Walking in a Winter Wonderland

Christmas Cookies in Blue

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

A Victorian Christmas Cake

Recently, I was asked to participate in a special project for ICES ( International Cake Exploration Societe). The theme for this Day of Sharing was "Christmas Weddings" and I was ask to demonstrate for the group.

I have always loved the victorian styled Christmas with the soft laces and rich gilded accents and wanted to incorporate that theme into the cake's design. While working on the design to demonstrate for an ICES Day of Sharing, another request came to submit a cake and tutorial for the December newsletter. I was truly honored.

So design in hand, and all my cake tools packed, I traveled to Houston so my dear friend, Morgan Jackson, could professionally photograph the cake. Morgan was very accomodating as I literally took over her dining room, sugar and tools spread about as I began creating the cake. This was her first opportunity to see me decorate a cake; and we laughed and chatted as I worked throughout the night.

The next day was my turn to watch Morgan, a true artist, at work. She clicked and clicked away at the little monument erected on her dining room table. Although the photograher liked what she saw through the lens, she wistfully looked out the back door and sighed, "It would have photographed beautifully out in the sunlight."

To her surprise, I picked the cake up and headed out the back door into Morgan's green sanctuary . The sun was low in the sky, creating a warm glow on the cake, and the results were magical. The artist, now in her element, clicked away from every angle; and the results, as you can see, were just beautiful.
Kindred spirits and a collaborative effort always create the best things in life!
Thank you Morgan!

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It sifts from leaden sieves,
It powders all the wood,
It fills with alabaster wool
The wrinkles of the road.

It makes an even face
Of mountain and of plain, —
Unbroken forehead from the east
Unto the east again.

It reaches to the fence,
It wraps it, rail by rail,
Till it is lost in fleeces;
It flings a crystal veil

On stump and stack and stem, —
The summer's empty room,
Acres of seams where harvests were,
Recordless, but for them.

It ruffles wrists of posts,
As ankles of a queen, —
Then stills its artisans like ghosts,
Denying they have been.

~Emily Dickinson