Sitting in Bars with Cake: Lessons and Recipes from One Year of Trying to Bake My Way to a Boyfriend (2015)
Cakes for Crushing Losses, Sour Realizations, and Frustrated Efforts
There’s no other way to say it: these are cakes for eating your feelings. They’ve been paired with my accounts of promising interactions gone wildly astray. This is your go-to chapter for moping, mourning, and commiserating with cake during times of disillusionment, but you’re going to have to rejoin society once the tartness wears off. Sometimes you just have to get back in the kitchen and crank out another cake to take to a bar.
The Guy Who Said You’ll Never Meet Anyone in This Town
This gentleman was English, which made him seem especially authoritative when he started dispensing unprompted dating advice over cake.
“Los Angeles is a terrible place to meet people,” he said.
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“Because the number one emotion in this town is desperation,” he said. “Look around.”
We took in the crowd: lots of hot people hoping to get noticed by other hot people who could maybe get them a better job. I had managed to forget that this was the same population that made up my dating pool, and remembering this was not only troubling, but I, too, now seemed just as desperate as these schmoozers in my so-called desperation to bait a boyfriend. My very cake reeked of despondency.
It was only later when comfort-eating cake in the laptop glow of Netflix that I considered I could still meet someone normal. Young people who flocked to big cities had great ambitions and some notion of a work ethic, and I probably wanted to date someone who had plans for their life past living in their parents’ basement. I wasn’t desperate to find a boyfriend—I was just being proactive about it.
Skinny Espresso Cake, No Whip
For actors and model friends who can smell a piece and feel almost as if they ate some.
For the cake:
¾ cup (1½ sticks/170 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 cup (200 g) sugar
4 large eggs
2 cups (250 g) all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons instant espresso powder
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
1 cup (240 ml) sour cream
¾ cup (125 g) bittersweet chocolate chips
To make the cake: Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Butter and flour a 12-cup (2.8-L) Bundt pan, tapping out the excess.
Beat the butter and sugar together until creamy, then add the eggs, one at a time, scraping down the sides of the bowl.
In a separate bowl, combine the flour, espresso powder, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.
Working in batches, stir the flour mixture into the butter mixture, alternating with the sour cream; stir until just combined. Stir in the chocolate chips, then pour into the prepared pan and smooth the top.
Bake for 40 to 45 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center of the cake comes out clean. Let cool for 5 minutes, then loosen the sides with a knife and invert onto a wire rack to cool completely. Transfer to a serving platter.
The Guy Who Came with a Party Bus
This guy was the ringleader of his group, or at least its most sober representative. He had led an entire party bus full of guys wearing ugly Christmas sweaters into the bar, who now swarmed the karaoke machine and were revving up to perform. “I apologize in advance for us,” he said. “Please let me know if we get too loud.”
I couldn’t believe my luck—someone conscientious and down for dressing up. I asked if he wanted a piece of cake.
“You’re so nice to ask,” he said. “But I’m going to get a drink. We’re only at our first stop of the night.” He gestured toward the rest of his party bus mates, already in the throes of *NSYNC.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a small piece? Maybe one for later?” I asked.
“No, thank you,” he said, not unkindly. “Thank you so much for asking anyway.”
This genuinely polite dismissal set the tone for the rest of the night; not one of these guys in Santa sweaters wanted any cake, and they were all so flipping nice about it. I rotated around the bar to a chorus of well-meaning no-thank-yous and I-really-appreciate-its. Who were these gracious boys, and why weren’t they hungry? I thought surely their zeal for karaoke would die down and they’d find their way over to our table. They’d grow to want cake. They’d want to talk to us. The strategy would work.
It didn’t. They were still singing “Bye Bye Bye” when we left the bar.
The bonds of brotherhood can prevail over even the most worthwhile of distractions, i.e., cute girls and cake.
Gin and Tonic Cake with Lime Zest Frosting
For those inclined to drink or eat away their sorrows.
