Moments ago I was elbow deep in Crisco.

Don’t ask.

We’re hosting three pre-teen girls tomorrow night for the girl’s birthday party. She declined my offer of birthday pie and has generously allowed me to bake her a birthday cake.

“Your birthday cakes are crappy. Just go to the store,” said my son, the one I will not miss this fall.

“Hey, at least I TRY.”

And I do. And yes, some of them have been crappy. He tried a too little too late save: “But they taste good.”

Whatev.

The girl wanted what we all want but cannot have: a Carmela cake. Carmela is my best friend. She makes gorgeous, divine cakes. Each of us has been blessed with a Carmela cake at one time or another, to commemorate some special event in our lives. Mel’s cakes are what everyone wants for their birthday. It can’t happen though; Carmela’s in Colorado. We’re in Virginia.

I was inspired to try to emulate a Carmela cake however, spurred on by my brave friend Danielle’s fondant experiment, I researched fondant online and tonight, went to work. Yes, that’s where the Crisco comes in you sicko.

So the fondant is made, the cakes will be baked tomorrow and another birthday grand experiment will draw to a close, for better or for worse.

They’re always made with love.