In just 25 easy steps!

1. Forget how meager your arts & crafts skills are. And how many times you’ve promised yourself you’d simplify the party next year.
2. Tell your child that yes, together you can make a Death Star piñata since they only sell Darth Vader ones and he doesn’t like Darth Vader.
3. Decide that it’ll be fun to try fondant again, since your son’s best friend’s mom made a really cool soccer-themed cake with marshmallow fondant and she said it was so easy. Convince yourself that your previous, breakdown-inducing effort with fondant was years ago, so no doubt your skills have improved in the interim. Ignore the fact that you haven’t used fondant since.
4. Purchase a set of silicone Lego minifigure & Lego brick ice-cube trays, imagining the cute little fondant decorations you’ll make for the cake. Don’t think about the fact that each Star Wars minifigure is individually styled.
5. A week before the party, have a brainstorm: You’ll use those silicone trays to make crayons for the piñata. With your child’s help, raid his broken-crayon bin and get to work. They are awesome. But the silicone trays absorb color from the crayons, which doesn’t seem like a good thing to mix with fondant. Purchase a second set of ice cube trays.
6. At the party store, learn that they don’t have any plain round piñatas—necessary to create a Death Star. The best you can score is a jack-o-lantern since hey, Halloween is only nine weeks away.
7. Decide that you’ll cover the cake completely in a layer of fondant, which you’ll press against a large Lego building plate to make it bumpy like said building plate. Then you’ll put on the minifigures. Which you have yet to fully think through.
   
8. Five days before the party, strip the orange and green crepe paper off the piñata. Replace with many layers of grey. Not bad, not bad at all.
9. Four days before the party, realize that you should probably make a batch of this so easy marshmallow fondant, just to be sure it’s really, y’know, easy. Don’t bother to print out the instructions you find online, since it does look stupid-simple. Realize after the fact that you must be stupider than stupid, since you added all the powdered sugar at once and now you’re left with a dry, crumbly mound of sorta-fondant. Give up after 30 minutes of kneading.
10. Two days before the party, make new fondant. Print out the instructions. Try out those molds, and become quite pleased with yourself. These guys are cute! Ignore the fact that you’ve made a small army of plain white minifigures, which now need to be costumed.
11. That night, bake the cake—and discover at 7PM that you don’t have enough sugar to do so. Make the kid put on some clothes (since he strips to his skivvies as soon as he walks through the door each day) and head to the store.
12. Bake the blasted cake. This part you handle without incident. For once.
13. One day before the party, start frosting and decorating. Realize that you are, as usual, in way over your head. Abandon all thoughts of making a healthy grain salad to serve, or even melon balls. Inform your husband that he will be finishing the Death Star piñata.
14. That brilliant idea for the fondant, the one that required pressing a large, rolled-out sheet of it against a Lego building plate? Not so brilliant. In order to get the bumpy effect you have to press so hard the fondant gets stuck. Decide a faint pattern looks quite nice. Eh, whatever. Drape the fondant sheet over the frosted cake with only minor tears.
15. On the other hand, have a blast decorating the fondant minifigs. They’re much easier than you expect. Leia’s cinnamon-bun hair is a cinch, and all those clone troopers require nothing more than a few strokes with an edible marker. Phew.
16. On the other, other hand, question your sanity when cutting out the letters in “Happy Birthday Harry” proves nearly impossible: The fondant sticks to the metal cookie cutters, no matter how much cornstarch you use. Pop them into the freezer for an hour so they’re firm enough to push out. Don’t calculate how long it will take to make three Hs, As, Rs, Ys…
17. Just before midnight the night before the party, finish making all the decorations. Do a quick run-through of where each decoration will go. Amazingly, your brain is still functioning : Take a few pictures, so you’ll know what to do in the morning. Remove the various bits and bobs to a cookie rack to dry out overnight.
18. Wake before 5AM in a panic. Check the decorations. All looks great, except the oversized lightsabers you made for the top layer—those are so thick, they haven’t crusted at all. They droop when you try to pick them up. Rig up a fan, directed straight at them, and start praying.
19. The party starts at 11, so at 9 begin the final cake detailing. A small miracle occurs: All goes smoothly, even the still-droopy lightsabers. By 10 the cake is done. Start packing up to head to the party’s location, a nearby park.
20. At 10:20 parents begin to call: Have you seen the weather? It looks like rain. Sure enough, duck outside and see a large, angry stormcloud heading your way. Send evites, texts, and emails to the guests, alerting them to a change of venue. The party is now in your apartment, and it’s kids-only. No room for 11 kids and their parents.
21. Realize you have no appropriate indoor space for piñata-whacking
22. Chaos reigns for the next three+ hours. At one point, slip in the puke left by your 17-year-old cat, who was manhandled by a mob of excited children until he could take no more.
23. Of course it never rains, so your husband and brother rig up an ingenious piñata-spot in the doorway to your tiny backyard. Toss a sheet on the sidewalk and pray it’s enough to cover any stray bits of broken glass.
24. Realize that all those hours spent on the cake were well worth it: The kids are delighted, especially your son. Try not to cry when he blows out his number-seven candle.
25. When the last guest finally goes home, collapse in a heap. Ignore the party rubble covering every possible space in your apartment. And whatever you do, don’t think about next year.

    

baking brooklyn harry kids zen