2024 is positively flying by. As I look back at all the things I’ve made because of this project, I’m simultaneously impressed (15 cookies made, 4 of them self-developed!) and also a little discouraged (only 15 cookies? In the span of 8 months? That’s less than 2 a month!) However, one thing I knew going into this was that it was supposed to bring me joy. Letting anxiety overshadow it because I’m not “producing enough content” (for my VAST audience, 128 followers and counting), is antithetical to that objective. So, I’ve been trying to give myself some grace. This project isn’t a homework assignment, but an opportunity to tap into my creativity and grant myself the freedom to learn and mess up and connect with the people around me in the best way I know how: by making and sharing food. In service of loosening up to rekindle joy, I decided to stray from the savory cookie mold, and make a layer cake. 

Last year, I bought Natasha Pickowicz’s book, More Than Cake: 100 Recipes Built for Pleasure and Community. I saw her on NYT Cooking’s YouTube channel making a wedding cake from scratch. As I watched, I was inspired. It felt like the perfect, accessible challenge. A project that yielded an impressive and daunting conclusion, but was broken down into baby steps that anyone with sufficient patience and care could follow. That summer, I made my first layer cake with my best friend. It was an extensive process and we learned a lot along the way. Our friends and family were blown away by what we had created. 

This summer, I knew I wanted to try it again. Back in May, some friends and I made summer bucket lists. We wrote down a checklist of activities we wanted to do, places we wanted to go, experiences we wanted to have, all before the whirlwind season that is summer drew to a close. Some of my additions were optimistic (run 300 miles), others daring (get a piercing OR tattoo), and some I added just to make me laugh (dance my face-off). Item number 25 was “make a layer cake”. 

Last week, I found myself in the perfect storm. An excess of free time, beautiful weather, and a picnic in the park the next day. It also happened to be my best friend’s birthday. 

I pulled out More Than Cake and designed a layer cake for the occasion: 

• Black sesame chiffon cake 
• Yuzu olive oil curd
• Black sesame cream cheese frosting 

I went to a few stores, picked up a few key ingredients and a bundle of chamomile flowers. Then I went home, set out all my ingredients, and got to work. 

Making a layer cake is a meditative process. It is slow and methodical and easy to get lost in. Time flies by. The rest of the world gets tuned out. 

At times, the process can feel Sisyphean. First comes the careful gathering of ingredients, double checking to make sure you haven’t missed one. One more trip up and down the step-ladder to get yet another item from the top-shelf where all the baking supplies live. Vanilla, baking soda, powdered sugar. The fridge door opens and closes and then opens again. Eggs, whipping cream, oh wait, we don’t have whipping cream. One more trip to the grocery store. Then comes the measuring, spooning out each ingredient on the scale, measuring cups and spoons strewn about. Going back to the recipe once and then twice for good measure – was it one teaspoon or two? There’s the mixing and scraping down the sides of the bowl. Sifting and folding – don’t overdo it though, you might lose the air you carefully captured during 8 minutes of whipping egg whites into meringue. You spread out batter on a prepared tray, offset spatula smoothing and swirling. The oven finally reaches temperature, never pre-heated too early because your apartment is already 1000 degrees from the late summer sun streaming in your living room window. The oven door opens, tray slides in, a timer is set. You try not to look, but your curiosity gets the better of you and you turn on the light and peer through the grease covered window and squint – does it look like it will spring back when touched? Sadly, some things you can’t tell with your eyes alone. The door opens, oven mitts on, you carefully slide the tray out. Gingerly tap the center. Your index finger leaves an indent. It does not appear to be springing. Back into the oven. One more minute. Then two. At last, it’s done. You turn off the oven and let it cool on the stove top. You wash and dry the dishes, wipe down the flour-covered counter. And then, just as one component comes to an end, another begins. 

The funny thing about a layer cake, is that the entire time, it feels like you have nothing to show for all your work. And then, all of a sudden, you have a cake. It’s similar to setting up a very long line of dominos. Each one takes a steady hand, precision, and patience. If you knock down a few, you have to roll up your sleeves and start again. And finally, once all the pieces are in position, you take a deep breath, push one over, and watch to see if the entire thing successfully falls into place.  

And when it works, you end up with so much more than a delicious, eye-catching dessert. What you have created is a centerpiece for community and a symbol of celebration.