For the cake:
½ cup (1 stick/115 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 cup (200 g) sugar
2 large eggs, separated
Grated zest of 1 lemon
Grated zest of 1 lime
¼ teaspoon cream of tartar
2 cups (250 g) all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
½ cup (120 ml) gin
½ cup (120 ml) 7UP
For the frosting:
1½ cups (360 ml) heavy whipping cream
2 tablespoons gin
1 teaspoon tonic
1 tablespoon lime juice
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
To make the cake: Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Butter two 9-inch (23-cm) round cake pans, line the bottoms with rounds of parchment paper, and dust the pans with flour, tapping out the excess.
Beat the butter and sugar together until creamy, then add the egg yolks, one at a time, scraping down the sides of the bowl. Add the lemon and lime zests.
In a separate bowl, using an electric mixer fitted with the whisk attachment, whip the egg whites and cream of tartar together until soft peaks form; set aside.
In another bowl, combine the flour, baking soda, and salt.
Working in batches, stir the flour mixture into the butter mixture, alternating with the gin and 7UP; stir until just combined, then gently fold in the whites until all the ingredients are thoroughly incorporated. Divide the batter between the prepared pans.
Bake for 25 to 30 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center of a cake comes out clean. Let cool for 5 minutes, then loosen the sides with a knife and invert onto wire racks to cool completely. Peel off the parchment and transfer one cake layer to a serving platter.
To make the frosting: In a chilled bowl, using a chilled whisk or electric mixer with the whisk attachment, whip the cream, gin, tonic, lime juice, and vanilla until stiff peaks form. Spread some of the frosting over the bottom cake layer, top with the second cake layer, and spread the remaining frosting over the top and sides.
The Guy Who Criticized the Cake
It’s only about once a year that I become deeply, unreasonably enraged. My blood gets hot, my thought process turns hazy, and I feel like taking a baseball bat to something and destroying all the goodwill I’ve built up during two decades of otherwise benevolent behavior.
This was a really close call.
The guy seemed nice enough in the beginning; he’d even offered to buy me a drink. He had just started eating the cake when I did something odd, which was ask him how it was. I never did this. Usually, people knew to say something positive about the cake almost immediately after accepting it; it was the unspoken understanding that came along with eating homemade dessert in front of the person who had slaved over it.
“The frosting is good,” he said. “But the cake is a little dry.”
I thought maybe I should set down my cake knife and walk away. I thought maybe I should dump a glass of ice water on my head to prevent an outburst. Perhaps it was my duty to pull this guy outside and gently break it to him that this was the absolute worst thing you could tell a baker, that he and his friends should probably leave now before things got ugly. But I didn’t say anything.
I managed to change the subject and keep myself from breathing fire, although anything else we talked about that night has been completely forgotten in the aftermath of that dry cake comment, a real culinary affront after all the hours it took to bake the cake, frost it, and strategize the serving of it to people like him.
People who say your cake is dry are dead to you.
Olive Oil Cake with Sesame Seed Frosting
For people who don’t appreciate your job performance, housekeeping, or toils in the kitchen. On second thought, don’t offer them cake at all.
For the cake:
1 cup (200 g) sugar
3 large eggs
¾ cup (180 ml) olive oil
⅓ cup (75 ml) lemon juice
2 cups (255 g) all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
¼ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
For the frosting:
1½ cups (360 ml) sour cream
2 tablespoons tahini
Pinch of salt
2 teaspoons honey (optional)
¼ cup (35 g) sesame seeds, toasted and cooled
To make the cake: Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C). Butter and flour a 12-cup (2.8-L) Bundt pan, tapping out the excess.
Beat the sugar and eggs together until foamy. Beat in the oil and lemon juice.
In a separate bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.
Working in batches, stir the flour mixture into the sugar mixture and stir until well-combined, then pour into the prepared pan and smooth the top.
Bake for 40 to 45 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center of the cake comes out clean. Let cool for 5 minutes, then loosen the sides with a knife and invert onto a wire rack to cool completely. Transfer to a serving platter.
To make the frosting: Whisk together the sour cream, tahini, salt, and honey, if using, then stir in the sesame seeds. Spread over the cooled cake, or serve on the side for dolloping onto slices.
CAKE FAILS AND FIXES
From One Scattered Baker to Another
(1) Crumbly cake?
Transfer cake to a lasagna dish, patting down evenly, and spread frosting over the top when cooled. Pretend this was your intention all along.
(2) Frosting melting off your (still piping hot) cake?
