I have a sweet tooth. Maybe a mouth full of sweet tooths (sweet teeth?). I feel as if it is my moral obligation to bake something every week because, say what you will about refined sugar and fat and butter, but as far as I’m concerned, everything is okay as long as it’s in moderation.
Well, maybe not heroin. But, you know what I mean.
Anyway. This all started with a chocolate cookie recipe I found on Pinterest. It’s now blown up into this out of control parade of Italian Cream cakes, smores bars, peanut butter sheet cakes, cookies, cupcakes, sweet bread. Everything.
Which is why I work out. And count calories.
This week, however. This week I was overcome by propaganda and hype and rumor.
I bought a Cake Boss cake.
Well, not a “real” Cake Boss cake. I have no desire to drive all the way to New Jersey for a cake. No, I bought a mass marketed frozen Cake Boss cake that’s currently thawing on my kitchen table. How can you not be swayed by this?
Yes. Yes I do.
Can I state, however, the grocery store did not make it easy to obtain said cake. They put the cakes in the smallest possible freezer and put a life size cardboard cutout of The Cake Boss in front of the freezer door. So much in front of the freezer door, in fact, that I had to shove him out of the way–not once, but twice–to get it open.
I was holding my purse in one hand and The Baby in the other. I said, “Sorry Buddy” as I pushed the cutout aside and dove head first at the freezer, as if there were an angry mob of shoppers crowding in or something. I don’t know, the point is I was addressing The Baby. Unfortunately, The Cake Boss’s name is Buddy and I’m fairly certain a woman rummaging through containers of biscotti thought I was actually talking to the cardboard cutout.
Whatever. I’m comfortable in my awkwardness.
When The Toddler saw the cake, he said, “Little cake, Momma.”
You seriously don’t want know how much I paid for “little cake, Momma.” I’m not entirely sure I can justify the cost of what appears to my brain to be a single serving cake, but according to the nutritional content is in fact approximately 14 servings.
Like I’m not just going to dive head first into it. 310 calories a slice be damned.
Actually, I do have to show restraint (or something resembling restraint) since The Hub’s parents and my mother are coming over for lunch tomorrow. Therefore, dessert.
I went with the dulche le leche cake. I was overcome by promises of caramel buttercream and chocolate cake. And weird chocolate ganache stripes that resemble old timey prison garb. Whatever. Rock my world, Cake Boss.
I’ll post a follow up to this tomorrow. Unless it sucks that much, in which case I might be too overcome by shame at spending that much on subpar, mass marketed cake.
Which I will no doubt eat anyway.