There is an old saying in the industry: you mustn’t eat an abandoned wedding cake after your heart has stopped hurting. One doesn’t like to leave these things to chance so, as the memories of an erstwhile lover are still raw, but increasingly distant, I made sure that this three tiered monster wouldn’t go bad! The treasures one finds around one’s town or attic!
It is as impressive in the gullet as it is on the eyes. Only a woman of incredible taste could have commissioned such an ornate and impressive celebration of two bodies becoming one in a perfect union under God – despite the flaws of her husband to be. This sort of unobtrusive, dignified baked-good would be a beautiful addition to any seemingly happy couple’s doomed wedding service.
The sweetness of the vanilla sponge does not for a second betray the terrifying coldness that the bride would ultimately demonstrate to her fiancée by not appearing at the church on the day of the ceremony. The mock-cream (his order, one guesses!) holds together understandably dry layers of cake as might empty promises and insincere assurances hold together a relationship in the lead up to the unhappiest day of their lives.
Edible ribbon spirals in a more controlled fashion than he ever downwardly spiralled from the top tier, to form tidy bows on the bottom one. It is a quaint, but dispensable gesture. Like getting down on one FUCKING knee for the woman you FUCKING love.
The topper depicts the couple dancing, immortal. It is inedible. But not for a lack of trying! Perhaps their happy plastic limbs might lodge themselves in my throat, and send my face the same shade of royal blue as the sculpted marzipan dancefloor that was once beneath their feat. Beneath our feet.
If one overlooks the tremendous heartbreak that such a meal necessitates Every. Goddamn. Time. it is a feast fit for any king, queen or critic who has fallen both out of love, and from grace. Oh! How I pine for my beloved!
4.5 Stars. Take with coffee!