But I digress... as I got older and moved out on my own, I started taking leftover cake to work to get rid of it, and people (who got non-bacon grease lined cakes) liked them and asked if I could bake a cake for ______. So I did and my own little cottage industry sprang up. When someone asked if I could make decorated cakes, before I knew it, I was making baby cakes for baby showers, doll cakes for little girls, boob cakes for bachelor parties... uh, I mean cakes for bachelor and bachelorette parties. But then one day, a lady asked if I could make a school bus cake for her daughter's school bus driver's birthday. I still break out in a sweat thinking about that cake. Oh the humanity! Let's just say it looked like what I image a school bus would look like after a nuclear war. I couldn't do it. It was an utter and total fail. I took it home to my parents' house and fed it to my younger brothers and my Dad, who groused cakes didn't taste as good as my old bacon-greased pan cakes. I returned the lady's money and told her my dog ate the cake (I had cats), and didn't have time to do it all over again. I stopped making cakes for anyone other than family.
Then I noticed I was having problems in other areas of baking. Like Christmas cookies. Frigging Christmas Cookies... uh, I mean decorated Christmas Cookies. I just had these dreams of baking Christmas Cookies with my girls while Christmas music was playing, and what a happy little family we were. Screeching forward in time to when my daughters were little, it was more like my descent into Tourette's Syndrome. Oh, it always started out on a good foot, the music playing, my darling daughters getting out all the nonpareils and icing, while I made up a batch of Christmas Cookie dough. The rolling of the dough, and then the bad language would begin when we couldn't get the dang cookies off the roll mat. I tried everything, and the more things I tried, the more the dough would tear or stretch, the more colorful the language would fall off my tongue. Now, I had two young daughters, how bad could the language get... well, you get really inventive when you have small children who repeat every bad word you say. Lots of "sons of beech trees!" "You son of a MONKEY!!!" "FUDGE!" "Sheds! Sheds! SHEDS!!!" You get the drift.
Pretty soon my happy little dream became a sweat soaked, scraggly haired, eye twitching nightmare, which ended with me shooing the children outside or to a friends, while I cleaned up the massacre in the kitchen. My poor little children were traumatized by this crazed woman spouting words that sounded like curse words but were not. Years later, a friend mentioned using parchment paper and peeling the dough out between the cut cookies and I burst into tears. Why didn't all those magazine articles say something about this magic? Maybe I'll make Christmas Cookies with the grandkids... or maybe not.
So when my husband feel in love with my daughter's cake balls, I would drop heavy hints to my daughter to make them for him for his birthday, for thanks for moving them, thanks for handling something for her, hell, woman, I'll pay you, just make the dang cake balls for him! Her retort? YOU MAKE THEM. I was always too busy. But then one day, while reading a blog post on LittlePinkMonster.com, I noticed a link below to red velvet cake balls. So off to the link to see how hard these things are to make. I was absolutely inspired. My husband's birthday had just past, and as usual, something came up that I didn't bake him a cake (this time, an out-of-town funeral). I was bound and determined to make these for him. I'd show my daughter. I'd show her. Yeah... do you hear ominous music in the background or is that just our imagination?
First off, a disclaimer: I hate getting anything under my nails. Doesn't matter if it is blood red cake or baby poop, I freak. I can't even make biscuits from scratch because of the OH-MY-GAWD-THERE-IS-DOUGH-UNDER-MY-NAILS Joan Crawford issue. Instead of metal hangers, it is the nail brush being scrubbed violently under my nails. I know it's mental, but at least it isn't obscenity laced discussions with small children present. At the mere mention in her post of the possibility of putting my hands in the cake mixture, my eye started to twitch and I grabbed my potato masher (which rarely mashes potatoes, instead it mashes meatloaf and Bisquick.. separately). I also grabbed my cookie dough scooper because I wasn't going to touch that stuff. Oh yeah, I was pretty cocky going into this.
So the cake is cooled off, I crumbled it into a big bowl and giddily threw cream cheese frosting at it, picked up my potato masher and whaled away at it. Then I picked up the cookie dough scooper and quickly realized that these would not be perfectly round balls unless I... oh sweet gawd in heaven, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Here I stood with a huge bowl of mashed up cake ball mix, a cookie scooper, and this thing that looked like an armadilla hacked it up. (Remember in Steel Magnolias when the groom's cake was made like an armadilla and was red velvet cake inside? Awesome scene... no, I'm not making you that cake.) I was going to have to put that uneven splotch of cake mix into my hands and roll it into round balls. The first 10 wasn't too bad, but the recipe makes 45-50 balls. By 15, I looked like Carrie at the prom or some Stigmata victim, my palms were caked in the mixture, it was -- twitch, twitch, SHEDS! -- packed under my nails. By 30 cake balls, it was on my shirt, it was on my counters, there were clots of red cake mix everywhere. But by gawd, I had 50 fairly round cake balls in the refrigerator by the time I went to bed. All they needed was melted white candy coating and I would be done. I decided to do that the next night.
Have you ever made red velvet cake with cream cheese icing? If you have, you know that by the 2nd day, that beautiful cream cheese icing is going to have blooms of red dye coming through them. That's all I could think about... how to keep the red velvet cake out of the candy coating. One of the commenters mentioned just rerolling it into the white chocolate, but no one warns you about using a clean dish each time to melt the white chocolate, because no matter how cold you make those balls, little pieces still will remain in your beautiful white chocolate. Also, the Epicurious site says to use only 3/4 of the icing tub, because otherwise, the balls barely firm up -- they are too moist -- so as you roll, little bits of not-so-firm ball mix with the white coating, and... SHEDS!!! Pink candy coating! Unfortunately, I discovered the Epicurious review tonight... long after I had given up hope of white balls with blood red cakey insides. I also discovered 2 lbs of white candy coating only covers 1/2 the cake balls. It's more link pink truffles at this point. I hope my 6'7" 260 lb husband doesn't feel too feminine while tossing these into his mouth.






