The Carrot Cake Disaster
For years, my favorite cake has been carrot cake. Every birthday, that is what I request. Historically, it is my grandmother’s carrot cake that I really want—with golden raisins, home-whipped cream cheese frosting, and frosted with pecan bits. Of course, these days, my aunt has taken up my grandmother’s mantle. However, in quarantine, I can’t really see my aunt...or that carrot cake.
Last week, I decided with all the free time on my hands, I would make a carrot cake. Because I live alone, I am very particular to not make or buy desserts too often because who will eat them all? Me. Following this logic, I did not want to make a rich carrot cake that I would resent when I devoured 10,000 calories in three days—or less. I opted for a healthy recipe I found online where the cream cheese frosting was really just nonfat Greek yogurt, nonfat cream cheese, and maple syrup (truly, the frosting was one of the best parts of this recipe).
The rest of the recipe didn’t seem too dramatic. Only half a cup of brown sugar, but carrots themselves have lots of natural sugar, and raisins go a long way in sweetening things. (I briefly considered a very healthy recipe that called for almond flour, coconut flour, and some other nut flour, but when I got to the grocery store and saw almond flour for $12/bag and all-purpose wheat flour for $3 and double the amount—well, the Bernie Madoff in me made a fast decision.)
The first ingredient on the recipe called for three to four carrots, peeled and grated. At the store, I searched for pre-shredded carrots to no avail. Knowing I didn’t need 12 carrots I would never eat, the Bernie Madoff in me also chose the baby carrots to grate because there were less and they were cheaper. At home, during a Zoom conference call (with my screen turned off), I grated these carrots. Well, actually, I diced them.
For some reason, I didn’t think this was a big deal. Yes, they seemed a little large, but surely, they would shrink in the oven. They weren’t fully baby carrots. I halved each baby carrot and then diced that, so each one amounted to 10 to 12 smaller carrot pieces. I dumped the result into a bowl with the flour, sugar, baking powder and soda (which I almost just used baking only baking powder, because there seems to be a shortage on baking soda these days), and the raisins.
When I put the mix into the oven, it did look a little chunky, but again, I just assumed it would bake away. At least it would get softer!
I have no pictures of any of this because I didn’t think this cake would be a dramatic retelling. I thought I’d just have a homemade, healthy carrot cake all to myself. Instead, when I pulled my cake from the oven, I found dots of orange staring back. At first I wasn’t alarmed.
I prepared the frosting. It turns out, cream cheese and Greek yogurt don’t mix so easily, at least when cold. The consequent mixture resembled a curdled bodily fluid that I would rather not type out. I tried using my milk frother on it, but the frother couldn’t break the viscosity. Oh well. I smoothed the frosting over the cake.
I have never seen a more hideous cake. I couldn’t imagine if I was going to a dinner party and this was my intended sacrifice. Would the hosts believe I hadn’t been trying to insult them? Would anyone even touch this monstrosity?
Next time I could work on presentation. I cut myself a slice. Certainly, it had to taste good.
Yikes!
Huge chunks of raw, partially steamed carrots gaped from the cake. As a friend eventually put it, this thing looked like meatloaf covered in mashed potatoes. It did taste good if you looked past the very healthy crunch of carrots that came in every bite. This was no carrot cake; it was a carrot chip cake.
I debated if there was any comeback. I could blend this terror and make cake balls? If I baked it longer, would the carrots shrink?
I posted a photo on social media. Horrified reactions included:
“Why the eff are the carrots so big? I’m in shock.”
“I can’t get over the size of those carrots.”
“Bet it was crunchy.”
“My kind of carrot cake—nice robust bites! More essential vitamins!!”
“I wish I could un-see.”
“Incredible. A work of art.”
“I’m appalled at this photo.”
And my great Aunt Barbara:
“I am proud you tried. But not correct. Hope it tastes good. It looks like a disaster but..... Let me know. Love you kiddo.”
I am intent to re-make this cake and grate the carrots this time. I think I will avoid future dicey situations.
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