What’s your worst birthday? Think back. Was it the time your parents got you the stupid book about farm animals instead of the supercool video game? The time your mom made a saggy vanilla cake or oatmeal raisin cookies instead of buying one from the grocery store (or better yet, Dairy Queen)? Or the time you weren’t allowed to go rock climbing and had to have a dumb house party? Even bowling would have been better.
First world problems, I know. I remember one year my dad gave me this spinning metal thing about the size of a baseball (maybe smaller since my perception of size when warped when I was 6) that you wind a string around, pull the string and the needle spins the globe-like thing in place. I thought it was so dumb. So what? It spun. I can do that – spin – not so fast, but still. And I have two legs – an evolutionary improvement.
In retrospect, I think that spinning thing was awesome. He got it at some science museum gift shop and thought it was so cool. That was the real present – that he thought I might like it at a moment when there was no need to be thinking of me. Same for the 3D puzzle my parents got me one year. Who knew we’d go on to build New York City in 3D (pre-9/11, when there were Twin Towers – thus, Collector’s Edition).
But some birthdays aren’t about the presents. In fact, the only present I got on my actual birthday this year were a couple climbing books on loan – I’m not complaining; that’s a great present. And I didn’t need anything. The truth is I don’t really care about presents. I care about having enough energy to get through the day in high spirits. I care about good food. Good friends. Good health. Dancing.
I’ve had some great birthdays and this year’s just wasn’t one of them. I was on that detox I mentioned. So I couldn’t have cake. Not even grain-free, sugar-free cake. I had a little fruit, but I wasn’t hungry. I had my stupid detox protein powder three times plus some rice and steamed vegetables. I didn’t have the energy for more than that anyway.
The best two things about my birthday were that it made me appreciate every other day that was relatively good by comparison, and that it ended.
I’m now off the detox. I’m eating sugar again. Grains. Meat. Soy. Alcohol. I had a gluten free, dairy free glazed donut hole the other day. It was lovely, though all the icing sugar gave me a bit of a sore throat. I had a mojito last night before dancing salsa, bachata and merengue at an open-air dance-floor in Aruba called South Beach. I even went to a Brazilian beef rotisserie restaurant last week and ate at least five cuts of beef, from the churrasco flank to the alcatra top sirloin to the filet mignon. I didn’t feel great the next day, but I wasn’t sick or bloated. Can I thank the detox for that? Who knows?
I wish cake could be as comforting and treat-like without all the sugar. Same with sorbet. I wish I could make cake out of papaya flour. I think that would be amazing. With a chestnut icing made thick with the gel/pectin that seeps out of the papapa after you cut it. The blobs look like jelly. The icing would be between the layers and on top. And there’s be some glaze on the actual cake, like lime and … something to make it sour just underneath the naturally sweet icing.
Or maybe I should roast giant sweet potatoes and cut rectangular slices from it to make a sweet potato layer cake with mango caramel in the middle. Thick fresh mango purée cooked down with lime juice and roasted pecan pieces ground and sprinkled on top. That could be cake. Egg whites for the non-vegans to make it a thick, glossy icing.
This is why I know next year will be better. Because I can still dream of better cake. The day I’m not motivated to create something more delicious, to even brainstorm an improvement, that’s the day I’m in trouble. Life’s too short for bad cake. And sad birthdays.
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