This is either the definition of love, or the definition of crazy.
Last night I was up past midnight, finishing the individual fondant pieces for Harry’s birthday cake. All told, it took me about ten hours of after-dinner work to create everybody. One thing I learned: Fondant is definitely not my strong suit. All that kneading and rolling and precision cutting and gluing down teeny tiny itsy bitsy pieces in exactly the right spots… The eyeballs! I swear they were out to get me. If you look closely, most of the tools look a little deranged, and it’s all in the eyeballs. Stretch (the tape measure) is the wrong color–the pink is nowhere near hot enough–but it’ll just have to do. Let’s hope Harry doesn’t notice, or I may just throw the whole cake against a wall.
Now I have to figure out how to clean off all that cornstarch. Suggestions, anyone? I’m thinking a soft brush, but so far all the ones I’ve tried have left too much behind.
And of course, there’s also the fact that some of those tools are pretty fragile and I’m a klutz, so until they’re all on the cake and Harry’s blowing out the candles at the party on Sunday, I won’t relax.
Oh, and I’ve still got to bake and frost the cake. But that’s the easy part.
(If you look really closely, you’ll see I gave Manny the correct number of fingers, even if the thumb is a little wonky. I don’t recall seeing an episode where he accidentally slices one off on a table saw, so…)