Sitting in Bars with Cake: Lessons and Recipes from One Year of Trying to Bake My Way to a Boyfriend (2015)

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Cakes for Meaningful Get-Togethers, Affirmative Encounters, and Reflective Solo Eating

After a year of so many newly acquired tastes—from batter to boys to bars—here are the final cakes to accompany the stories that influenced me the most, holding more weight than all the cakes I made combined. What follows are surprising dessert combinations extracted from this flavor-filled dating strategy—an experiment that taught me more about myself than about baking, dating, or dudes. These are the cakes you make to leave an impression—one you’ll remember far longer than that guy who asked for your number, and well after the last bite is gone.

The Guy Who Was a Hot Rocket Scientist

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I almost fell over when this guy told me he was a rocket scientist. I thought maybe this was a joke, as rocket scientists were only supposed to be this good-looking when portrayed by actors on cable shows about spies.

Since I assumed he already had an equally brilliant and beautiful fiancée with whom he shared a small dog, I was beyond surprised when the rocket scientist not only sat down to have some cake, but put his arm around my chair while eating it. I considered this the next most appropriate move to putting his arm around me, which still meant things were moving pretty fast. “This is some legit cake,” he pronounced, in what I can only describe as a husky, all-American genius voice.

It was like we were instantly best friends. I kept waiting for him to put together that I was far too quirky for his khaki-pants personality, that I knew about as much about science as he knew about decoupaging, that there was precious little overlap between our tribes, and that he could go ahead and go back to his table, but that moment never came. One thing led to another, and the two of us were playing the state capitals game with his friends and my friends until the bar closed at two in the morning.

We had bonded solely because he liked my baking and I liked to bake. The cake had leveled us to the same playing field, just two people reveling in a shared sugar high, and we were somehow—even if temporarily—a team.

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The shortest distance between you and a handsome genius can be computed down to a single serving of cake.

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Curry Carrot Cake with Gingery Frosting

For exceedingly educated engineers, fiery chemists, and/or flirty rocket scientists.

For the cake:

½ cup (1 stick/115 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature

1 cup (200 g) sugar

3 large eggs

2 cups (210 g) grated carrots

2½ cups (310 g) all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

½ teaspoon baking soda

½ teaspoon curry powder

½ teaspoon salt

1 cup (240 ml) plain yogurt

For the frosting:

2 cups (480 ml) Greek yogurt

½ teaspoon ground ginger

3 tablespoons honey

2 teaspoons lemon juice

Carrot shavings, for garnish

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 eggs, one at a time, scraping down the sides of the bowl. Stir in the carrots.

In a separate bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, baking soda, curry powder, and salt.

Working in batches, stir the flour mixture into the butter mixture, alternating with the yogurt; stir until just combined. Divide the batter between the prepared pans.

Bake for 35 to 40 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: Whisk the yogurt, ginger, honey, and lemon juice together. 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. Garnish with carrot shavings.

The Girl Who Didn’t Have Cake for Her Birthday

She was surrounded by at least a dozen friends for her birthday, although there were no balloons, no presents, and there was definitely no cake. I couldn’t help but find the whole situation rather socially unacceptable: who were these thoughtless friends of hers who hadn’t thought to bake her a birthday cake or, at the very least, buy her one from the store? What was the point of even getting together to celebrate?

Seeing as how my entire cake still happened to be intact, I walked over and offered the birthday girl and her so-called party the whole thing, handing off this conveniently appearing dessert they hadn’t ordered but had possibly meant to bring. About a third of the friends were guys, one of whom even generously bought me a Shirley Temple as thanks for the cake. But I wasn’t doing this for them, of course—I was doing it for the girl.

Yes, I was straying from the mission—to first and foremost seek out suitable boyfriend material in the form of the oblivious cake-eaters—but when it really came down to it, I knew what was right.

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Cakeless birthday parties are your call to arms.

Chocolate Chick-ory Cake with Dandelion Frosting

A gender-bending dessert for male and female cake-eaters alike.