Throw cake in the freezer until chilled (not frozen), and apply a second layer of frosting before you leave the house.
(3) No egg beater to whip cream?
Bring whipping cream, bowl, and whisk to bar, and ask a guy you like to help out by taking a turn beating the cream. (Make sure you wrap the whipping cream in several plastic bags en route to the bar, or you could have a catastrophe.)
(4) Sink hole in the middle?
Cover up holes and uneven spots with frosting whenever possible—even if it means buying (forgive me) canned frosting to keep up appearances.
(5) Ran out of time to bake?
Make frosting and apply to store-bought cake. NO ONE HAS TO KNOW.
(6) Ice cream cake melting everywhere?
Serve cake in tiny cups with spoons. Ask bartender for extra napkins, because you will most definitely run out.
(7) Almost out of cake but a whole truckload of cute guys just walked in?
Cut the pieces smaller and serve on napkins, without forks—if people are eating with their hands, they won’t notice the difference in size.
(8) No ingredients for frosting?
Use jam or yogurt in between the layers.
(9) No decorative props or frosting to write with?
Place a single berry on top, or line the border with nuts or cereal.
(10) Cake too dry?
Spread a thin layer of peanut butter or Nutella on each piece.
The Guy Who Was Recently Dumped
It took us a minute to recognize each other. I’d only known him as the boyfriend of an old acquaintance, occasionally exchanging quick how-are-yous when I first moved to L.A. Now here he was with a bunch of single guys, a category I assumed he had fallen into, as his girlfriend was nowhere to be found and he looked stoned out of his mind.
“Sure, I’ll have some cake,” he said blurrily. He wasted no time telling me that the girlfriend had very recently broken things off. “I’m just torn up about it,” he said, taking a big bite, trying to keep it together. The buddies who’d brought him to the party stood nearby listening, on guard to prevent a total meltdown. I worried they’d been through this many times.
I expressed how sorry I was that things hadn’t worked out and tried to change the subject. “How’s your job going? Are you still working for the soil company?”
“There was never a soil company,” he said. “I just made that up. I was growing pot.”
“Oh,” I said.
“I always thought you were cute,” he admitted, pointing his fork in my direction. “Hey, you should give me your info. We should hang out sometime,” he decided, his bloodshot eyes perking up.
As sweet as he was, as bad as I felt for him, and as flexible as I’d become in my post-college adulthood to maybe accept pot growing as a current career choice, I knew better than to express interest in someone who was clearly still reeling from a difficult breakup. I asked for his number instead, but haven’t gotten around to calling.
Bitter Chocolate Dumped Cake with Cheap-Wine Frosting
For post-breakup consumption, catered to your tastes and your tastes alone—you deserve whatever you want.
For the cake:
1 (15.25-ounce/432-g) package chocolate cake mix**
3 large eggs
½ cup (120 ml) sour cream
8 ounces (225 g) bittersweet chocolate, melted
¼ teaspoon salt
¾ cup (180 ml) wine or alcohol of your choice
1 cup (40 g) of your favorite sugary cereal, just for kicks
For the frosting:
½ cup (1 stick/115 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature
3½ cups (350 g) confectioners’ sugar, sifted
⅓ cup (30 g) unsweetened cocoa powder, sifted
⅓ cup (75 ml) wine
To make the cake: Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Butter and flour a 12-cup (2.8-L) Bundt pan, tapping out the excess.
Dump all the ingredients except the cereal into a bowl and beat together until smooth. Stir in the cereal. Pour into the prepared pan and smooth the top. (Or I mean, you could just eat the batter raw if it will make you feel better. In which case, leave out the eggs.)
Bake for 35 to 40 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center of the cake comes out clean. Let cool for 5 minutes, then loosen the sides with a knife and invert onto a wire rack to cool completely. Transfer to a serving platter.
To make the frosting: Beat the butter and confectioners’ sugar together until smooth, then beat in the cocoa powder and wine until fluffy and smooth. Spread over the cooled cake.
**Not a choice; cake mix required. You have to go the easiest route here. You’re making this in a Bundt pan expressly because you’re too depressed getting over your breakup to have to wash an additional cake pan.
The Guy Who Used My Nose as a Pickup Line
We’d already given this guy a piece of cake earlier in the night, but he’d reappeared, this time with an intentional coat of frosting on his nose.
