In a world where straight dudes are sincerely jazzed about lady-soccer; where Taco Bell is pretending to be woke; where all purpose flour is outselling crude oil – a world where chaos reigns – the people need a hero. They need someone steady and true, who can deliver the medicine they so desperately need:

Intermediate amateur-made layer cakes.

What, were you hoping for a vigilante with vaccine-developing powers? Unfortunately, I don’t have that skill set. I wish I did. When God was handing out special abilities, I would have loved to snag something useful like lightning-fast science brain. Instead, I wound up with more niche super-talents: a sixth sample-sense, the ability to communicate telepathically with pets (but only when I’m about to drop food on the floor), and above-average birthday cake-baking skills.

As has been previously documented, I’ve always had a skewed perspective about the importance of the goods I bake for others. It’s gotten worse recently though. When I pull back, I can see that my deliveries of sourdough and oatmeal cookies are pretty insignificant in the context of the ever-expanding garbage vortex that is 2020. But cooking is one of the only things I can do to take care of myself and my loved ones right now. So up close, the stakes feel even higher.

Also, as I’ve been doing all of my quarantine baking, I’ve been consuming high volume of superhero content. I lost track of the Marvel cinematic universe shortly after the first Avengers, circa 2012. So, in the last couple of months, my friend (and frequent Sprinkle Fix recipe tester) Becca has been getting me up to speed. Almost every week since shelter-in-place began, we’ve mixed cocktails in our separate apartments, synced up our TVs, and watched Captain America and all his hot, strong friends defend the universe from their differently hot, strong enemies.

I’m telling you all this to help explain my mindset as I constructed and delivered a birthday cake a few weeks ago. With some distance, I understand that I was just baking a dessert for a friend. At the time though, the task seemed roughly equal in gravity to the Avengers rescuing the Tesseract from Loki and saving all the people of earth from slavery. Just, you know, with sponge cake instead.

I will now describe that quest as I experienced it. It’s the story of a regular-sized cake and Marvel-sized delusions of importance. I’m calling this one Cakegirl: Mission Marshmallow Princess.

Part I: The MacGuffin

Most Marvel movies begin with the introduction of a powerful item: The Tesseract, the arc recreator, the Casket of Winters, one to 18 infinity stones (counting is not my strong suit), etc. All these items have the ability to destroy and create worlds, and propel plots forward. Naturally, a Cakegirl adventure begins with the introduction of a powerful cake.

For the past few years, my friend Sarah has requested very specific birthday cakes, sometimes months in advance. One year, she sent me a Tasty video of a marshmallow cheesecake with a Rice Krispies Treat crust. Another year, we watched an episode of the Great British Bake Off where the contestants had to make a Spanische Windtorte as a technical challenge. Apparently, a Spanische Windtorte is a hollow cylinder of meringue, covered in decorative swirls and sugared violets, and filled with whipped cream. As the contestants struggled to wrangle five different types of whipped sugar into the shape of a hat box, Sarah turned to me. “That’s what I want for my birthday,” she said.

“OK,” I said, “but your last birthday was like three months ago…”

She shrugged, “I’ll let you know if I change my mind before my next birthday, but I don’t think I will.”

She was correct. The Saturday after her birthday – approximately three full seasons later – I presented her with a two-foot high tower of meringue, decorated with other meringue, and filled with whipped cream and strawberries. Sarah said she didn’t regret sticking to her initial request. All those months of anticipation only made the finished product sweeter.

I don’t mind the direction. Sarah knows what she likes and, thanks to her, I’ve greatly expanded my repertoire of white desserts. This year though, less than two weeks before her birthday, she hadn’t put an order in. I knew she was struggling to get in the celebrating mood since she wouldn’t be able to gather with friends in person. But this just made a proper cake seem more imperative.

I asked her what kind of dessert she wanted. What she texted back was, “Maybe something marshmallow themed? If you are really up for a challenge…I love the way a princess cake looks.”

What I internalized was, “Marshmallow…princess…challenge.”

