So I actually managed to kick myself in the ass and made a passion fruit bundt cake. But somehow I decided to like, forget how to do anything correctly and I've fucked it up...
For whatever reason, I skipped adding my wet ingredients after creaming the butter and sugar and instead started adding my dry stuff... I got almost halfway through before it suddenly occurred to me that hey, this doesn't look right what's going on?.... What the hell brain, I don't think I've fucked up a cake this bad ever.
I still finished mixing it and panned it up, but its less a cake batter and more like, a wet cookie dough almost. I either fucked it royally or maybe this recipe is just messed up.
It's in the oven now, so I guess I'll find out in about 25 min if it's edible... Been almost 20 minutes and it's not risen much at all...
I'm so glad you made it!
I absolutely get the stupid baking mistakes that then make you think you messed the entire thing up. I hope it came out ok? Sometimes order of operations really fucks everything up, and sometimes it doesn't make a difference.
How did it end up? If it's messed up does it taste ok at least? I'm so curious about passion fruit bundt cake in general and the baker in me needs details haha.
After his death, calm did indeed begin to reign. That calm was in her soul and it was beautiful; let me repeat: it was the calm of silent birds in the treetops. And as time went on, Father's last message sounded more and more distinctly in that silence, like a hunter's horn sounding from the depths of a forest. What did he wish to tell her with his gift? To be free. To live as she wished to live, to go where she wished to go. He himself had never dared to do so. That is why he had given his daughter all the means she needed to dare.
'The night before I left for Ever After High, I looked at the stars outside the tower window and wished that both of us could have a Once Upon a Time.'
Ever After High, from the nominal television show
We all want the fairy story. Terrors and tiaras; look into the mirror, crown the Queen— the most lovely lady you've ever seen— spinning skirts and sparkling glass, shining heroes of times past. Is it any wonder we tell these tales times over? They are a mad and wonderful dream.
But what's the point of a story, if there's nothing to learn? Who'd bite the apple, knowing what awaits? Charming, isn't it, this cold and prescribed fate— a rigid path lined with wire and wonder, laid out by a writer I've never met. Two grim destinies, intertwined but opposite; I wonder, do those brothers regret?
Life is to be lived; this is my tale to tell. There are far worse things in life than being a rebel. Go then, find your future— but keep this in mind; once you've headed up the beanstalk, you won't know what you'll find.
for an ask game: send me a 🏡 if you want a poem about a fictional place that your blog reminds me of 💕