My boss, Nancy, has an appreciation for my knitting fetish. She's an avid reader of this blog, even contributing to it. She's received a piece or two of my knitted work and really seems to have enjoyed getting homemade things. So when it was time to figure out something to give her for her recent birthday, knitting her a piece of cake was a natural choice. Since I had made so many pieces of cake from the same pattern when I knit about 20 for everyone in my office, I thought I'd turn to a new pattern.
Susan Penny, a UK multi-crafter and pattern designer, has created a book entitled Knitted Cakes. The photo on the front intrigued me so this is the piece of cake I decided to knit for Nancy. It is a gateau, that is a chocolate sponge cake with a fluffy buttercream filling and lavish toppings, i.e. a chocolate ganache frosting with buttercream swirls and a coffee bean or mini chocolate chip on the top. Because of the size of my stash I was able to use two colours of chocolate. My experience with real cake tells me the odds are against the ganache and the cake being exactly the same colour. Additionally I used a Bouclé yarn for the cake itself making it appear a bit textured or more cake-like. Here's my version of Susan Penny's cake:
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(Paul told me he liked my version better than Susan's, but then he lives with me too so he might be a bit bias about what I make.)
My boss' immediate reaction upon opening it was: "Great, finally a piece of cake that won't go directly to my hips." This, of course, is the reaction most of us of a certain age have to getting a piece of cake that can only be looked at and not eaten. She seemed to like it, so much so that she brought it to a party where real cake was served. It brought me pleasure to see her excitement related to this small gift; everyone at the party seemed to know I made it because she told them. And those there who follow this blog just seemed to nod with that all knowing look of "yup, that's what Jan does" look on their faces.
Nancy, thanks for giving me an opportunity to try a different type of cake pattern. It was a joy for me to see how much fun you had with it. Should you ever feel the need for another piece of cake, for instance should that great dane of yours, Hamlet, mistake it for the real thing, give me about 48 hours notice and I'll be able to create another.
Susan Penny, a UK multi-crafter and pattern designer, has created a book entitled Knitted Cakes. The photo on the front intrigued me so this is the piece of cake I decided to knit for Nancy. It is a gateau, that is a chocolate sponge cake with a fluffy buttercream filling and lavish toppings, i.e. a chocolate ganache frosting with buttercream swirls and a coffee bean or mini chocolate chip on the top. Because of the size of my stash I was able to use two colours of chocolate. My experience with real cake tells me the odds are against the ganache and the cake being exactly the same colour. Additionally I used a Bouclé yarn for the cake itself making it appear a bit textured or more cake-like. Here's my version of Susan Penny's cake:
.jpg)
(Paul told me he liked my version better than Susan's, but then he lives with me too so he might be a bit bias about what I make.)
My boss' immediate reaction upon opening it was: "Great, finally a piece of cake that won't go directly to my hips." This, of course, is the reaction most of us of a certain age have to getting a piece of cake that can only be looked at and not eaten. She seemed to like it, so much so that she brought it to a party where real cake was served. It brought me pleasure to see her excitement related to this small gift; everyone at the party seemed to know I made it because she told them. And those there who follow this blog just seemed to nod with that all knowing look of "yup, that's what Jan does" look on their faces.
Nancy, thanks for giving me an opportunity to try a different type of cake pattern. It was a joy for me to see how much fun you had with it. Should you ever feel the need for another piece of cake, for instance should that great dane of yours, Hamlet, mistake it for the real thing, give me about 48 hours notice and I'll be able to create another.
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