Night of the Cake; The Cakening; The Return of the Cake; and The Cake Also Rises

So my daughter is getting married tomorrow afternoon. Outside (in December in Northern California, that means a balmy 40-50 degrees. The bridal party will wear parkas) at the home of a friend. In order to do it all as cheaply as possible (their choice--they're poor as church mice, and every time we point out that the Parents of the Bride traditionally carry many of the costs, they say "but still..." which is noble but occasionally annoying, as I've had to reassure the kid over and over that the costs she's incurring are reasonable and well within tolerances, etc.).

But of course I'm making the cake. Which is actually three cakes, in order to meet the dietary needs of all parties: the top tier is vegan (lemon, with "vegan lemon curd" filling and vegan lemon "buttercream" frosting), the middle tier is gluten free (chocolate, with dairy-free "buttercream" frosting), and the bottom is spice cake with rum buttercream and no freedom whatsoever from eggs, butter, or other traditional ingredients. All three tiers are, as of this writing, made, frosted, and ready for stacking (on little pillars which will keep the various tiers from cross contamination). I am still figuring out how the hell we're going to transport the tiers to the site and keep them chilled (probably just leaving them outside over night will do it).

My refrigerator is a jumble of things shoved where things do not normally go, in order to accommodate all that cake. And I keep thinking that if I'd had more leisure to make it beautiful I would have done so... but I may have reached the limits of my skills.

It's cake. And frosting. It will taste good. That's the important bit, I think.

And at the end of the day the really important thing is that the kid is getting married, and a long and goony life extends before her with her sweetie.