On Saturday, I threw a surprise birthday party for the BF at an Irish pub in Nashua, NH. I was really excited that so many people could attend. In addition to the guest of honor, the scene stealer of the night was the birthday cake. Let me tell you the story…
Two weeks prior to the party I contacted several bakeries through the internet to get a quote for a custom cake. I received confirmation from a bakery in Brookline, who I frequent for their cupcakes. A week after the order was placed and into my scheming, I received an email from the shop saying that the head baker was uncomfortable making a cake with a gun. I was looking for them to make me a cake shaped like a Glock handgun. An unusual and slightly creepy request, especially coming from me…but hey it’s just a cake!
I scurried the internet to find someone who could help me in less than a week! I found my angel—Cakes by Terri, formerly Terri-Me-Sue. After a fire burned her shop in East Cambridge, Terri (the owner and baker) has been baking out of her house. A bubbly woman answered my panic phone call and said, “Sure!”
I even had the option of making the cake half chocolate and half vanilla for no additional cost. She explained that she would cut down a sheet cake into the shape of the gun no problem and for only $45. I had been quoted twice that at other shops.
I sent her pictures I had found on the Internet. Some were even of other gun cakes…there are a surprising number of grooms cakes out there shaped as armory.
The anticipation bubbled over until I was able to go pick it up on Saturday. Hopping into my little yellow car I zipped a couple of blocks to Terri’s house. The walk to the two-family was covered in Easter eggs and bunny mobiles and wind catchers. And after a knock at the door, Terri, a petite salt and pepper-haired grandma, descended her front steps wearing a purple apron and carrying a large white box.
“Do you want to see it?” she asked.
“Of course,” I responded, leaping out of my skin.
She revealed a large black gun just as I had ordered.
“I hope it is okay,” she giggled and wiggled to my car and squeezed it onto the floor of the front seat.
Thanks to the lower heaters in my car, the drive to Nashua was perfumed with the sweet scent of cocoa. My car became a giant chocolate inhaler. The cake’s icing, which was responsible for the smell, was jet black and laced with richness.
I am still eating cake for breakfast and having dreams about Terri.