Raw, adjective: 5. crude in quality or character; not tempered or refined by art or taste
Our girl Jillian is getting married next week in Hawaii, so the other night we took care of the obligatory bachelorette action to make sure she gets sent off the right way. Llama and I had been secretly hatching a plan for the last few weeks in preparation for the big ladies' evening. Once again I employed my serious Betty Crocking skillz in honor of one I love. And the result was one of, if not THE most, bizarro and grotesque (and sparkly!) cakes I've yet made.
When we were little girls, my mother used to make a variation on this cake with an angel food pan, a quick trip to the toy store, and a hell of a lot of icing. I decided to expand the Bundt repertoire with a little doll action myself in honor of the bride-to-be. Also, um, ironic. So herein, I give you
JILLIAN'S BRIDAL EXTRAVAGANZA BUNDT
(It's actually not a bundt, but whatever. Semantics.)
Though she's all kinds of Michigan girl, Jill is of Korean descent, so my first mission was to truck on down to your source and mine for Cheap Asian Shit: Chinatown. I hauled my ass up the hill and down again and started battling the tourist hordes and the 4-foot grandmas along the packed sidewalks. Within a block-or-so radius, I meandered into store after store full of ugly shit, usually named something like "Oriental Treasures" or some such. In five years of living 6 blocks away, I'd never actually gone into these places. Holy shit. Little did I know there were such rich sources of crap nearby. Cow bells, swords, librarian action figures, cheap knock-off sunglasses. My senses were assaulted.
After wading through 3 or 4 shops to no avail, I finally struck the motherlode. There she was, resting in a dingy basket on the floor: Pocahontas Barbie, all decked out in brown boots and a beaded shift dress and, of course, a bandana around her head, topped off by cheap flowing black hair. Perfect. So I shelled out my $2.16, stuffed Pocahontas in my bag (nevermind the ethnic messiness - she'd have to do), and headed out for the rest of my spoils.
Several shops later, and armed with edible glitter, frosting tips and a new angel-food cake pan, I was ready to hit that shit. I woke up early Tuesday morning to bake the cake. As you know, angel food cakes can be somewhat precarious. Since they don't have any fat or grease, you've gotta be careful to whip the egg whites just enough that the cake won't fall in when it's through baking. I pulled it out of the oven and balanced it on an empty bottle to cool upside-down, per convention, and headed out for the day.
Came home that night ready to give Barbie her skirt. And, long story short, here's how it went down:
1. Cut off Pocahontas's feet to just below the knee. Leave mangled limbs on the counter to scare all visitors.
2. Wrap her nether regions in saran wrap and dress her in a bodice made of white lace from the shop around the corner. Craft a little bow and veil and Krazy Glue that shit on her fake hair. Rest. Wash your sticky fingers and curse the day someone invented superglue.
3. Spoon a big dollop of icing into the middle of the cake so that Barbie can stand up properly. Shave a little from the edges of the cake to stuff inside the hole so that she is secure. And then, my friends, frost away.
I'd bought one huge tub of whipped fluffy white icing, thinking it'd be more than enough. Was I wrong! Barbie Jillian had half of her skirt frosted before the whole thing ran out and I had to make a last-ditch run to Cala for two more (yes, TWO) tubs of the frothy stuff. Once the fat-free, delicate chiffon angel food cake was thoroughly loaded down with three tubs of frosting, Barbie was ready for her final details.
I sprinkled the silver-white edible glitter all over her skirt (thanks, Sur la Table) to give it a sparkly sheen. I then whipped out my dangerous new frosting tips and gun and applied a nice little edging around the bottom of the skirt so that it looked like it had a pretty hem. Finally, I fashioned four little bows out of the leftover white ribbon and stuck those puppies onto the skirt in symmetrical spots (symmetry, of course! Type-A, who?).
And that was the end of Bridal Barbie Jillian. I loaded her up and carried her lovingly out to the restaurant (all the way in the Mission, egads!), cursing the stiff wind and the dude on Polk St. who asked me "is that cake a hockey player?". Barbie Jill made it with few injuries, and a few hours, a few entrees and a few bottles of wine later, we were cutting into her. That was weird in and of itself. But she did taste delicious, if I do say so myself.
Lesson learned: you can never have enough frosting. Or edible glitter. And if you ever go looking for an Asian Barbie in Chinatown, good luck with that.
And most importantly: good luck to Jill and Kev! Whenever I see a Pocahontas Barbie, for the rest of my life, I'll think of you. And tequila.