Fireworks, parades, beachside bonfires, hot dogs and sparklers: you can have your wholesome Fourth of July images. For me it's all about two things: dogs and sponges.
Back in the day, things were a lot different. The public schools were flush. So flush that without benefit of a partnership with a local organization, they could run a full summer school program, complete with bus service. Summer school wasn't only for the morons on the verge of being held back a year, but for every kid whose parents could afford the paltry registration fees. If you were on the verge of failing, there were the required math, language and reading classes. But if you were average or better, it was a taste of the county club life. Tennis! Badminton! Chess! Cribbage! All the skills a young WASP needs.
Long before I was eligible for summer school, I selected my first class: cake decorating. Not exactly a WASPy pursuit, but I had my reasons. My goal wasn't to master the intricate art of piping, but to get my mitts on the ultimate little girl delight: the princess cake. A dress baked in a bowl with a Barbie-like bodice popped in the center. There was nothing so spectacular. The long flowing hair. The elaborately laced dress. The only way I was going to possess one was to make it myself.
There were many skills to be mastered before the Princess could be attempted. We fashioned piping bags, then Monday through Thursday we toiled away, practicing technique on wax paper, scraping the icing back in to the bowl, then trying again. When Friday rolled around, we parlayed all our know-how into an actual cake masterpiece.
The first project, the flag cake, required only minimal command of one decorating tip: the star. It was like training for a future membership with the UAW, piping line after monotonous line of equally sized stars. The only respite: the red, the white and the blue. I was quite pleased with my work, and certain I would wow the crowd at the Fourth of July barbecue.
As I mentioned, things were different then. Dogs roamed the streets and schools untethered, left to their own devices. And so my tragedy unfolded - a hot dog, a cool classroom, an endless dessert buffet. The story was written. The air gasping sobs. The hysterical child. Knowing there was no way out, the teacher threw it into MacGyver mode. She cut the bite out of the cake, inserted a sponge, and decorated over it. Good as new.
And so I served my rabie and sponge filled box mix cake with shortening icing to rave Fourth of July reviews. Was the sponge new? Did the dog have any shots? On both accounts, I would guess probably not. No one died that day, so the bacteria count was probably low.
The princess is now just a hazy blur. I can't recall her hair or dress color, but every Fourth of July I remember a big black lab and hunk of sponge. Best cake and Fourth of July ever.
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