baking school: cakes on cakes.

baking school: cakes on cakes.

• 11.29.2014

• Toronto, ON, Canada

I'm back! I caught the tail end of my host’s Internet allowance for the month and I didn't want to make her pay extra. After searching in vain for a Tim Hortons that my mother had given me an address for, I found a Starbucks... that didn’t have wifi. So I bought a drink and a sandwich, and ate all the nasty tomatoes because I didn’t want to be the weird girl with a pile of messy vegetable-fruits at her table.

This is so not America.

So I left, dejected, and 10 seconds later found a bright, happy, big-parking-lotted Tim Hortons with a beautiful "FREE WIFI" on the door. I bought myself a nice collector's mug and another drink for my efforts, and stole the only empty table in the place.

This reads a few days late because I typed everything up immediately after classes, but that just means the Canadaland love will continue on after I've made it back to the States. :)

day two.

Everyone was tired Wednesday. We swam in dishwater. And I mopped at the end of the day. So that's that. Day two was a struggle.



We spent three days on cakes and I just wanted to whine "Whyyyyy???" because I'm a princess and I just don't want to. For the record, our instructor called herself a princess because she doesn't like cleaning icing bags, so I feel 80% less uppity for calling myself one, too. But we're done now and I don't have to think about stacking cakes any more.

It isn't because I'm not interested - as my former boss said over the past few weeks leading up until now, it's fascinating to see how people do it differently. But I really just want to learn everything else. Like breads and french pastries and cookies and pies. That's what I want to do.

We all were given big black tote bags of goodies to use during the course. Spatulas and knives and piping tips and exciting things. However, we all have the same stuff... so when wash-time comes around we're basically all paranoid that our precious tools are going to disappear forever in the clutches of someone else.

We're united by fear. (Okay it really isn't that bad, but it's still an issue.) The suggestion was made to mark our things so we could tell them apart. So far, most ladies have written their initials in Sharpie or painted little dots of nail polish on their tools. Anyway... while washing dishes the six-dozenth time, I got the idea to be all Pinterest-y and paint the tips of my tools gold. So I did. I'd show you pictures, but you're here for the cakes.

So... on Wednesday we made a marble sheet cake and turned it into a little stacked square cake, as well as a naked stacked banana rum yogurt cake. Both used Italian meringue buttercream... but I filled my marble cake with layers of black raspberry buttercream because it looked pretty and sounded cool. (It tasted good too - I suppose that's important!)

We have lockers to put all of our valuables in (aka our spare chef coat and dessert boxes)... and for whatever reason I'm missing some brain cells that everyone else here has. I've folded them, I've rotated them, I've whispered sweetly (and not-so-sweetly) to them... but my boxes just don't fit. And as life would have it, if you peer down the row of lockers in the hall, there's one that bulges out just slightly in defiance. I can tell you right now it's locker #94, and frankly it's the easiest way for me to instantly know it's mine. I guess I'm not planning on trying to remedy the situation any time soon, but it's always a struggle to squeeze the lock back in.

Maybe this is a subtle life metaphor... my belt does feel pretty tight right now...

Our TA fell asleep in class on the first day. Head-roll out cold. I watched her pretty carefully yesterday and today and was disappointed that she'd apparently gotten some sleep. For the record, I caught someone else's eye when it happened so I know that adults think it's funny, too. And I feel much better about indulging in silent giggles. :)

day three.
Three cheers for being done with cakes! Cookies start tomorrow and I’m looking forward to it much more. We were told to bring three pizza boxes to class for bringing our goodies home. I won't be wanting for dessert these next two weeks, that’s for sure!

The third day was kind of a bummer (aside from more cakes) because everything I made was just… blah. Personally, I thought both the chocolate cakes we baked were pretty dry and a little too dense for my tastes. I’ve been spoiled by the light, fluffy cake at the cake shop back home. We got new partners (I miss Rohini already, she was great!) and now I work on the other side of the room, by the wall. I feel pretty claustrophobic over there - maybe we can blame that for my “blah” issues. Sounds good to me.



We made a chocolate masking ganache (Rhymes with mustache, who knew. I’ve been saying it wrong all this time.) to frost one cake and a whipped milk chocolate ganache for the other. My masking ganache firmed up too soon to smooth over well, and the chocolate in our whipped frosting didn’t melt all the way, so it didn’t set up properly. Both look fine, yes. But I’m persnickety and neither is really up to par.

I wrapped up the first cake to bring home and am still deciding what to do with the other. I already gave my host the marble cake I made - maybe I’ll wander the street and ask if any of the neighbors want it? Probably not the best idea in this area…

My back hurts from washing dishes and I can’t wait for the weekend because all I want to do is sleep. Our lunchtime conversation consisted of the terrible job market in North America as well as how surprisingly exhausting this class was.

I'd like to take these closing moments to impress my parents. It's dark when I get back from class, so instead of taking ugly pictures inside on my scary kitchen counter (it's gross, there's lumps of dried who-knows-what dripping down the cabinets and elsewhere), I wake up early to take pretty pictures outside. Before class.

Granted, it's not hard to get out of bed when small elephant child is beating her best time sprinting from one wall to the other above you. It's a girl. It has to be. Because I hear her and instantly think of my annoying toddler self and just know. It's me reincarnate and if I never have the crazy children my family has sworn upon me, this is it. The kid upstairs is my terrible mini-me.

And with that, happy weekend!

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Next: day four: cookies