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To mask the unfortunate state of the cake, you soak it in Sherry, pile berries on top, and cover everything up with a thick layer of custard. That's right - when a cake has been sitting around for many days, has lost all of its moisture, and has basically become inedible, that's when trifle gets made. Trifle: A traditional English dessert created to use up stale left-over cake.
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Next year, ValenWedding Cake production will be in full swing again! Though not religious in the traditional fashion, I am a firm and devout believer in the Cake Gods - and this was a sign.

I woke up this morning with a hacking cough, sniffly nose and kitchen counters crusty with dried icing from last night. But all in all, the operation was smooth, easy and full of laughter. Granted, I had the whole evening prepared - I had already made the cookie dough and organized upwards of 25 different sprinkle options for decorating. "no." Instead, I invited two dear girlfriends over to my apartment to decorate cookies. I decided the answer to all these questions was, well. Did I really want to spend weeks leading up to the Big Day with my neck craned over the careful work of sculpting roses out of gum paste? Did I want my fingers to cramp up at each knuckle from holding those tiny paintbrushes meticulously dusting edible glitter onto the edges of sugar flower petals? Did I want to stay up, alone in my kitchen, on the 13th of February shuttling pans of batter in and plumped up cakes out of my single oven all night?
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But this year I thought about how to optimize my enjoyment of this most wonderful holiday. February 14th is, in fact, my favorite and most anticipated day of the year. In years past, I've been known to make a wedding cake each Valentine's Day. Hazel looks at me with her 8-tooth-smile, raises her eyebrows, and nods- her way of saying, “it’s good.” And it really is good in that moment. We say “cheers” as we clink our forks together and we dive into our tiny slices of cake. When the cake is cooled and final touches made, Hazel sits down at our tiny toddler table, and I do my best to coax my big body into the child-size chair next to her. When the cake is ready to come out of the oven, Hazel excitedly squawks “hot! hot! hot!” She grins when I confirm that she is correct. When the sweet smells of baking cake start wafting from the kitchen to our living room, we break from our game to scrunch up our noses and inhale the perfume. We both wave and say “ciao!” as the cake goes into the oven. Hazel’s eyes widen as I plop the batter into the pan. We watch the stand mixer spin round and round as it creams butter and sugar together into a fluffy nest.
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Hazel and I crack an egg together and marvel at the golden, yolky interior. What do I have to work with to this end? I have an egg.
