I learned this also applies to cake balls. My fun-loving, red-headed friend, Anne, introduced me to delicious balls of cake at a New Year's Eve party. They were incredibly oh-so-rich and yummy, not to mention cute as could be. I forgot to ask her how to make them, but sometime later stumbled upon these beautiful darlings by Bakerella, the Queen of Cake Pops (and I mean that with admiration).
I looked at the directions for making them and thought,
"That sounds easy enough."
Notice hers are cake pops. Mine are balls.
I couldn't find the little sucker sticks in my tiny town.
They are just plain cuter sticking up in the air.
Hers are pretty round balls.
Mine are lumpy and lopsided.
Hers are smooth and lovely.
Mine are . . . lumpy and lopsided.
As I was making them and struggling with the sticky lumps of cake and frosting, I told my hubby, "I have no desire to make these again." As the melted chocolate became messy with cake crumbs (because I melted too much at once and didn't listen to Bakerella, the Queen of Cake Pops), I told my hubby, "Did I mention I have no desire to make these again?" As the semisweet chocolate refused to melt (and I've never had that happen), and I was really getting frustrated, I said, "I really never want to make these again!"
But finally, they were finished and the chocolate had set, and even though they were a little lumpy and lopsided, they didn't look terrible. Just not as perfect and pretty as Bakerella's. But I didn't take pictures to the party to compare them. I just put them on a pretty serving platter and set them on the dessert table at Easter dinner.
Then the compliments started to roll in. They were good. Really good. A little lopsided maybe, but tasty. Isn't that what really counts after all?
So, I've started to think that maybe all that I need is a little more practice. And some sticks.