Kids' Cake-Decorating Contest At The County Fair: A Study In The Philosphy Of Perfection

My 9-year-old daughter, Lauren, and I sat in the Dane County Fair Exhibition Hall B surrounded by perfect cakes. They had smooth, glass-like sides. Their tops had imaginatively-elaborate decorations of molded shapes and figures that seemed to defy gravity, -decorations that made Lauren and I gasp, "How did they DO THAT?!"  Beside Lauren was her own cake, -a simple, round, white cake frosted on top with a rainbow and a small black pot of gold. Its butter-cream frosting looked delicious, -definitely mouth-watering, but it was not perfectly smooth. The pattern of spatula lines could easily be traced. The colorful rainbow was fun and frolicky, but its edges bled a bit. The green frosting around the base of the cake was uneven, more like a moat on windy day than a lake of glass. Yes, a 9-year-old had surely frosted this cake. And it was beautiful. We had thought the cake perfect when we left the house. Lauren was hoping she would win the 4-H Club, cake-decorating contest at the Dane County Fair. But now, surrounded by perfection, we discussed failure as a first step on a path to perfection.

I tried to explain the ages-old, Japanese artists' practice of completing a work of art and then in the last stroke, adding some small mark to make the work imperfect. Lauren asked why the artist would do that. Rapidly trying to remember a concept I once thought I had understood, I said, "Well, the artist didn't want it to be perfect."

"Why not?" she'd asked.

"Because," I replied, "then it wouldn't be perfect." I was obviously getting this all wrong. Somewhere in those words was wisdom, but it remained cryptic as always. Lauren gave me that well-practiced, would-be pre-teen look of Mom's really making no sense now.

4-H club friends came over. They could see our disappointment. I asked how people got the sides of their cakes so smooth. "A damp, patternless Viva paper towel," was their answer. Apply the frosting, then smooth it down with the damp towel.  Well, now we know. But could a damp paper towel really accomplish all that?

In walking around the exhibition hall with a veteran cake-decorating friend, I pointed to a sculptured cake of hippos, rhinos, and giraffes. "What was that?" I questioned. "Is that a cake?"

"Fondant," was her reply. She explained that fondant was a sugar-based, elastic material that could be rolled with a rolling pin, cut into shapes, and spread over a cake. She said that if I see a kid poking a cake and leaving no imprint, I could be sure the cake was covered in fondant. It's like play-dough for cakes.

"Can you eat it?" I asked incredulous.

"It's edible," she answered,"but I don't know anyone who likes its taste. Usually people just peel it off and push it to the side of the plate when they're served a piece of cake with fondant."

"So fake frosting," I mused, thinking back to my Aunt Charie's words. Last weekend I had told my aunt that Lauren was entering her very first cake decorating contest with the 4-H club. Since neither Lauren nor I knew anything about cake-decorating I asked my aunt for a frosting recipe that would hold up for 7 days of display.

"No food does that!" she replied, with an expression of disbelief that anyone would ask a food to stay fresh in appearance for one week. And my aunt knows about fresh food. Decades ago she studied culinary arts in Paris's Cordon Bleu. She ran a restaurant and catering business called Beautiful Food and she now teaches cooking classes. Her real claim to fame however, according to Wisconsinites, is her mustard, a jar of which is on display at the Mt. Horeb, WI Mustard Museum. Shaking her head at my request she said, "To get a frosting to look good for 7 days you'd have to add something synthetic." I guess Aunt Charie didn't know about fondant either, or more likely she did but dismissed it as a non-food. She gave me her recipe for butter-cream frosting.

So there Lauren and I sat at the fair, beside her butter-cream-frosted cake. When she was finally called up for judging, she explained her efforts. And surprise of surprises, the JUDGE LIKED THE CAKE! She liked the butter-cream frosting and the vibrant colors (thank you Wilton food colors)! The judge said Lauren's cake looked "rustic". And Lauren returned to me with a red, 2nd Place ribbon and an ear-to-ear grin. We hugged each other in victory!

But the real kicker of the whole event was that whether covered in butter-cream or fondant, none of the cakes judged were actually cakes. They were all styrofoam, - including ours. A real cake is light and fluffy, and therefore crumbly. Crumbs showing through frosting would detract from the cake's perfect appearance. So, just as the taste of the frosting had to be sacrificed for beauty, so did the cake itself. 

All of the "cakes" in this particular 4-H cake-decorating contest were expressions of some Platonic ideal of a cake and therefore miles away from reality. In their quest for perfection they had lost function and were completely useless for nourishment. So, if they were so inferior in flavor and nutrition to cakes eaten and enjoyed with friends why were they presented to judges as epitomizing the best?

Yes, this question is the quandary in a philosophy of perfection. At the end of a long day, I preferred the practice cake Lauren had made the night before. True, the butter-cream frosting was imperfectly applied, and the pot of gold sat on, not beside, the rainbow. But it covered a real lemon cake. And everyone at the party raved about how delicious it was.

Comments

[air jordans]

This moment will nap, you will have a dream; But this moment study,you will interpret a dream.

[Amanda]

Glad you liked it. The kids work so hard on these cakes for the fair. They take a lot of pride in them. It's wonderful to watch.

[Bizu Philippines]

Simply beautiful cake design i like to eat this,i try doing this my own for sure my kids will love this. :)

vee