Cross Country Cake

I've previously blogged about my cake fixation. In sum, there's a particular cake made by a grocery store in Minneapolis that I love, and no other cake will do. This past weekend I attended a wedding back in Minnesota, and I ordered one of those special cakes to bring home on my return flight to California. The Wrangler doubted that TSA would allow my precious carry-on cargo, but I planned ahead. I printed and highlighted the relevant parts of TSA rules stating that cakes are allowed. I scrunched my fancy wedding attire into a ball and jammed it into my backpack along with a pair of jeans and a shirt. So what if my cocktail dress was wrinkly and that I'd be wearing the same jeans and shirt the rest of the weekend? The airline permits only a carry-on bag and one extra item. And that extra item would be a cake, no matter how unkempt I looked.

We picked up the cake at 2PM today, but we still had three hours before our flight. "We best go straight to the airport," I insisted. It was a muggy 86 degrees in Minneapolis, and I didn't want my cake melting in the car while we traversed down memory lane at the Mall of America or arcane places from our yester-years. The Wrangler didn't hide his annoyance. I could tell he couldn't wait for TSA to confiscate my cake and eat it in front of me. He didn't get his wish. The cake sailed through security with no problem and, in fact, received many oohs and ahhs.

When boarding began, I jostled my way to the front of the line to preboard with the "passengers with children and anyone else who needs a little extra time to board." After all, which is more difficult to carry, a kid or a cake? Did I mention that this is a large cake--serves 24? "Here, I'll put the cake in this special cabinet to keep it from sliding," the flight attendant told me, as I boarded the plane. I looked frantically from my cake to the flight attendant to the Wrangler. Did I dare risk leaving my cake in the galley kitchen of the plane with this stranger? I gave in. "I can't believe you let it out of your sight," the Wrangler marveled, after we'd settled in our seats. He scanned the front of the plane. "I think I see the pilot with a big piece of cake."

I made it home with a perfectly intact cake, and I intend to freeze it and eat one piece a day for 24 days. It's going to be a good month.