're wondering how much of what you're seeing is edible, the answer is: well, none of it.  

There could be towels stuffed in there for all we know. C'mon, at least the empty cardboard box had icing on it!

So to get to this cake, you'd first have to untie the ribbons and then peel off the lace from each tier - which were all buttercream? Is that right?

Except it looks like the lace goes under each layer, too, which would require you to disrobe the cake, as it were, from the top down as you serve each tier. Sweet Cagney, this cake's harder to undress than a gal in Victorian underwear*!

Ok, Amy, there's just one last thing I've GOT to know: what did you guys do for the cutting ceremony? Get a pair of scissors?

*I got my first Victorian corset last week, so that's the voice of experience talking. In a high-pitched, gasping-for-air whisper.


UPDATE: Inspired by today's post, John and I decided to do a little "decorating" of our own:

 I wish I could say we were bored and had nothing better to do at the time, but the truth is we stopped far more important things to do this. So in an attempt to justify the last giggle-filled half hour, let's have a contest: Make your own ridiculous fabric cake, post a photo of it on the Cake Wrecks' Facebook page, and I'll send my favorite(s) a free signed copy of Cake Wrecks. Aaaand...GO.