Carrot Cake

I probably should have wrote this as soon as it happened, but one thing led to another and the writing about Carrot Cake was postponed. As a result, my emotions and impressions of said cake are dulled; who knows what fantastic truths about the intrinsic nature of cake I might have discovered if I had written at the time of the Event. Because that's what it was, not simply some gastronomical enterprise gone horribly, terrifyingly wrong, but a... oh wait. That's what it was. Never mind.

So I decided to make carrot cake one evening, and found a recipe which made 'The Best Carrot Cake in the World'; how could I go wrong? It called for three eggs, and since the only empty and unlocked apartment on my floor only had two, I was doomed to some serious mental math. A 2/3s batch, indeed. Well, the only pan available to me was a meatloaf-style glass thing, so after carefully mixing the ingredients I spooned the gooey mess into loaf-form. Put it in the oven, and after the 45 minutes that the recipe claimed would cook the cake had elapsed, it was clearly not done.

I turned the heat up, and 15 minutes later I carefully set the carrot-based loaf on top of the oven. The edges were starting to blacken, and the top was crusty. Excellent, time to put the icing on; I spooned it into the middle of the cake and turned away to get a knife to spread it. When I turned back, the cake was eating the icing. More accurately, the icing was sinking like a tiny Titanic, with an even tinier Leonardo diCaprio nowhere to be seen.

So the cake was definitely not done. I put it back in for 20 minutes or so, hoping that maybe the icing would bake itself into the cake, and maybe this new kind of cake would make me rich. Apparently not, though, it just congealed and blackened, or bubbled up through the top. After another hour, the cake still would not cook.

So I stabbed it with a fork until it was dead, and then ate as much as I could before feeling sick. Which wasn't a whole lot. Ah well.