I just love cupcakes. They're cute, portable, suitable for all occasions, and they make people smile. Really, I like making the cupcakes more than eating them, which recently led me to improving the recipes, and not focusing so much on the decorations. My decorations are stellar, though, and I'm sure that if the cupcakes tasted like crap, people would hardly notice because of the distracting art. In fact, the art has been so distracting, people haven't come close to imagining where the art came from, or the horror each cupcake endured to become a dessert.
Let's start with the fact that I'm incredibly frugal. The designs I create are usually the result of some improv work in my pantry. Whatever I can beg, borrow, or steal, I do. My secret thrill in cupcake making is creating something fabulous for pennies. Several years ago, while deciding what to bring to an Easter dinner, I remembered seeing Martha sugarcoat nasturtiums and Johnny Jump Ups. I hatched the plan.
Gorgeous devil's food cake, dark chocolate frosting, superfine sugar, egg whites, and pansies. Easter was days away, and all I needed to do was get my hands on some flowers. Living in an apartment, I didn't have a garden of my own. I looked in the produce section, but the only flowers I could find were floppy and ridiculously expensive. I could go to the nursery, but I didn't have time for plants to grow. I needed them immediately.
And then the deviance started.
There was a house. There were pansies that wouldn't be missed. Pleading the fifth amendment, (although I feel I have already paid for my sins), I will not reveal the location or owner. Shaky-handed, I entered the yard, and snatched dozens of pansies in every color. Stealing was surprisingly easy. And it was the first and last time I ever did it. Swear.
I went home and rinsed the blooms, clipped the stems, brushed each petal tenderly with egg wash, sprinkled the glistening sugar, and let the beauties rest in the fridge overnight. The next morning, I peeked in the fridge, and the flowers looked amazing. They had curled up a bit, and were dry enough to do their duty in my gastro-artistic plan. I baked, cooled, and frosted the cupcakes. Then applied the flowers. It was the loveliest treat I had ever made. Right out of a page in Living magazine. I would surely put this on my resume to Martha. Looking back, it might not have hurt to mention my criminal background.
I took pictures, fawned over the cupcakes, tried them out on several platters, to the point that I was making myself late for the Easter engagement for which they were intended. Finding the perfect platter was a chore, but how to cover them? Saran wrap was far too confining. I didn't have a cake stand cover, but I did have Marky. He could just hold them for the 45-minute drive to El Paso. Doing my best imitation of June Cleaver, I picked up the platter, swung around to hand them off, and *SLIP*!
Face down. All 24 cupcakes. On the carpet. We didn't even make it out the door. I stood there, not breathing. Marky started picking them up. After all the picture taking and time wasting, by the grace of Duncan Hines, the frosting was already dry, and didn't leave a trace on our carpet. And the miraculously vacuumed carpet did them the same favor. The pansies, however, were smushed. All the effort to keep the petals curly and light, trashed. Obviously this was cupkarma for stealing. I accepted the once delicate statues as bas-relief, and placed them back on the platter. With Saran wrap. As we drove, I tried to rationalize not telling my family they would be eating food off the floor. I would have to tell someone. Mom could keep a weird secret. As we walked in, I whispered my confession to her. She took one look, and assured me, "They'll never know."
Dinner was lovely, and the time had come to unveil my stolen, soiled treat. I walked to the kitchen, unwrapped the platter, walked to the table, and *SLIP*! All 24. On the carpet. For all to see.
Don't steal, and don't deceive your family. Or this'll happen to you.