For the cake:

1 cup (200 g) sugar plus 2 tablespoons

2 heads Belgian endive (chicory), leaves separated

½ cup (1 stick/115 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature

3 large eggs

2 cups (250 g) all-purpose flour

¾ cup (60 g) unsweetened cocoa powder, sifted

2 teaspoons ground roasted chicory root

2 teaspoons baking powder

½ teaspoon baking soda

½ teaspoon salt

1 cup (240 ml) sour cream

For the frosting:

8 ounces (1 block/225 g) cream cheese, at room temperature

½ cup (120 ml) heavy cream

1 cup (40 g) organic dandelion petals

In a small saucepan, combine 1 cup (240 ml) of water and the 2 tablespoons of sugar and place over medium heat. Add the endive leaves and cook until soft, about 5 minutes. Drain, pat dry with a paper towel, and chop. Set aside.

Beat the butter and remaining 1 cup (200 g) of 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, cocoa powder, chicory root, 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 endive. 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 cream cheese, cream, and dandelion petals together until fluffy. Spread some of the frosting over the bottom cake layer, top with the second cake layer, and spread the remaining frosting over the top.

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ON GIRLS

A Study of Female Behavior in Bars

(1) That guy they’re hanging out with might just be their brother.

(2) They’re fast and smart enough to suddenly become teammates.

(3) Their cake compliments sway toward the short, sweet, and sincere.

(4) They’ll watch your back when a weirdo’s being weird …

(5) … but emerge from the woodwork if you’re talking to their boyfriends.

(6) They’re also probably wondering what happened to that bygone era when guys knew how to buy girls drinks without making things weird.

(7) There’s always room for debate in what constitutes a “dress.”

(8) Their vocal range reaches a special shrillness after midnight.

(9) They’re more likely to take a piece of cake if they’re working behind the bar.

(10) Bachelorette parties do, in fact, necessitate tiaras.

The Guy Who Asked for My Email Address

It was the kind of place where peanut shells coated the floor, and this guy was dancing in a three-piece suit. He and his friends were trying to keep up with the horrible house music, and I admired their attempts to look like they knew what they were doing. I waited for a break in the noise to ask if they wanted any cake, and all six of them ended up back at my table.

The guy in the suit sat and talked to me while his friends continued to gyrate around us, now far away from the music and staining their dress shirts with frosting. It turned out suit guy had clearly defined manners and a normal-person job, the equivalent of finding a unicorn cheerfully directing traffic along Hollywood Boulevard. He complimented the cake in between slow and courteous bites, and I appreciated his thoughtfulness coming through above the grating commotion of his friends. I felt like we were actually hitting it off.

His friends started drifting away, and it was clear he should probably get my phone number, or I should man up and ask for his. We were stalling, waiting for the other to take the lead, when he finally spoke up.

“Can I have your email address?” he asked.

It was with some comfort that I realized this part of the dating process must be as difficult for him as it had once been for me. This was like going back to dialup AOL. At least I had graduated to the high-speed Internet way of asking someone for their number.

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Artichoked Cake with Balsamic Glaze

For young men who could use a shove forward in the dating arena, or a little encouragement taking the lead.

For the cake:

½ cup (1 stick/115 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature

1 cup (200 g) sugar

2 large eggs

1 (14-ounce/400-g) can artichoke hearts, drained and chopped

2 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese

2 tablespoons minced scallions

1 tablespoon lemon juice

2½ cups (310 g) all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon baking powder

½ teaspoon salt

For the glaze:

2 cups (480 ml) balsamic vinegar

3 tablespoons brown sugar

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 artichokes, Parmesan, scallions, and lemon juice.

In a separate bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, and salt. Working in batches, stir the flour mixture into the butter mixture 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 and the tops are golden. 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, bumpy-side up, to a serving platter.

To make the glaze: Put the vinegar and brown sugar in a wide saucepan and bring to a boil over high heat, then lower the heat and simmer for 20 to 30 minutes, until the mixture is thick enough to coat the back of a spoon and has reduced to about ¾ cup (180 ml). Drizzle the glaze generously over the bottom cake layer and top with the second cake layer. Drizzle the top with the remaining glaze, letting it drip down the sides.

