Pollyanna Cake-Baking

One of my favorite movies growing up was Pollyanna. I loved Haley Mills - she was like my child-actor idol (except she wasn't really a child anymore when I was watching her movies); I loved Aunt Polly and the scene where she let her hair down - her beautiful, shiny, long brown hair that she always kept tightly wrapped in a Victorian bun; I loved that kid that was in every Disney movie; I loved learning about prism charms and cadbury jam; And I loved, LOVED the kitchen full of perfect prize-winning layer cakes that Cook made for the Carnival.

They were simple cakes - some white and yellow, others caramel and chocolate. They were each made up of three moist layers, evenly iced, fondant and adornment free, perfect. My sister and I used to drool. I've always wanted to have one of those cakes in my kitchen ...   

 

And take a BIG bite out of it in a white maritime-inspired dress just like Pollyanna. 

So this past weekend - a completely unstructured weekend - I set out to make a perfect Pollyanna-cake for my new niece's 2-week birthday. 

Now, I'm sure you all know by now how much I like to cook - how critical the craft is to my each and every day. But what you may not know is that I also love to bake. I've been baking since I learned how to make Hello Dollies at the age of what six or seven? I just don't bake a lot anymore. In fact, I've been staying as far away from it as possible. Why? Because I have a fear - a quite hefty fear in fact. A fear of the preparation and consumption process. More specifically, I'm afraid that when I'm preparing the baked good I'm going to lick every last inch of the bowl (and spoon) and that when it comes time to eating the finished product, I'm not going to be able to stop.

I'm part of a legacy of baker's though - cookie, cake, bread, pie, and pastry bakers. Sweet treats by the dozens, pounds, and layers start and finish just about every family holiday party. I even have an Aunt who could have stolen all of Cook's business at the Carnival had she opened her own cake stand. So to be a good Aunt and someday mother in the tradition of the ones I learned from, I believe I have a responsibility to uphold the baking tradition - batter addiction or not.

On Saturday I warmed up with the savory - a much safer option, although I did eat some of the raw dough. I made Bialys - which are like a cross between an English muffin and a bagel. They brought out the subtle Jewish heritage in me that was a large part of my upbringing in Squirrel Hill and paired perfectly with Peter's home-smoked salmon. 

On Sunday I went for the glory. I set out to make a cake that would make Aunt Polly proud and Ellie's second week on Earth grand. I turned to my blogger-idol, Smitten Kitchen for a good recipe. Found one - her best birthday cake recipe - the one she mastered for her little girl. And I started making it.

Enter the next problem - the other reason I don't bake. I don't have an egg beater, a food processor, or an electric mixer. Instead, I have a massive right shoulder that can cream butter and whip an egg like you wouldn't believe. I have made stiff peaks from heavy cream with this shoulder - don't doubt it's abilities. But it is freaking exhausting! I motored through though - I creamed, beat, whipped, and blended an array of ingredients into batter and then evenly poured it into two 9-inch round pans.
And then I looked at the bowl.
And the bowl looked at me.
And I said, "NO!" 
My "No" lasted about 3 seconds.
I licked the whole bowl.
And the spoon.

After the cake came out of the oven, I started on the sour cream chocolate icing. Now, I should have been totally safe from bowl licking here since I gave up chocolate for Lent. But the evil Lo on my left shoulder whispered to me, "Sundays don't count." When Peter came in from working outside, and noticed chocolate all over my face, I was guilty as charged.
"Man, you really went to town on that one."
(So not what I want my fiance to say to me ...)

After the icing and cake cooled, I set out to level and ice it. My goal was perfect evenness and smoothness - perfect Pollyanna-ness. Usually I get crumbs all over the icing and it's lopsided, but the cake Gods were with me. They knew I was already suffering through an icing-induced stomach ache - that this was for a special occasion - that I was going to put this cake on my blog. And oh my Cake God, I made a Pollyanna cake!

That wonky-eyed look is nausea from the icing ...

Look Peter!!
Good job.

Basically, I'm just proud of myself. And as a Millennial I need that pat on the back confirmation that I did an A+ job, AND since my parents aren't here to give it to me, I'm letting Lo write it out. I'm proud of myself for two reasons: First, that I made a cake that my Aunt Joyce would be somewhat impressed by; Second, that I didn't let my bowl-licking problem stand in the way of what really matters - showing someone you love them by giving them something that you made with your hands and heart.

Oh and three, that I didn't eat ALL of the cake on the same day. The piece that Peter and I got to take home with us stayed safely wrapped up in his refrigerator, so I could return to it several times throughout the week.

See girls, there's a good reason for not living with your fiance before you're married - you can keep leftovers at his house, not sneak an extra piece before going to bed, and fit into your wedding gown! 

Lo.