First, I feel compelled to clarify that the title of this post has nothing to do with my dear friend Coco’s taste in men. Last March I was shopping for tooth twine, while pondering what should be the major dramatic question for a tragedy I’ve been penning over the course of thirty years called The Desert (My Sex Life), when my cell phone rang. The caller was Coco so naturally I was delighted.
Me (happy): Hey Buddy!
Coco (ecstatic): I was walking home from work when I saw this tower of raw meat and I immediately thought of you!
Insert musical cue: the downbeat.
Me: So it was rotting, saggy and gristly?
Coco (instantly picking up on my tsunami of depression): No, silly, I thought of Lame Adventures! I saw this raw meat wedding cake made up of chops and bones and steaks and bacon, and thought, “What is that? I have to tell her!”
Me (intrigued): You saw a raw meat wedding cake? Who orders a raw meat wedding cake, S&M types that wish they were lions?
Coco: That cake would be appropriate for Alice and her butcher boyfriend Sam from The Brady Bunch if they ever tied the knot.
I’ll have my slice grilled medium rare.
Good point, Coco.
As for the story behind that cake which unfortunately is no longer on display three months later, Coco reported that it was from a very inventive cake bakery called Collette’s Cakes located at the corner of Washington and Charles Street. They also baked a birthday cake that looked like a spiral ham for when Bette Midler turned sixty. Maybe when I turn sixty Coco will have them bake me a cake that looks like the Sistine Chapel to compliment my atheism, or when The Desert (My Sex Life) reaches the Best Seller list, whichever millstone (sic) arrives first.
Since June is the most popular month to tie the knot, if any couples out there want more esoteric style wedding cakes, possibly one that is a replica of a dishwasher or weed whacker, Collette’s appears to be the go-to source in that department in Gotham City.
Lame Adventures 