My Dad: The Ace of Cakes

My dad and I have a long standing tradition where he makes me a birthday cake every year. I think this started the year I turned 13, also known as the year of the decoy cake. That year Dad made a funfetti cake that was four layers tall. It was covered in candy with a fountain made out of twizzlers on top and a mini muffin in the middle. Somewhere in the process, one of the layers he made crumbled. Instead of throwing said layer away, he and Robert decided to make it the ugliest possible catastrophe and tell me that it was their best effort. When they brought the cake out, I (being a NICE kid, Robert)  tried to console my dad, telling him I LOVED the cake, and that it was so great just because he made it himself. He pretended to get all upset saying, “You hate the cake don’t you? I can just tell. Robert, bring out the other cake!”

The Decoy Cake (I was 13, Don’t Judge!)

Every year since the cakes have had a theme to go with whatever happened to me that year.When I turned 16 I had a double decker bunt cake with 16 long stem roses coming out of the middle. The year I got a cat, the cake was a cat. The year I got a car—car cake. You get the idea.

My First Year in Art School

The year I went to Italy (leaning tower)

This is when I turned 21 and my sisters thought it would be funny to send me a princess party, Piñata and all.

Even my roommates in college got in on the action

I’m sure somewhere there are pictures from every year. One day I’ll have to hunt down copies. Of course this year was no exception. Here it is, the year my first child was born:





Yep, that is a white chocolate baby on a red-velvet rose. We won’t mention what happened to the other babies or the many unrepeatable baby-eating jokes. This was another classic one for the books. Thanks Dad! My love for you, like my love of sugar, will never fail.