Grapes Belong In Cake, Don’t They?

Do you have someone in your life that no matter how crazy things get, they always seem to have everything under control?

They never lose their cool, they’re always one step ahead of their crazy busy schedule?

That’s my friend Kari.

She is the busiest person I know and yet seems to find the time to work, volunteer, have a family, say yes to anything and still have time to whip up spreads like she has a team of private chefs hiding in her pantry.

On top of all of that, she is in a band with myself and two other best friends. Practice usually ends up being at her place, and when we arrive, she has an entire island counter full of dips, sandwiches, cookies, and other things to nosh on throughout the evening.

My favorite dessert she makes is an absurdly delicious 4 ingredient pineapple upside-down cake. Dense, buttery, brown sugar caramelized goodness that is almost fool proof. Almost.

It’s pretty simple:

1 Box of Angel Food Cake Mix

1 Can of Crushed Pineapple (juice and all, do not drain)

Mix and Bake

She takes it up a notch of course by adding a buttery brown sugar layer and cinnamon to the bottom of the pan, so when you flip it, you get that extra bit of golden gooey perfection on the top.

One afternoon I found myself craving this cake in the worst way, so I thought I would surprise my daughter and husband by whipping one up in the kitchen quick. I opened the cupboards to make sure I had everything.

Angel food cake mix. Check.

Canned crushed pineapple. Well, it was there somewhere...Hmm. Wait. Fruit Cocktail.

Well, it’s close I suppose, it did contain pineapple chunks and quartered cherries, so that’s good, right?

Sure there were also peaches and sad skinless grapes, but I reasoned that those were mushy and would probably just dissolve anyway.

Or at the very least, add to the flavor.

My first mistake, other than thinking I could just wing it when it comes to baking, was that I followed the directions on the cake box.

Adding eggs, oil and water, in addition to the can of undrained fruit cocktail.

My next mistake was that I remembered some sort of magic happening at the bottom of Kari’s dish, so I decided that the secret ingredient must have been just straight cinnamon, sprinkled aggressively.

That caramelizes in high heat, right?

Into the oven it went.

It baked.

And baked.

Is cake supposed to be soupy after eighty-five minutes?

I mean I just wasn’t understanding what the problem was, the oven was on.

I would sneak away to the kitchen periodically, to peek at the damn thing, which just kept bubbling like some disgusting version of Midwest stew.

My two taste testers kept eyeing me up with each reentry, probably wondering when the hell the cake was going to be done.

Two hours later, we were now in bread pudding territory and the only thing I could do, was to just laugh every time I went into the kitchen. I would look up at the ceiling, as if God was up there somewhere, and just shake my head and say,

“Really? Really?”

At some point I was expecting someone to say hey, weren’t you baking a cake or something? Like hours ago?

I should have listened to that little voice in the beginning that questioned the can of fruit cocktail. It knew all of this was going to come back around and require some sort of awkward confession to everybody.

Like oh say, when you have to admit you put peaches in a cake.

And pears. And skinless grapes.

Three hours later.

I flipped the dish over, hoping for some miraculous redemption.

Maybe the top was supposed to be jiggly, but I sure don’t remember Kari’s being like that.

What emerged was...well something that could only be carved out with let’s say, a very durable spatula, or slotted spoon of sorts.

Chunks of what might have been cake at one point, fell apart in soggy clumps, exposing mushy cherry halves, transparent grapes and stringy peaches.

The “caramelized” topping was nothing more than burnt cinnamon dust, that dried our throats out on the very first bite.

Oddly enough, the hardest thing to swallow wasn't the cake, it was the shame I felt for cutting corners.

I instinctively knew when I grabbed the can of fruit cocktail it probably wasn’t going to work, so why was I surprised at this outcome? Instead, I had convinced myself that baking it longer, would take care of any shortcomings this dessert had.

In the three hours it took to mess around with this disaster, I could have went to the store and got the actual ingredients I needed for the recipe, instead of just phoning it in and hoping for a great result. I should have been proud of something to serve my family, not come out immediately making excuses before they even take their first bite.

I can still remember them taking their plates and doing that thing people do when they love you enough to lie directly to your face.

"Hmmm. It's...interesting."

Interesting.

The universal language for I don't know how to tell you this tastes like soggy landscaping sod.

The grapes sat there in plain sight, translucent. Not dissolving like they were supposed to. The peaches had somehow diverted from the plan and achieved both mushy and stringy consistency at the same time, which I didn't even know was possible. Every bite coated your mouth with enough cinnamon dust to make you need a glass of water close by.

I can’t believe they were eating it.

Not much of it, mind you. Just enough to show support before strategically setting their forks down and suddenly becoming very interested in other activities around the house.

The funny part is that Kari had already given me the recipe. She told me exactly how to make it, two ingredients and a can opener.

Plain and simple.

Yet somehow, it was easier to just be lazy and look at a can of fruit cocktail and think, yep that’s close enough.

I learned my lesson since then, and in my efforts to try to be a better active listener lately, I found that when I actually slow down, pay attention, things tend to turn out a little better than that cake did, that’s for sure.

I’ve always prided myself on being a good listener, so I found it annoying lately that I started this new habit of cutting corners.

Is it because these days, my brain can feel so easily overstimulated? If so, it doesn’t come as any surprise that I find myself taking short cuts where maybe I hadn’t before. I often assume I can remember something without writing it down, or convince myself I got the general idea, but then be totally floored when something doesn't work out the way it’s supposed to.

Don’t they call that . . .the definition of insanity?

If it’s not, then I think it has got to be when you substitute fruit cocktail for crushed pineapple, in cake, and expect a masterpiece.