Enemy, Thine Name is Cake Pops

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I pull them out of the freezer. A cake pop goes rolling down the hallway. I ignore it.

I read the directions, printed from about 5 different blogs, including Sarah's, Miss Perfect Cakepop-pants, all high and mighty. "Melt Chocolate, Insert Stick into Cake Ball, dip in chocolate, sprinkle."


Huh. Seems easy enough. The chocolate melts like a dream (thank you, Candy Melts, for being the only easy part of my day) and I begin dipping the balls.

Be honest. This looks like the octopus in Finding Nemo.

I have come to believe that dipping Cake Pops could never and has never worked. I am convinced of this.

Some of the balls come apart in the chocolate, leaving chunks in my perfectly melted dipping bowl. Almost all of the balls slip off their lollipop stick and land in the dip, leaving a dent in their (Almost) perfect circle shape. I put them back on. I have to turn the cake pops sideways and swirl them to get them to work.

And I have to work fast. The dip is drying quickly, so if I don't get the sprinkles on when they are still wet, then it's no sprinkles at all.

And I can't have no sprinkles because the cake pops are at best, really ugly shaped, and sprinkles both distract the eye and cover a litany of baking sins.

It's maddening. I'm racing, I'm dipping, I'm sprinkling, I'm weeping...it's all there, all anarchy in Cake Pop land.

The sprinkles are sticking together with dripping chocolate in some sort of Andy Warhol color-explosion. It's all chaos, chaos, chaos... it's all over.

I am convinced that I will die here, dipping 60 cake pops and thinking of World's End.

My husband Ryan comes home. He sees me looking like a trainwreck, frizzy hair, red face, sweat on my brow, cursing up a storm at these tiny little Cake Pops. "Uh, what can I do to help?" he asks sweetly.

15 minutes later, Ryan's hair is frizzed, his face is red, he keeps saying "CRAP!" really loud and then declares to me "We are never making these damn Cake Pops again." Yes, that's right, the pastor said damn. About Cake Balls.

I run out of chocolate melt, so I nuke some leftover chocolate chips and try (in vain) to finish the cake pops. It turns out real chocolate is about 10 times heavier than melting chocolate. The balls are literally dissolving under the weight. I stab them viciously, wishing for their pain. Things are getting out of control.

And then, just like that, I'm done.

Finally, FINALLY, 6 HOURS after we had started them, the Cake Pops were done.

They were done and they looked...okay. Some of them were perfect. Some were trainwrecks.

Okay, MOST of them were trainwrecks. My Cake pops weren't so much pop as they were oblong-ish shapes of cake covered in candy.  There was no popping, only pain.

The kitchen was a DISASTER. I had dirtied almost every pan that didn't fit in the dishwasher, nice and empty, taunting me with it's tiny capacity.

I smiled as I took this picture, but I was a disaster. Notice the crazy hair and the knife rack within reach. Crrazzzzyy...

  Say "I hate CakePops!"

Ryan and I took one look at the kitchen, looked at each other and said "You wanna go out for dinner?" "I'm already there."

We ate at Thai Basil. It's so delicious. Ryan got the Drunken Noodles.

He loves them.

And as for me, my day could be summed up by this oddity I saw at Target:

This is how I feel about Cake Pops.

When I saw people eating them at the Fund-Raiser, I wanted to stop them mid-bite. "Do you know how hard those were to make?? They took 6 hours. Enjoy that bite buddy." They were all eaten, thankfully, otherwise I would have had meltdown #2. I told myself it was worth it (and it totally was) to get to give these little treats to people who were so generous at the adoption fund-raiser. They gave us much more than we gave them.

 For them, it WAS worth it.

But never again, cake pops. You hear me??? NEVER AGAIN.





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