Part II: The Training Montage

A princess cake is a Swedish dessert made out of cake, custard, raspberry jam and whipped cream, all covered in green-tinted marzipan. When I googled “princess cake,” I found professional photos of perfectly round, smooth cake domes – like miniature roofs of Byzantine churches, covered in mint-colored marzipan and topped with delicate fondant rosebuds. I also found amateur photos of cakes that looked like bags of sponges, covered in Play-Doh. Even the ones from Martha Stewart and the Food Network looked a little lumpy. I wasn’t sure I could make something that would have the “look” Sarah wanted. But I was determined to try.

Over the next few days, I assembled a princess cake game plan. In a Marvel movie, the planning and training part of the plot is usually depicted via montage. Power pop plays as the hero studies blueprints, builds cooler weapons and gets very sweaty/good at kicking and punching. A Cakegirl montage is arguably less dynamic:

BEGIN MONTAGE

Lizzo’s “Like a Girl” plays as Cakegirl sits down at her computer. She begins googling recipes – but like, in a sexy, badass way. She clicks on a Food 52 link. Then a Martha Stewart Link. Then a PBS link. Then the Food 52 link again. Then a Betty Crocker link – just for some comic relief. It calls for instant pudding and has daisies on top, whaaaat? So wacky!

END MONTAGE

Eventually I settled on the Food 52 recipe. It only had a handful of mediocre reviews, but the recipe author cited Mary Berry as a reference. That was enough for me to give it a shot. I tried to figure out how to get all of the ingredients I would need in less than a week – preferably without going into any stores. The marzipan was going to be trickiest to find. It wasn’t available for quick delivery anywhere, and I didn’t want to wander multiple grocery store aisles looking for it. My only other option would be to make it myself. The internet assured me this was possible. I’d just need some almond flour and powdered sugar.

I submitted an order for grocery pickup from Wal Mart, beginning to feel like I just might pull this off.

Part III: The First Battle

The day I was supposed to pick up my order, I got an email from Wal Mart customer care. It informed me that my order could not be fulfilled. “That’s weird,” I thought. I still had some time before I needed to start baking though, so placed another order for a few days later. Everything seemed to be in order until about two hours before my pickup time. Again, I was informed by email that my order could not be fulfilled.

Now, I was running out of options. So, I crawled back to the same place I go to in all my darkest moments: Amazon.com. I found a suspiciously cheap, two-pound bag of almond flour with one-day shipping. If I bought it right away, it would still get to me a day ahead of Sarah’s birthday. I clicked “order now.”

The next day though, I was plagued by the idea of an Amazon courier pausing between crucial deliveries of diapers and insulin to drop off my single bag of powdered nuts. I checked the Target app, which told me that Almond flour was available for curbside pickup at a store three suburbs away. I wouldn’t be supporting local business, but at least I could go and get it myself. So, I placed my Target order and cancelled my Amazon delivery.

That evening, I put on my outdoor leggings and got in my car. But when I opened the Target app to say I was on my way, I saw a message that my order wouldn’t be available for pickup until 8 am the next day. I felt queasy. Hoping there had been a mistake, I called the store. A pre-recorded message told me what I already knew in my heart: Target was closed.

It was the day before Sarah’s birthday. I wouldn’t have time to go out for supplies the next morning. I thought about biting the bullet and going inside Trader Joe’s or Jewel, but they were already closed too. For a few minutes, I just sat in my car and let the reality of my situation sink in. It was over. I had lost.

There’s always a point in a Marvel movie when the brooding hero seems ready to give up. It takes something truly special to re-ignite his fighting spirit – like a message from a dead parent, or the sweet, blinking eyes of a child. In my lowest moment, I was visited by someone equally magical and pure of heart: Great British Bake Off winner Nadiya Hussain.

As I thought through my options, a memory washed over me like a vision: In the season six finale, Nadiya mentioned that she made her own fondant out of marshmallows. I quickly looked up a couple of recipes for marshmallow fondant on my phone. It looked doable. And it would allow me incorporate the “marshmallow theme” Sarah had requested. And I had just bought marshmallows for my second attempt at marshmallow vodka! (What, have you not reached the s’more-tini phase of quarantine yet?)