“Are you Jewish?” he asked me.
“No,” I said, confused. “Well, technically, no. Why?”
“I just couldn’t help but notice your nose,” he said.
Just to give you a nice visual here, my nose is unmistakably prominent, slightly crooked, and alarming when photographed from the side.
“Are you a plastic surgeon?” I asked.
“No, I’m a single Jewish man,” he said, and plopped down next to me.
All this time I had thought pickup lines were supposed to give you some kind of confidence boost, or at least opt you in to some hormonally charged banter that resulted in a handful of lusty dates. The fact that this guy had sought me out with some kind of strategy involving frosting on his face was vaguely flattering, but I was fairly relieved to discover pickup lines were nothing to write home about.
Pickup lines should be relegated to the online purgatory of OkCupid.
Chocolate Poppy Seed Cake with Chocolate Frosting
For guys who are unskilled at telling jokes, reading the room, or psyched about Jewish baking.
For the cake:
1 cup (2 sticks/230 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 cup (200 g) sugar
8 ounces (1 block/225 g) cream cheese, at room temperature
3 large eggs
4 ounces (115 g) bittersweet chocolate, melted
2 cups (255 g) all-purpose flour
½ cup (70 g) poppy seeds (not in syrup)
2 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
½ cup (120 ml) milk
For the frosting:
½ cup (1 stick/115 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature
3½ cups (350 g) confectioners’ sugar, sifted
Pinch of salt
½ cup (40 g) unsweetened cocoa powder, sifted
½ cup (120 ml) milk
To make the cake: Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Butter two 9-inch (23-cm) round cake pans, line the bottoms with rounds of parchment paper, and dust the pans with flour, tapping out the excess.
Beat the butter and sugar together until creamy, then beat in the cream cheese. Add the eggs, one at a time, scraping down the sides of the bowl. Stir in the chocolate. In a separate bowl, combine the flour, poppy seeds, baking powder, and salt.
Working in batches, stir the flour mixture into the butter mixture, alternating with the milk; stir until just combined. Divide the batter between the prepared pans.
Bake for 25 to 30 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center of a cake comes out clean. Let cool for 5 minutes, then loosen the sides with a knife and invert onto wire racks to cool completely. Peel off the parchment and transfer one cake layer to a serving platter.
To make the frosting: Beat the butter, confectioners’ sugar, and salt together until smooth, then beat in the cocoa powder and milk until fluffy and smooth. Spread some of the frosting over the bottom cake layer, top with the second cake layer, and spread the remaining frosting over the top and sides.
The Guy Who Was Engaged
Being nice to a girl in a bar when you’re engaged isn’t necessarily wrong, even if you go so far as to eat a piece of her cake and tell her how much you like it. But maybe when you actually write down your phone number for her after she asks for it under the guise of going to one of your stand-up shows, that’s when things get dicey. I mean, should guys start wearing engagement rings? Watches? Baseball caps reading I’VE PROPOSED TO SOMEONE ELSE?
The thing is, I didn’t know this guy was engaged. There I was, having a big time chatting with him over cake, privately registering that he fell into both of my ideal personality types (friendly, and friendly with glasses). I laughed when he mentioned doing stand-up about girls taking cakes to bars.
“Why don’t you give me your number?” I asked. “I’ll go watch you perform sometime.” He wrote his number down for me on a valet ticket and left with his buddies, waving good-bye.
My friend allowed me to bask in the glow of my small victory for a moment before gently bursting my bubble. “He told me he thought you were really cute,” she said. “He said if he wasn’t marrying someone else, he’d be interested in dating you.”
“So this means the only number I’ve gotten tonight belongs to someone who’s engaged to another person and unavailable. Yes?”
“Yes, that would be correct.”
I guess he was just a guy who thought I genuinely wanted to go hear him do stand-up sometime and contribute to his acting career, which was not exactly the case.
Hidden Layer Chocolate-Raspberry Torte
For people who may neglect to mention important attachments and obligations, e.g., marriage plans, children, or an upcoming incarceration.
