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We had Mozart's 2nd birthday party this morning. It all kind of snuck up on us. I mean, I knew his birthday was coming, but I think I was in denial. And full force denial apparently, because while I had put some small ponderings into what I'd do for a cake, I wasn't really inspired. He likes carrots, so I figured carrot cake. He likes trains and tractors, and the train option seemed easier, so I figured I'd do that.
I bought the ingredients yesterday morning, but kept putting it off. Finally at 7:45 pm, I could do so no longer. The mixing went well, as did the baking. So I thought. I put the cakes in the freezer for 45 minutes like I did with his cake last year because I was so impressed with how that came out and started the frosting. Got into watching Rachel Maddow, and while the cakes were out of the freezer, I still hadn't arranged them or started with the decorating. I was only going to set it up and do the crumb coat, so while it was nearing 11pm, I figured as I began to arrange the loaves in the shape of the train cars, that I'd still get to bed by 11:30.
And then I cut one of the loaves in half. And the middle ran out. It was not just gooey on the inside, it was the same batter that I mixed in the bowl. I followed the recipe exactly, but I forgot the very crucial step of sticking the cakes with a toothpick to ensure doneness. Fool.
(You'll notice that I am not including this recipe for your enjoyment - it is clearly way off.)
In a panic, I posted on Facebook for advice and then immediately did as much online cake rescuing research as I could. My advice, from who else but Cake Master, and from Dr. Google coincided. I cranked up the heat 25 degrees higher than the recipe called for and put it in for 15 minute and then checked it, and put it back in for two more rounds of 10 minutes. That's 35 minutes extra baking. The original recipe called for 30 minute! *le sigh*
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* Post note. You will notice a decidedly "Thomas the Tank Engine" theme here. Neither the Wife nor I like to support licensed characters in general, but Mozart simply adores Thomas - which he pronounces Tomas - and this morning when I was pondering what he should wear, he had an opinion. No, he had an obsession, to wear his Thomas pajamas. I could not talk him out of it. Nor could I even talk him out of putting a shirt on under or a sweatshirt over the t-shirt of the jammies. So as Thomas paper-ware was readily available, and she knew it would make him happy (Understatement. Clearly.), she caved.
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