It seemed like destiny. I readied myself for battle.

Part IV: The Final Showdown

Back in my kitchen, I gathered the cake components I’d already made. I layered the sponge cake, jam and custard into a tall stack, topped it with a dome of whipped cream, and put the whole thing in the fridge. So far, so good.

But then I got a phone call. It was Tracey, a mutual friend of mine and Sarah’s. She told me that Sarah’s roommate had gotten hit by a car while riding her bike. It seemed like she was going to be OK, but she was scraped up enough that she had to go to the ER. Tracey didn’t have many details beyond that yet. I thanked Tracey for letting me know and hung up. I texted Sarah that I was available if she and her roommate needed anything. She thanked me and told me she would. There was nothing I could do to help at the moment though. I put my phone down and took a breath. Then, I did what I always do when it seems like things can’t get any worse: I kept baking.

I understood that a homemade cake wouldn’t counterbalance the fact that Sarah was celebrating her birthday in quarantine, watching as the very scaffolding of society melt to sludge around us, while also helping her roommate stick to her pain med schedule because she got hit by a FREAKING CAR. But, I was banking on the fact that it wouldn’t hurt either.

The fondant was next up. I put the marshmallows in the microwave. As soon as I took them out and began stirring them, they turned into sugar-goo the consistency of half-dried rubber cement. I continued with the mixing and kneading process, leaving sticky residue and neon food dye on everything I touched. By the time I called it a night, my kitchen looked like the scene of a gruesome Peep massacre. I put my fondant in the fridge to rest and turned out the lights on the carnage.

The next day was a work day, so I had to put in a few hours at my desk before I could get back in the kitchen. Thankfully, I heard that Sarah’s roommate was home and resting. The virtual birthday party was going ahead as planned. Over the noon hour, I listened in on a webinar for work as I covered the cake. (Because who says ladies can’t have it all???) I also molded a single purple rose to place on top. Finally, when the work day was over, I piped a whipped cream border around the edge of the cake.

The finished product was nicely domed and smooth – though it was already starting to sweat in the June humidity. And I was worried that the whipped cream would deflate under the weight of the fondant. I just hoped it would at least hold up long enough for Sarah to see it in it’s full, royal glory.

I loaded the cake into my car along with Sarah’s birthday presents and headed to Rogers Park. I met up with Tracey and her family at the circle at the end of Sara’s street. While wearing masks and maintaining six feet of distance, we taped happy birthday signs to the insides of our car windows. Then, we began our half-block, two-car parade to Sarah’s building.

Sarah came down to greet us briefly and collect our offerings. Before she took the cake upstairs, I asked if she wanted to look at it. She slowly opened the cake box to reveal that the cake was still blessedly intact. As soon Sarah saw it, she gasped: “Is that a princess cake!?”

“It is!” I said, thrilled that she recognized it, “A marshmallow princess cake!”

And I thought: victory.

Part V: The Denouement

Later that night, during the party, Sarah showed me that the cake still had not deflated. She cut into it on camera, revealing beautiful layers of sponge cake, jam and whipped cream. She told me it was delicious.

I felt satisfied that I had used my powers for good. And I knew it wouldn’t be the last time. Wherever there’s a birthday or a graduation or a virtual book group meeting or a Babysitters Club Netflix series screening or a cat adoption pr anything else that needs to be celebrated, Cakegirl will be there. To call me, all you have to do is say the magic words:

“I mean, I’m not gonna say no to cake.”

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There’s no recipe this time because I can’t imagine anyone wanting to retrace my chaotic baking steps. But if, for some reason, you do want to make a princess cake and/or marshmallow fondant, here are the recipes I used:

Princess cake – I halved this recipe to and baked the cake in a single 6″ pan. Otherwise, I made it as written – except for replacing the marzipan with marshmallow fondant.

Marshmallow fondant – I scaled this recipe down by 25% and still had lots of leftover fondant, which I gift wrapped and gave to the birthday girl because I am SUCH a good friend.