Something terrible happened to me this weekend. We had a big family dinner at my dads house to celebrate my Grandma’s 92nd birthday and I was asked to bring a cake. “Bring any type of cake you want, just not chocolate because your cousin is bringing a chocolate cake” my stepmom said. I was so excited because I had recently come across a recipe online for a No-Bake Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup Cheesecake that I had bookmarked, and now I finally had a reason to make it. Since I’ve been MIA from large family functions for 3.5 years, I wanted to make my comeback in a big way and this cake would be a hit. I mean, how could it not be? This was my time to shine.
I got all of the ingredients on Friday amongst a crazy day of rushing around and entertaining my in-laws at our house for dinner. After they left, I decided to begin making the cheesecake… at 9:30 PM, which is typically when I’m tucking myself into bed. But I was on a mission here. I decided to make my own graham cracker crust because buying a pre-made one would be a cop-out and would steal from the limelight that this cake would bring me. I even texted my cousin who was bringing the chocolate cake and told her that this was a bakeoff and may the best baker win. Her 3.5 year old daughter was to help her bake her cake but I wasn’t going to go easy on them and just let them win. No way, 3.5 years vs. 31 years… it was on.
I stayed up til 11:30 PM making the damn thing but the cream cheese was still a little clumpy and I was too tired to continue. I figured I’d wake up early the next morning and finish it before we had to rush out for our all-day plans that morning. Up I was at 7:15AM and was patiently whipping the cheesecake until every last cream cheese clump was smooth and creamy. I folded in the peanut butter like the recipe called for and finally spread the cheesecake on top of the graham cracker crust that I had painstakingly made the night before. I topped the cheesecake with chopped Reese’s peanut butter cups and you guys, it was epic. It really was. It looked like an exact replica of the cake from the recipe, pictured here:
Just as I covered the cake in saran wrap and lifted it from the kitchen counter to the fridge to chill… the bottom of the F-ING spring form pan fell out the bottom and my cake went with it… James was upstairs with the baby and heard BANG and then “….*gasp!*” and came running down stairs to see this sight and me just standing there frozen in disbelief.
Not only was the cake all over the floor but it was also all over my leg because I guess I tried to catch it with my thigh like I catch food when it falls into my lap (?). I don’t know. His feet are in the picture too because he was hugging me to help me keep from having a complete meltdown. I actually burst out laughing because it was either that or cry, and I figured I might as well laugh at the shit show that was my morning. The worst part was that we both ate some of the cake off the floor because, whatever at this point, and it was delicious. Seriously, scrumptious. If you want to make this recipe you can find it here – just use a sturdier pan than I did.
This is where you probably think the story ends, but wait… there’s more. Obviously after this ordeal the thought of slaving away in the kitchen to make another one was out of the question and I had no choice but to buy a cheesecake at the grocery store before my family dinner. I went with my aunt and the label of the cake said “blueberries and cream” but I figured they had mislabelled it because it clearly looked like a cheesecake with a graham cracker crust. I had leftover Reese’s at home so I sprinkled them on top and figured it would be the next best thing to my floor cake. Well, when they cut into the cake it wasn’t even cheesecake it was a white fluffy cake inside with blueberry filling (???). So now we’re serving blueberry cake with random chocolate & peanut butter on top and it was confusing to the palate and quite frankly disgusting even though people were nice and said it tasted okay, it definitely didn’t. I was so embarrassed. People laughed at me and I laughed at myself and James and my dad both laughed but shook their heads in a little bit of horror like “I raised this idiot” – Dad, and “I married this idiot” – James.
And this is why I shouldn’t be asked to bring cakes to family dinners. The End.