The Guy Who Seemed Right

He’d driven up from the Westside to the Valley just to play pool with some buddies, what you out-of-towners should realize is a forty-five-minute to seventeen-hour nightmare of a commitment on any major freeway in Los Angeles. The fact that this guy had voluntarily made this journey on a Friday night made him seem like quite a good friend, which also seemed to imply he’d be quite a good boyfriend. He perked up when I asked if he wanted any cake. “Always,” he said, which is always the right answer.

He mentioned he taught children music, and I tried not to lose myself in picturing all the precious recitals I could help him put on once we were ~~married dating~~ just getting to know each other. We ate a second piece of cake, bonding over a mutual Tami Taylor love, with all signs pointing to further action. But when it came time for us to go our separate ways, he just said good-bye, leaving me wondering if I had made some kind of error to derail us from planning to see each other again.

There are times when you head back into the bar to give the guy your number, those moments when you decide you have the power to try to make things go the way you want them to and aren’t giving up just because maybe the other person isn’t getting the message. But this wasn’t one of those times. It was a night I accepted you can’t force things that aren’t supposed to happen. Some other girl was meant to help him plan all those student piano recitals.

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Squashed Blossom Cake with Pine Nut Frosting

For guys who are presumably good matches for you based on flimsy intel—just know a better match is out there.

For the cake:

¾ cup (1½ sticks/170 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature

1 cup (200 g) sugar

3 large eggs

1 cup (300 g) pureed cooked winter squash, such as butternut or pumpkin

⅓ cup (80 g) soft goat cheese

2½ cups (310 g) all-purpose flour

2½ teaspoons baking powder

½ teaspoon salt

For the frosting:

1 cup (240 ml) sour cream

1 tablespoon honey

2 tablespoons finely ground pine nuts

Squash blossoms, for garnish

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 squash and goat cheese.

In a separate bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, and salt. Working in batches, stir the flour mixture into the butter mixture until just combined. Divide the batter between the prepared pans.

To make the frosting: Whisk the sour cream, honey, and pine nuts together. Spread some of the frosting over the bottom cake layer, top with the second cake layer, and spread the remaining frosting over the top. Garnish with squash blossoms, if desired.

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NEVER WOULD I EVER

Things I Did Because of Cakebarring

(1) I called up Ryan Seacrest

(2) I appeared on national TV

(3) I started to drink an appropriate amount for a single young adult

(4) I wrote down my phone number for a guy who didn’t ask for it

(5) I kissed a guy on the first date (and didn’t care his hat hit me in the face on my way in)

(6) I played beer hockey with a slew of fraternity brothers

(7) I chatted up that actor I recognized

(8) I agreed with a radio host in Australia that I am moderately attractive

(9) I conveniently forgot the feedback that this experiment was antifeminist

(10) I wrote this book

The Guy Who Preferred Pie

He was sitting alone at a picnic table, smoking a cigarette and giving off a vampirey vibe that was coldly uninterested. I wasn’t surprised to hear he had grown up in L.A., which can often give way to a general distaste for anything outside of it.

I offered him a piece of cake, but he said he was really more of a pie person.

“Have you ever been to Ramekin?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “What’s that?”

“We’ll go there some time,” he said, taking out his phone. “What’s your number?”

Here’s where I got lost. This guy hadn’t wanted any cake, he wasn’t planning to eat any cake, and we had only just met, about ninety seconds earlier. My hair wasn’t especially clean, I wasn’t particularly fond of the outfit I had chosen, and yet somehow this person was taking the necessary steps to ensure we would be spending more time together.

“Sure,” I said, and gave him my number.

My social savvy may be limited to hosting, baking, and gaining the trust of small children, but I was smart enough to put together that this was a breakthrough, and I was supposed to follow through. Never in the history of the mission had someone expressed interest in dating me without the bait of the cake, and this moment held great significance. I wouldn’t always need the cake as my crutch and my conversation starter; I would stay afloat in the dark and dismal dating waters past the end of the year.

