Enemy, Thine Name is Cake Pops

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Cake Pops.  Peaking in popularity, they are everything a girl with a sugar habit could ever want: cute, tiny, delicious balls of sugar and cuteness.

They are my enemy. 


Cake Pops. Bad news all around.  Tell your friends.



I made cake pops for a fund-raiser. 60 of them to be exact. I had seen my friend Sarah make them and they seemed really, really easy.

She did it with grace and style and ease. She was the Paula Deen of the Cake Pop World. It all looked so easy.

So, Friday my Mom and I dedicated ourselves to the production of 60 Cake Pops. Here is what no one tells you about cake pops - they cost a lot of money to make. We had to buy two cake mixes, two frostings, lollipop sticks, two Candy Melt bags, sprinkles and parchment paper. While it might not seem like a lot, the grand total came to about 30.00, and the purchasing was spread out at two different stores: Albertsons and Michael's. See, Wilton has a line of Cake Pop stuff. That's where you get the lollipop sticks, and the Candy Melts. The rest of the stuff has to be bought at a regular grocery store. I feel annoyed about this.



(By the way, I'm aware that people have much better and bigger problems than going to two stores. But I'm not comparing that to say, famine or unemployment. I'm comparing this experience to making a normal cake.)

We got home and started. First, we made the two batches of cake mix: One yellow and one chocolate. We baked said cakes (35 minutes), and then they had to cool for at least an hour. We relaxed and chatted on the couch.

Then we broke up the cake with our hands and with deftly wielded forks, turned them into tiny crumbles.

A tub of frosting was added: Lemon for the yellow cake, vanilla for the chocolate cake.

Then there was the rolling. The endless rolling. You grabbed a hunk of wet cake, and rolled it into a golf-ball sized er, ball. The problem is that as you are rolling them, the cake sticks to your hands. Suddenly your ball isn't a ball anymore. It's half the size it was when you started rolling. And now your hands are so sticky that you are incapable of rolling an even cake ball.



You are 31 years old and you can't even roll a cake ball. Might as well walk into traffic.


At least my cake balls were better than my Mom's; hers were misshapen and totally deformed, less a ball than a multi-angled giant monster. I had to re-roll hers.

Mom FAIL.

Then we had to put the cake balls into my freezer, which took more than a smile, because my freezer is wide enough to hold two ice-cube trays.

The cake balls needed to freeze for two hours. So we went and had lunch at the Bagel Bakery, which has the best sandwiches and the WORST customer service. I ordered a sandwich that came with chips and a drink for .99. The girl, smacking her gum, says to me "Yeah, thats not true anymore." "I'm sorry?" I say. "Yeah, now you get chips and a pickle." Me: "I hate pickles. Can I get the drink?" She rolls her eyes. I frown. "Well, it's on the sign. Maybe you should change the sign to be accurate." She gives a loud sigh and punches the cash register.

*Sigh*


Mom and I eat lunch and head back for the dreaded cake pops. Then my Mom TOTALLY ditches me. "I'm tired honey, and I don't want to drive in rush hour." she says, like this is a totally valid excuse for a 55 year old woman who works the most demanding job ever.



I let her go with a big hug and a "Make Mom Feel Guilty Face", and decide to tackle the Cake Pops alone.

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