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.
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
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. 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.
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: 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.
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.
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
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 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
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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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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. 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.
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 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 coul
d.
(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.
THE END
Since we’re being perfectly honest here, I’ll admit a few more things. It’s the least I can do, since you made it to the end of the book.
I am still that friend who hides during karaoke. I panic whenever I’m asked to find a partner in yoga class, and I go to great lengths to avoid high-fiving people. Next to running out of food at a dinner party, it is my single greatest fear to be selected for audience participation during an improv show, which means I always prefer to sit near the very back of the theater.
But throw me in a bar with a cake and I’ll sing. Seat me next to a cute guy at dinner and I’ll make so much eye contact, it will make your head spin. Give me a caketastrophe and I’ll salvage it with frosting and charm. I won’t sink, I’ll swim—or at least tread water long enough to give it a real class-act effort.
Before this project, I would have blushed myself into a frenzy if I saw a guy I wanted to talk to at the grocery store. I really wouldn’t have known what to say. Do you like that kind of cheese? Where do you get your parking validated? Is there any way we went to summer camp together? (I never went to summer camp.) Even if I don’t have a cake in my hand, I’ve still got one pretty good icebreaker up my sleeve.
Sitting in Bars with Cake: Lessons and Recipes from One Year of Trying to Bake My Way to a Boyfriend Page 8