I have already said before that I love cake.
I also love birthdays.
And I really love baking.
This, in my opinion, is a perfect combination.
On my birthday I had the excuse (as if I ever really need one) to make a huge mess in my kitchen, to be covered in flour, to pour over my cookbooks and to have friends at my table.
Admittedly, this is not terribly different from my normal life.
Yes please. And thank you.
Yet in my normal life, I’m not eating six layer cakes with three decadent fillings.
Yes, that is special. That is for birthdays.
I even bought new cake pans for it.
Vanilla cake, sturdy enough to hold up the layers, yet light and crumbly and soft. Drenched in still-warm citrus simple syrup, to keep it moist all the way through.
And those layers hugging thick, bright lemon curd. Tart enough to make your lips pucker, with a sweet finish.
Then silky lemon mousse, light and creamy.
Then a plum-berry sauce, deep purple and studded with the seeds of the berries, so it looked a little bit like glitter.
(For my fellow color theory nerds: The inside of this cake was a glorious complementary color scheme.)
And for the outside, thick and glossy buttercream. I filled my pastry bag and tried all sorts of things. Everyone should learn a new piping skill on their birthday. Well, maybe not. But it was fun for me, at least.
And flowers. Picked from outside my house. Obviously.
It was yummy. And happy.
As birthdays should be.