Cake: a love story.

If we were to write the love story of me and cake, this is how it would go.

Once upon a time, there was a girl who met a recipe. She was struck by the convenience of only needing one bowl in which to mix the cake, and she found that she had all the ingredients necessary to make it. So the girl mixed, measure, poured, scraped down the sides of the bowl intermittently. She substituted buttermilk for water and added chocolate chips.

The wrinkles in the cake batter were like smile lines, indicating that the relationship was reciprocal. Yes, I love you, too, it seemed to say. However, once the girl got the cake in the oven and set the timer for the allotted amount of incubation time, the cake started having commitment issues.

45 minutes was supposed to be the maximum amount of time for the cake batter to mature into a fully grown cake, ready for frosting and a life in someone’s digestive system. The girl took out the cake tester, fully expecting it to come out clean, but the cake was still runny in the center.

So the girl patiently added five minutes to the timer and sat down to blog. Five minutes later, she checked again. Still runny. Disappointed but still hanging on to hope, she set the timer again. Finally, after an extra ten minutes of baking, the cake tester came out clean.

The girl smiled then, realizing that you can’t hurry love (Thank you, Phil Collins). You just have to wait until the cake tester comes out clean. So the girl and her cake lived happily ever after.

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