Cluster Cake of a Day
I’m actually a really good cook….
I’m also aware of the indication that statement gives that I’m probably not. But I promise, I really am.
One of the best compliments that my husband tells people is that he never had to go through that first year of marriage cooking-woes. Matter of fact, he gained almost 50lbs in our first year of marriage because of my cooking.
I take that as evidence enough that I’m obviously not a terrible cook.
As in most years, once the holidays were in full swing, so was my seasonal depression. I don't think that my depression comes from the actual season or weather, per say, but it does come from the stress of trying to please everyone with an opinion.
Therefore, I self-diagnose my Hallothankmas lows as seasonal depression.
A few Novembers ago, I reached a point where I needed to just accept that I had been in an anxiety-driven state for a few weeks, and that it had hit its peek (or low-whichever you want to call it).
I should have know it was coming when before my husband and I left to visit 1 million family members across 17 continents, I got fixated on making a cake that I had no business making.
This wasn't just any cake. It was a pecan pie on the bottom. A cheesecake in the middle. And a red velvet cake on top. All covered in homemade buttercream icing and drizzled with homemade caramel sauce.
The girl on Tiktok called it a Cluster Cake. I think the "cake" in "cluster cake" should have been replaced with another word, but I'm Southern Baptist so I can't think such things.
But she made this cake so easily; so beautifully. I just knew that with my recent success with baking that this was going to be a breeze.
Despite my confidence, my anxiety and depression was so high this day that through extreme concentration on this cake, the intrusive thoughts still were present (and I don't mean the ones under the Christmas tree).
Red flags everywhere! But did I acknowledge them? NOPE!
I perfectly timed my day between self-doubt, work, feeding cows and chickens, when I would bake, set, stir, cool, and clean. I was a well-oiled depressed machine.
I don't know which was working harder- my nerves or my willpower.
Then to top it off (all puns intended), I told myself that a good mom would pick her daughter up early from daycare and allow said daughter to help make the icing.
My first mistake was thinking that I could make my first batch of buttercream icing with a 3 year old. My second mistake was doing it.
Regardless, in the midst of trying to rush the icing process so that she couldn't lick it while I was mixing, I didn't mix it long enough.
Let’s digress for a minute. How do I know I’m depressed; you may ask? Besides the total feeling of inadequacy and loneliness I felt all day, and the constant thoughts of what helped send me in this spiral, I decided to bake.
Shortly before this, I become self-aware enough in my ever-present state of metacognition to realize that I tend to take on my biggest baking feats when I’m going through a depressive/anxiety episode. I’ve learned that baking is a coping mechanism, or perhaps signs of my further depths into mental unwellness- it’s a tossup really.
Back to my cake. Once I compiled the cake, not only did it look like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, it looked like the greatest snow melt in Alabama history. Upon gazing at my catastrophe, I began to laugh to keep myself from crying about the large some of money I just wasted to make 3 whole separate, time consuming desserts into one. Let’s just not linger on the monetary value too long, shall we?
After laughing like a mad woman (because I laugh when things go wrong), I picked up my powdered sugar-covered daughter off of the counter. Got each of us a bath. I put on some "nice" pajamas to make myself feel better about myself and allowed the toddler to run naked as a jaybird. I fixed her a sandwich and decided to sear my husband and I a steak on the stove.
In the past 4 years of me perfecting my perfectly charred, perfectly medium steak, not ONCE have I set off the smoke detectors.
Well, guess what? It happened then.
Between cooking my steak and airing the smoke detector, the naked child decides to let in one of our two dogs. And she just had to let the one dog in that has panic attacks from smoke detectors. (That’s a past trauma for the poor animal to talk about another day).
All the while of watching my steak burn, me waving a just folded towel in front of the smoke detector, and my dog in full on panic mode, I look down to see the naked one pick up her stuffed animal that was mine at 3 years old, hold it, pat it softly on his back, and whisper, “It’s ok. Calm down. It’s all going to be ok.”
For a split second, it was like she was holding me.
I get the ear-drum piercing noise to stop. I get the dog back outside. I salvage the remainder of my steak.
Yet, despite the jaw-clenching, tight shoulders, every thought under the sun, baking disaster of a day, my daughter and I had one of the best nights that we have had in a long time.
We laughed, we played. But the icing on the cake (again, all puns intended) was my husband coming home and eating a slice of that dilapidated pile of dough. He told me the pecan pie part was amazing, and that I should make it again. He’s not really a cheesecake or red velvet person, so that’s why that wasn’t suggested (or at least that's what I told myself).
Amongst the family drama, the holiday woes, and one of the worst baking fails of my life, I was able to go to bed that night with a little relief because I had my long-haired lumberjack and wild child to love on each night.
And that’s on Jesus, healing, and metacognition. NOT on a successful baking day.
Merry Christmas!
Photos of the inspiration and evidence.
It’s funny how a viral trend can sometimes lead us down the rabbit hole, isn’t it? When I first saw those stunning "cluster cakes" pop up on my feed – you know, the ones with pecan pie on the bottom, cheesecake in the middle, and red velvet on top, all stacked high and drizzled perfectly – my immediate thought was, "Wow, I need to try that!" They look like culinary masterpieces, a true test of baking prowess. But let's be real, the internet often shows us the highlight reel, not the blooper reel. That's where the magic of "Nailed It!" moments comes in. We've all been there, right? You envision that pristine, perfectly layered "cluster cake" from the tutorial, only to end up with something that looks like it barely survived an earthquake. It’s comforting to know that I’m not alone in my baking adventures that sometimes veer wildly off course! What makes these "nailed it" cakes so universally loved? I think it’s the sheer relatability. It’s a collective sigh of relief, a shared laugh that reminds us perfection isn't always the goal, and certainly not always the reality. When my own cluster cake ended up as a "messy, partially cut" tower of leaning deliciousness, it was initially deflating. But seeing the humor in it, and realizing the joy it brought, was priceless. Baking, for me, often starts with an aspiration for something beautiful, but the journey itself can be a powerful coping mechanism, especially when life throws curveballs. During those times of stress or seasonal blues, the act of measuring, mixing, and creating can be incredibly grounding. It's like a mini-meditation, a way to channel anxious energy into something tangible. Even if the final product isn't Instagram-worthy, the process itself can be incredibly therapeutic. So, when people ask, "Is it cake best cakes?" I often think the "best" cake isn't always the one that looks flawless or tastes like it came from a five-star bakery. Sometimes, the best cakes are the ones that hold the most memories, the ones you struggled with, laughed over, and eventually shared with loved ones, regardless of their aesthetic appeal. It's about the love, effort, and sometimes, the sheer comedic value embedded in every crumb. So, how do you navigate those moments when your baking dreams turn into a kitchen nightmare? First, lower your expectations (just a little!). It's okay if your "perfect slice" doesn't materialize. Second, have a backup plan. Keep some store-bought cookies or ice cream on hand, just in case. Third, involve others in the process. As I learned, even a three-year-old covered in powdered sugar can turn a stressful moment into a cherished memory. Fourth, focus on the experience, not just the outcome. The laughter, the shared moments, the sheer chaos—these are often more valuable than a perfectly risen souffle. Finally, remember that your worth isn’t tied to your baking success. It’s just cake! And sometimes, the most memorable cakes are the ones that are a little lopsided, a bit burnt, or completely unexpected. They become a story, a shared laugh, and a reminder that even in our messy attempts, there’s beauty and joy to be found.
