Edible Ladyfriends: If Women Were Cakes
Cake lovers! A while back I was in attendance at the glorious Big Brixton Bake-off on Brixton Station Road. It’s a once a year event, much like the Great British Bake-Off, and this years judges were Levi Roots and Victor Scalzo of Patisserie Valerie (neither are all that impressive in my book, but it’s not like I went to Le Cordon Bleu or anything. Oh wait.)
I made an appearance like any good queer with a sweet tooth would. There was some swing dancing (enjoyable) and a jazz group (also quite lovely), but in terms of the cakes, I wasn’t blown away. However, it did get me thinking. What if I were to attribute the culinary properties of various sugar-choked delectables to (nuanced, individual) types of women? The old ‘apples on a trees’ analogy is juvenile, unrealistic and obviously written by an embittered teenage girl with an inflated sense of self and no awareness of how much slut-shaming sucks. You know the one :
“Women are like apples on trees, the best ones are on the top of the tree. People don’t want to reach for the good ones because they are afraid of falling and don’t want to get hurt. Instead, they just get the rotten apples from the ground that aren’t so good but easy. So, the apples at the top think something is wrong with them, when in reality they are amazing. They just have to wait for the right person to come along, the one who’s brave enough to climb all the way to the top becuase they value quality.”
Urgh. Unlike apples, there is a much wider variety in the taste and appearance of cakes – there are tall ones, small ones, pink ones, brown ones. And let’s face it, I can eat at least three different cakes in one sitting – I can’t do that with apples. My point is that I think there’s far more variety in ‘types’ of women than just “good” and “rotten”. So, I’ve tried to categorise as best I can the types of cake-ladies I’m come into contact with (sometimes luckily, sometimes not). Obvs comment if you recognise any.
Disclaimer: These are completely unrelated to TMC contributers’ Cake names, naturally.
Alluring, often glittery and sweet on the tongue, the Cupcake is that beautiful girl that you only get to see once every few weeks for one mind-blowing night. Your rendezvous are sporadic due to her overwhelming popularity and because too much of a great thing is not always the best thing. Or she’s got a girlfriend. NB: I had a damn good cupcake last weekend.
The Victoria Sponge
One of my longest relationships was with a Victoria Sponge. We’re still sort of friends (maybe not after she reads this). She was highly reliable and lovely and sweet, but jam and whipped double cream is hardly the most exciting filling. Still, you know that you can count on her to be consistently good at any coffee shop you visit, and sometimes you are in the mood for safe and dependable.
You met her at a whimsical fancy dress party. There she was, perched on her seat like a small, delicate bird sipping on her cocktail-in-a-teacup, the warm yellow light from a nearby vintage lamp illuminating her manicured brow. You decided she was too insubstantial and temperamental for a third date. As much as I hate to admit it, I was probably a bit of a Macaron in my high-femme days.
There’s two sub-types to this type, and you only ever prefer one or the other. They’ve both got a warm, exuberant personality and a deep, sonorous laugh. One type of Brownie (we’ll call her ‘The Edge’ for convenience’s sake) is concealed inside a tougher exterior that takes more than just a few dates to chew through. And the other (yes, ‘The Middle’) is a big ol’ softie – she gets along with everyone, teaches Kindergarten, and makes bunting on the weekend for her Etsy shop. Any Brownie Edges out there: call me.
She makes a great first impression: dark-haired and long-limbed with skin the colour of perfectly baked, golden brown puff pastry. A staple in any cake display. It’s likely that she owns a pair of wiry spectacles, you know, to look all academic-like. But when you crack through that shell, what you’ll find is ye olde pastry cream and not much else. I’ve been on one too many dates with interesting looking ladies who turn out to be a little too traditional (read: uneducated or uninterested in social justice) for my liking.
She’s good for you and you know it. All your friends have told you so, and your parents definitely approve. Unlike the Cupcake, you could easily spend every day of the week with her—she’s good company, especially for a Saturday morning breakfast. She’s probably vegetarian and hugely into Bikram yoga. I dated a Muffin once. The good: I was practically glowing from all the healthy eating and hours of contortion in unbearable heat. The bad: I hadn’t had a burger in months, and was really not up for exploring the joys of tantric sex.
The Passion Fruit Dark Chocolate Popping Candy Torte (no photo available, natch)
The Queer Manic Pixie Dream Girl, if indeed she can theoretically exist outside of hetero relationships.
I’ve got a few dates lined up for next week – we’ll see what new delights I might find to add to this list. I’m praying for another Cupcake.