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Sweet Potato Cake with Cauliflower Frosting

For people who aren’t necessarily sweet, welcoming, or warm, but make conventionally nice gestures, e.g., inviting you out for dessert.

For the cake:

¾ cup (1½ sticks/170 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature

1 cup (220 g) brown sugar

3 large eggs

1 cup (290 g) cooked and pureed sweet potatoes (about 2)

1 teaspoon minced fresh rosemary

2½ cups (310 g) all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

½ teaspoon salt

6 tablespoons (90 ml) sour cream

For the frosting:

8 ounces (1 block/225 g) cream cheese, at room temperature

1 cup (290 g) cooked and pureed cauliflower (about ½ small head)

Confectioners’ sugar, for garnish

Beat the butter and brown sugar together until creamy, then add the eggs, one at a time, scraping down the sides of the bowl. Add the sweet potatoes and rosemary.

In a separate bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, and salt.

Working in batches, stir the flour mixture into the butter mixture, alternating with the sour cream; stir until just combined. Divide the batter between the prepared pans.

Bake for 20 to 25 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 cream cheese and cauliflower together, either with an electric mixer or in a food processor, until smooth. If the frosting is too soft, put it in the refrigerator for a while to firm up before using. Spread some of the frosting over the bottom cake layer, top with the second cake layer, and spread the remaining frosting over the top. Sift the confectioners’ sugar over the cake for garnish.

The Guy Who I’d Grown Up With

I could recognize his little-boy face in his man-size body from across the bar. We’d been paired up as waltz partners in the fourth grade, back when we were about the same size, a huge stroke of luck on my part since I thought he was cuter than JTT. Now he was much taller than I remembered, but I figured our height disparity had probably continued to increase after middle school, the last time we had seen each other.

I calculated which bad bangs period he had last been privy to and cringed; it was most likely from the height of my paralysis with boys, back when my posture was even worse than it is now and I was suffering from muffin top before people were calling it that. It was the beginning of my heightened uncertainty with male peers, a phase that had lasted until the start of this very experiment with cakes, when I had no choice but to loosen up because I’d thrown myself into the deep end of the being-with-boys pool.

Now I was a seasoned pro in the chatting-with-guys-in-bars department, having mastered all the eye contact and physical proximity practice that comes with it. I could talk to anyone, even this person who had seen me at my most unflattering, and ask if he wanted a piece of cake. I went up to say hello, and he nearly picked me up off the ground. Yes, he definitely wanted a piece of cake, and he gave me a kiss when he was finished.

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Sweet Pea Cake with Crème Fraîche

For informal reunions with people from your past and unrequited childhood crushes.

For the crème fraîche:

1 cup (240 ml) heavy whipping cream

2 tablespoons cultured buttermilk

For the cake:

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 cup (170 g) diced onions

½ cup (1 stick/115 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature

1 cup (200 g) sugar

3 large eggs

1¾ cups (1 pound/455 g) pureed peas

2½ cups (310 g) all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

½ teaspoon salt

To make the crème fraîche: Combine the cream and buttermilk in a glass jar and cover; let stand, undisturbed, on the counter for at least 8 hours or overnight to thicken. Refrigerate until ready to use.

In a small sauté pan, heat the oil over medium heat and add the onions. Cook, stirring frequently, until the onions are soft and translucent but not browned (add a little water and lower the heat if it does start to brown), about 10 minutes. Scrape onto a plate and let cool.

Beat the butter and sugar together until creamy, then add the eggs, one at a time, scraping down the sides of the bowl. Stir in the peas and onions.

In a separate bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, and salt. Working in batches, stir the flour mixture into the butter mixture. Divide the batter between the prepared pans.

Spread some of the crème fraîche over the bottom cake layer, top with the second cake layer, and spread the remaining crème fraîche over the top.

