I had more success with a dog this week than I did with an unbelievably delicious cake. Should I stop all this baking nonsense, and just constantly walk George?
I don’t know if I should I have been more prepared for cake rejection. It was bound to happen sooner or later. (This week’s cake barring was right after Valentine’s Day, and I should have factored in that people might be sugared out. But young hungry male bargoers? SERIOUSLY?) The only 3 seemingly unattached, approachable looking, and in-the-right-age-demographic guys I offered cake to at Bar 107 downtown said thanks, but no thanks. One didn’t like sweets. (What?!) One had a weird chocolate thing. (I went so far as to volunteer to remove the chocolate layer in between the two s’more cake layers– the inner hostess in me was screaming, “ACCOMMODATE AT ANY COST!”– but he politely declined.) And our last guy, who owns a Tavern downtown, had just eaten what was apparently such a big dinner that he couldn’t possibly partake in any dessert… even though I offered to cut him a piece for later.
Why wouldn’t they just pose with the GD cake?!
One of the guys did offer to buy us a round of drinks (a first), and another creeper insisted on buying my friend Alex a drink, (and even though she finally gave in to his offer, she secretly paid for the drink herself. Thanks, 21st century). A homeless man gave her this amazing floral wreath on our way out, which she was happy to wear for a block or two before deciding its whereabouts were highly suspicious and decided to decrown herself. (Thank you again to her and my friend Elizabeth, for not only driving all the way downtown, but screaming over music for our two hour visit there.)
The evening was still a valiant effort; going up to boys in bars is becoming less like a trip to a foreign country. The cake is really magic… but then again, so is George the dog. And he requires significantly less clean-up. I took him to The Grove yesterday, where he managed to find the one other dog in the sea of tourist humans, who belonged to a guy my age visiting for the weekend. We had a nice chat that ended with him giving me his phone number. (Okay, business card. Still a win.) If he ends up moving here, I see some cake in his future…
I can’t end this entry without mentioning that some guy friends who will go unnamed went to a bar last week and tried offering cobbler to girls. (They didn’t make it at home, they ordered it there. They didn’t offer it to girls, they invited them to eat it with them. Needless to say, they need to work out some kinks in their approach.) I was pretend-offended until realizing that this cake experiment isn’t just mine. Anyone can do this. Maybe people already are. I’m just the only one writing about it, as far as I know. If some happy outcome comes to anyone from this sugar-infused, slighly insane ruse, then I should be delighted. I love a good story.
*This week’s incredible S’More Cake recipe came from the equally incredible Deb Perelman’s Smitten Kitchen Cookbook. I give lovely Katy full credit for so beautifully assembling it.