For the cake:
8 ounces (225 g) bittersweet chocolate, chopped
½ cup (1 stick/115 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature
½ cup (100 g) sugar
4 large eggs
½ teaspoon salt
1 cup (165 g) raspberries
4 ounces (½ block/115 g) cream cheese, at room temperature
1 tablespoon confectioners’ sugar
Raspberries, for garnish
To make the cake: Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C). Line the bottom of a 9-inch (23-cm) springform pan with a round of parchment paper.
Put the chocolate in a heatproof bowl and set it over a saucepan of simmering water; stir until the chocolate is almost melted, then remove the bowl from the saucepan and stir until smooth. Let cool to lukewarm.
Beat the butter and sugar together until creamy, then add the eggs, one at a time, scraping down the sides of the bowl. Add the salt and cooled chocolate.
In a food processor, puree the raspberries and cream cheese together until smooth.
Spread half of the batter in the bottom of the prepared pan, then spread the cream cheese mixture over the batter as evenly as possible. Gently spread the remaining batter on top.
Bake for about 50 minutes, or until the center is firm and a toothpick inserted in the center of the cake comes out with a few damp crumbs clinging to it. Let cool for 5 minutes, then loosen the sides with a knife and remove the side of the springform pan. Let cool completely. Keeping the pan bottom on for stability, transfer to a serving platter. Sift the confectioners’ sugar over the cooled torte and garnish with raspberries.
The Guy Who Knew Too Much
I have a dangerously heightened and healthy sense of modesty when it comes to interpreting male interest, but I’m pretty sure this guy and I were trying to pick each other up.
He was holding a beer in each hand, in town from San Francisco for a ball game with some friends. I thought he was precious, albeit a little drunk for a Thursday night, but whatever he lacked in sobriety he made up for in charm—he was, after all, in sales. We chatted and ate cake while I polished off a Moscow Mule, loosening up enough to casually mention my real reason for inviting him back to the table—a big reveal I hoped he would find rather winning since we were already getting along so well. I knew immediately that this had been a mistake, recognizing flickers of confusion and displeasure registering through his beer haze.
“You could have just come talked to me without cake,” he slurred. “I’m ma-a-ad.”
I tried to throw together something about the importance of having an icebreaker, that this wasn’t a trick, that I genuinely thought he was great, but it was no use. I had blown my chance for not only the beginnings of an impractical long-distance relationship, but continuing our good rapport for the remainder of the evening. I don’t think he was actually angry; I think he just felt used.
Orange-You-Glad-We-Met Marmalade Cake with Marmalade Glaze
For friends, frenemies, or romantic prospects who might need an apology.
For the cake:
½ cup (1 stick/115 g) unsalted butter
1 cup (200 g) sugar
3 large eggs
¾ cup (180 ml) marmalade
2½ cups (310 g) all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
½ cup (120 ml) orange juice
For the glaze:
½ cup (120 ml) marmalade
2 tablespoons vodka
To make the cake: Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Butter and flour a 12-cup (2.8-L) Bundt pan, tapping out the excess.
Beat the butter and sugar together until creamy, then add the eggs, one at a time, scraping down the sides of the bowl. Add the marmalade.
In a separate bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.
Working in batches, stir the flour mixture into the butter mixture, alternating with the orange juice; stir until just combined. Pour the batter into the prepared pan and smooth the top.
Bake for 35 to 40 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center of the cake comes out clean. Let cool for 5 minutes, then loosen the sides with a knife and invert onto a wire rack to cool completely. Transfer to a serving platter.
To make the glaze: In a small saucepan, combine the marmalade and vodka and cook over low heat until the marmalade has melted. Pour over the cooled cake and let the glaze set.
PICKUP LINES I WISH NEVER HAPPENED
(1) “This place has got a really good nonfiction section.”
(2) “I saw your posture and something told me I just had to talk to you.”
(3) “You’re as fine as [expletive].”
(4) “You do know what that Rihanna song is about, right?”
(5) “I steal people’s information for a living. But, like, not in an illegal way.”
(6) “I’m really interested in dating you.”
(7) “I just couldn’t help but notice your nose.”
(8) “Do you and your friends want to come back to my place? [seeing I was frightened] I mean, my backyard?”
(9) “I’m here to solve the mystery of how you and I are going to go on a date together.”
(10) “It’s a good thing we aren’t married, because you’d never see me.”