I hate to prematurely toot my own horn, because this cake has yet to be cut into and eaten, but this photo at least proves that a cake I made and frosted existed in a perfect form. Once it was iced, I admit I started to get a little paranoid about inadvertently destroying it. I thought, "What if the roses have bugs in them that come out of the petals during the night and devour the cake?" Then when I was carrying it out the door of my apartment, down the steps, opening the garage (yikes) and placing it in the passenger seat, I imagined dropping it flat on its beautiful face.
The cake is currently safe and sound in my parents' fridge (in anticipation of my sister Allison's going away party tonight), that is until my sister Emily wakes up and runs her little fingers through the icing. She's probably doing it right now! She did. She licked it. Supposedly, you can't tell. Now if she could only resist taking another taste for the next eight hours--it's impossible. Once Allison wakes up, she'll try it. And then once my mom gets home from work, she's going to lick it too. These people have no control! The cake will probably be gone by the time the party starts! Because the cake is that good.
Those of you who aren't fond of cakes--you haven't had this cake. Martha Stewart and her team of chefs are genius. I was having a borderline spiritual experience in the kitchen last night, whipping butter, egg whites and sugar into submission. It was like the clouds parted and angels burst out in the Hallelujah chorus. The cake held the frosting, nothing broke, melted or crumbled to pieces. Swirls of spackle held the layers together, enticing onlookers. This cake wants to be licked, cut apart and enjoyed. It wants to be eaten.