Sunday, February 26


sometimes, i get pretty in pink.
that's a thing.
sometimes i F* up my flow a little bit.
i don't necessarily mind that so much.
more accurately,
if mistakes get made, not due to indifference or negligence,
but more as part of a learning curve?
i can live with that no problem,
as long as i totally redeem myself on the second try.
make all the (non-fatal) mistakes you want to,
provided you don't make the same ones twice.
be smarter than that and think ahead;
or, not.
but definitely don't keep wrecking cakes, or relationships, or whatever,
the same way every time.
i think that might be what makes you an A*-hole.
and nobody wants to be a sad A*-hole eating a sh!tty cake, am i right?
that's the truth.
i made a raspberry redemption cake that proved some of that.
...i posted previously about a cake that sh!t the sheets,
with raspberry compote crushing the crumb, 
and squeezing it out of the center.
i didn't despair for much longer than a few minutes.
i mean,
what good is being bummed out about a kitchen mishap really going to accomplish?
not one thing, neighbors-
so instead of just giving the oven the middle finger,
and giving up on having a special treat,
 i scooped out the hot, baked, homemade real red raspberry jam and oatmeal streusel,
let it cool,
and repurposed it as a whole other 'nother crumbly topping on the second take.
there's no point waiting around for success.
i don't think that's how it works.
i put my pastry cutter and spatulas back to work,
and made something so super sexxxy, it almost seemed a shame to eat it.
check the pretty-in-pink-type teleport:
that frosting?
it's vanilla, and powdered sugar, vegan butter,
real-life raspberry juice runoff reserved from the first cakey incarnation, 
and lemon juice,
whisked into a magical magenta fluff that defies detailed description.
it's dope.
let's just acknowledge that much.
real juicy berry flavor, and color, for your F*ing face, man!
romanesco vibes on those swirls, tho, y'know?
i dig it.
and you can very clearly see the crumbles berry goodness on top.
that's no foolin' around, either.
the thing you can't tell from the photo is that half of that berry bumble is
INSIDE the cake.
half a lemon's zest,
all the juice,
a splish of extract,
all that stuff.
i wish i could give you an exact recipe,
but, as it was pieced together from scraps and discards,
i can only break you off a general approximation.
here goes:
1 stick of softened vegan butter;
creamed together with 1 cup sugar;
>1/2 tsp salt;
1 tsp vanilla;
1 tsp lemon extract;
1/2 lemon zest;
stirred up with:
roughly 6 oz of raspberry jam with oaty melty buttery blops-
no pressure, but it sure helps if you've recently ruined a cake with that on it;
3/4 cup non-dairy yogurt.
from there,
it's more of the same:
2 cups flour;
1/4 cup tapioca starch;
2 tsp baking powpow;
1 tsp baking soda;
1/4 cup non-dairy milk, with 1 lemon's worth of juice.
whisk, stir, blend and combine all of that,
and spoon into a greased and floured 9" springform pan,
topped with 6ish oz of that raspy crumblebum topping.
and baked at 360F for 35-45 minutes, 
or until a pointy thing dipped in the middle comes out clean.
that's the ticket.
- i'm willing to wager that you could easily make raspberry crumbles yourself,
without wasting a whole other 'nother cake-
crushed chopped oats, and a jar of seeded jammie-jam,
with a little powdered sugar, a pat of butter, a splash of lemon,
over lowish heat, will get similar results, i guarantee it.
from there,
the rest of it is the same.
let it cool,
frost it up,
pose it next to some sticks and stuff....
etc etc etc.
i tattoo a lot of people.
and i've been doing so for a long time.
i don't always dwell on the span of my 'career',
as it's trajectory isn't much for permitting a good view 
of anything but the bottom of the hill....
(it's strange to think of how long a freefall into the abyss of obscurity 
can really last when put to the test)
my friend matt came up north to get some pretty cool filigree
on all the hurtie spots of his arm,
and he reminded me that i've been beating him up on purpose for 13 years.
what. the. heck. man.
thirteen years?!!
that's a number that just seems so implausible.
i'm sayin',
those kind of numbers make me feel OLD.
i know, i know, 
it's not just that that qualifies me for middle age,
but damn, dudes.
i have to say, i'm grateful as heck that i've got folks who've kept it up,
and stayed strong all along, with me as their skin-scribing sherpa.
that's pretty cool.
i'm lucky to do what i do.
in my own weird way,
i'm lucky to do it where i do.
and most of all,
i'm lucky that all this time hasn't diminished these dudes desire 
to get a dose of my irascible rapscallionism.
thirteen years of yelling at him,
and he still comes and hangs out.
like i said:
i'm a lucky ugly duckling.
thirteen years later, i'm no duckling, 
i'm just an ugly old duck;
with the toughest clients in town;
never quiet, never soft.....

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