There are No Words

I’m telling ya right now, this post may not be for you. Indeed, it targets a very specific audience with a very specific palate.  My dear friend, the talented proprietress at No Shoe Left Behind, is one person in particular who, I trust, will appreciate its contents.  How can you tell whether or not you are part of the required demographic? Take the handy quiz I’ve provided below, and then scroll down for my assessment. You are welcome to read on whether or not you fail the quiz, but you do so at your own risk.

Question 1
In a blind taste test, could I differentiate between Nestle and Hershey chocolate?

  • DUH! That’s like asking a wine connoisseur if he could distinguish between two-buck chuck  and a $259 bottle of Chateau Frenchy McFrencherstein
  • Um … there’s a difference?
  • Chocolate is the devil.

Question 2
Rainbow cookies are:

  • Vile
  • Toxic
  • A multi-color bite of heaven
  • What the fuck are rainbow cookies?

Question 3
I avoid all:

  • Gluten
  • Dairy
  • Sugar
  • Carbs
  • Food

 Scoring:  You’re among the target audience for this blog post if you answered Question 1 with Duh; Question 2 with A multi-color bite of heaven (also acceptable: A multi-color bite of heaven AND Toxic); and then ignored Question 3.


This morning, a close, warm, personal Facebook friend alerted me to what may be the most breathtaking piece of junk food ever created. EVER. We’re talking Seven Wonders of the Processed World.  We’re talking Grand Canyon of baked goods. It is truly, in the words of Dave, a foodgasm. Ladies and gentlemen of the blogosphere, I present to you this masterpiece by Zoey Cakes (image from the Cadbury Creme Egg-filled chocolate cupcake.  There are simply no words to describe a masterpiece of this scale.  

The Sistine Chapel of Cupcakes
There are No Words

The Icing on the (Cup)Cake

I’d like to give a special shout out to my friend L, who taught me a nifty cupcake-eating tip this weekend. We were attending a lovely bridal shower at PS 450, held in honor of our friend J, in whose June wedding we and the rest of our channel 13 posse will serve as b’maids. As J neared the end of the gift-opening process, the girls and I noticed an impressive tray of cupcakes approaching our table.  Cupcakes: dee-LICIOUS! [Yet again, insert Cookie Monster voice.]

DB, CO, A, L and I each selected one of the delicacies and commenced ingestion. I found it interesting that we all had very different techniques when it came to eating cupcakes. I’m sure the same is true among any group of adult cupcake eaters, but I’d never really noticed it before. In fact I think the last time I had cupcakes with my friends on a Sunday afternoon, it was 1979.  The renaissance that this perfect dessert is now enjoying has opened up a whole new can of social mores.  Can you lick off all the icing with your future mother-in-law nearby? How well do you have to know the people you’re with before you’re comfortable risking a frosting ‘stache? Is it cool to just pull off the bottom and eat that first, delaying the butter creamy gratification of the top?

Frankly, I don’t really care what does and does not appear lady-like while eating a cupcake. The only thing that matters to me when I have one in my hand is attaining the right ratio of cake to icing in every bite.  It’s always been a Seinfeldian struggle, and to overcome it, I must know the nature of the cupcake very well. 

But then L revealed something she’d learned recently at Magnolia, the famous Bleecker Street cupcakery that is now conveniently located on Columbus Avenue as well.  She advised us to pull off the bottom half of the cupcake and then place it on TOP of the frosting, creating a cupcake SANDWICH. It was neat, it was simple, it was proportioned, it was brilliant! Thanks, L!  

Note: In order to successfully pull off the cupcake sandwich technique, you must ensure that the cupcake in question features significant frosting. The cupcake pictured here exemplifies the correct frosting situation. Do not attempt this trick if you’re facing a thin layer of frosting or a delicate glaze of any kind — you’ll end up with a mouthful of cake and very little else. You’ll be sorry, and you’ll need milk.

The Icing on the (Cup)Cake