The Guy Who Pointed Out the Obvious

He was a songwriter from Mississippi, so I guess it made perfect sense when he started elaborating on the texture of the cake like a poem, like a gosh-darn beautiful song. Several slices and a couple drinks later, we were old pals. I was emptying out my emotional purse, lamenting about the dating scene in Los Angeles. I confided that I’d really tried to put myself out there this year, but it hadn’t exactly worked out yet.

“So why do you want a boyfriend so badly?” he asked.

I’d been taking cakes to bars for eleven months by this point. I’d bought enough sugar to stock an entire pastry school, spent enough time around drunk people to keep up with a college sorority, and subjected myself to a certain level of rejection and humiliation on a weekly basis. It was the most exhausting, adventurous, and fulfilling project I’d ever taken on. I was just as happy as I’d been when I started, if not happier, and I was just as single as I’d been at the beginning of the year.

“I don’t think it’s because I want a boyfriend so badly,” I said. “Sometimes I just want some help carrying my groceries.”

This big boyfriend void I’d envisioned suddenly seemed very filled by other purposeful space holders in the organizational chart of my life: friends, family, writing, working, baking, and using Instagram to immortalize oblivious boys eating cake in bars. If there had been any hole, I must have imagined it. There would be room created for the boyfriend when he showed up, and I wasn’t trying to cram him in where he didn’t belong.

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Sage Cake with Ricotta Frosting

For wise advice-givers and unintentional mentors who help you reach important realizations, e.g., maybe you didn’t need to bake fifty cakes to achieve a sense of wholeness in your life.

For the cake:

¾ cup (1½ sticks/170 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature

1 cup (200 g) sugar

3 large eggs

1 tablespoon lemon juice

2½ cups (310 g) all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

½ teaspoon salt

2 tablespoons minced sage leaves

1½ cups (360 ml) ricotta cheese

For the frosting:

¾ cup (180 ml) heavy whipping cream

¾ cup (180 ml) ricotta cheese

Sage leaves, for garnish

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 lemon juice.

In a separate bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, salt, and sage.

Working in batches, stir the flour mixture into the butter mixture, alternating with the ricotta; stir until just combined. Divide the batter between the prepared pans.

To make the frosting: In a chilled bowl, using a chilled whisk or electric mixer with the whisk attachment, whip the cream and ricotta 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. Garnish with sage leaves.

FURTHER READING

For Dating, Baking, and Bar-Hopping Inspiration

(1) Heartburn by Nora Ephron

Learn how to survive a disintegrating marriage, along with how to cook carbonara.

(2) Are You My Boyfriend? by Maria Peevey

Spin a wheel to find BF options that include the “It’s Not You, It’s Me Guy,” and my personal favorite, “But He’s Got a Great Personality Guy.”

(3) Ham Biscuits, Hostess Gowns, and Other Southern Specialties by Julia Reed

Take a trip through the dreamy southland while picking up party tips and Reed’s family recipes.

(4) Drinking with Men by Rosie Schaap

Join Schaap for her recollections of pubs, dives, and taverns, from New York and L.A. to Dublin, in this love letter to bars.

(5) I Like You by Amy Sedaris

Find out from the comedienne craft queen how to entertain for any event, from a gathering for the elderly to a birthday cake for your stepmother.

(6) The Smitten Kitchen Cookbook by Deb Perelman

Follow Perelman’s witty instructions, and you’ll make something incredible you thought you never could.

(7) The Vintage Tea Party Book by Angel Adoree

Up your hostessing game by learning how to style updos and sew aprons, in addition to baking treats like candy-striped meringues.

(8) The Cake Mix Doctor by Anne Byrn

Expand your cake horizons when you see how boxed mixes can transform into dozens of impressive desserts.

(9) Help! I Can’t Think of a Thing to Say by Meg F. Schneider

Study this vintage gem for conversation starters like “You skate very well. How do you do that fancy backward move?”

(10) Be Your Own Dating Service by Nina Atwood

Should this cake thing not work out, listen to Atwood. She’ll tell you everything you need to know.

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THE END