After witnessing a particularly awkward/seething with rage wedding ceremony, I found myself thinking “At least the cake will be good. I could really go for a tasty little slice right about now.” The cake was a small three-tiered affair with white icing and blue accents. It wasn’t beautiful, nor was it hideous. It looked like it would hit the spot just fine.
I sat down and took a forkful of cake. As I lifted it to my mouth, I had my reservations because it was an odd color. Really there are only three acceptable cake colors: white, yellow, and dark brown. The only exception to this is Funfetti cake, which is white with happy sprinkles embedded like delicious little treasures.
This cake was sort of beige-ish, almost the color of spice cake. I don’t care for spice cake. Why would you make spice cake when chocolate cake mix is readily available? It’s a mystery worth pondering another time. But it’s hard to totally mess up cake, so I took a bite. It tasted like…it tasted like…it didn’t taste like any food product I’d ever eaten. It looked like cake. It felt like cake. But that’s where the similarities ended.
I couldn’t put my finger on what flavor it was and so assuming I’d gotten an off bite, I took a second bite. It was just as awful, maybe even more so because now I had impostor cake in my belly and my mouth and, let me tell you, neither location was pleased. Had I been at home or even in a restaurant or anywhere but in the direct line of sight of the cake baker, I would have spit it out right onto the silvery names monogrammed on the napkin. As this was not an option, I swallowed it and chased it with three cups of strawberry lemonade.
The weird thing was nobody else at the table could identify the cake flavor either. I looked around the room and saw people pushing cake around on their plates to give the appearance they’d eaten it. I felt terrible for having handed out such a poor excuse for a cake. These people didn’t do anything to deserve that. Okay, maybe some of them did, but as a whole this crowd was being severely punished. With cake.
It reminded me of a scene from Better Off Ted. Two scientists have created a meatless beef product and it’s up to the taste tester to determine exactly what it is. The scene went something like this:
“It tastes familiar.”
“No. It tastes like…it tastes like…despair. Yes, that’s it. Despair.”
I never did figure out what flavor this wedding cake was supposed to be, but it was a dead ringer for despair.