This really isn’t a post bashing Valentine’s Day. I mean, of course the last time I went on a date was probably during the Jurassic period, but whatever. I’m fine. I don’t debate abandoning life to raise alpacas in the Andes mountains on the daily, nor do I eat a pound of guacamole in bed, sobbing to NBC’s This is Us.
Whenever life overwhelms me, whether or not I didn’t score an audition, or my shift got cut from work, or I just randomly find myself reading the national news and sobbing on the toilet at the political climate, there’s always one friend that I can turn to: cake. Michelle Obama would be vehemently against us eating our feelings, but there’s nothing more satisfying after a day of emotional turmoil than walking into your favorite bakery, taking a slice to go, and pounding that down with your hands, because a fork just isn’t fast enough. Maybe your job isn’t going as planned, or maybe you don’t have a job, or maybe you are still hung up on a relationship from two years ago. Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt and haven’t taken it off. The answer? Consolation cake.
The following is a list of 10 bakeries in New York City with the most depression friendly delectables under 11.00, rated 1-5 on a scale of broken hearts. For those that know me, no, this will not have Spot Dessert Bar on it. They’re tried and true and one does not simply eat matcha lava cake only when sad.
As I sit here, bloated and over-sugared, I find myself reminiscing about a few cakes in particular from my earlier gluttonous days. Of course, if you want a full review on all of the cakes and my pretty little face, you’ll just have to set aside 18 minutes to watch my low-budget food network show, on the widget above. Think of the following marbles of cake wisdom as the sparknotes version of the video, which if you have the time and the patience to deal with me, indulge and take that journey with me. I can open your eyes and take you wonder by wonder.
Mah ze Dahr Bakery really stole the show and my heart (and maybe a few years off my life too). The Devil in Ganache, their sexy spin on the devil’s food cake, subbed out espresso for water in the dark chocolate batter, and had a layer of chocolate ganache, smack dab on center stage (or in this case, center-cake). The first bite was like biting into a solid pudding, just melting in your soon-to-be-cavity-ridden mouth. The fabulous thing? One did not need to accompany the cake with a glass of milk or, in my case all day, coffee to flush it down. It was a solid 5 on my rating scale, although, Valentine’s induced depression aside, I want to eat this cake on the daily.
I’m blessed with a high metabolism as it turns out, because I woke up the next morning with abs. That’s not how sugar works! There can be only one explanation: I was bitten by a radioactive spider and now I’m the new low-budget Spiderman. Call me… Widowmaker (which is already copyrighted too, so maybe let’s not).
The next spot I plan to become a frequent flier at is Brooklyn’s Butter & Scotch. Now, the great thing about this joint is that I live 3 train stops away, meaning there’s only 5 minutes of express train, or 20 minutes of speed walking between me and the city’s best birthday cake. Yes, I said it. The best. You know a cake is marvelous when you can legitimately see how moist it is on the plate. Pair that with a pink cream cheese buttercream and sprinkles? Yes. Bitches LOVE sprinkles. The staff is also ridiculously adorable and the establishment is one big femme-powered bakery, reminding me of Glam Doll Donuts back home. Solid 5 as well.
Lady M Cakes, which has two locations in Midtown, as told by Siri, is a must-have in NYC. I disqualified this cake from the running because, to be blunt, it was not cake. Their crepe cake was like eating clouds, if clouds were made from vanilla creme and not pollution, water vapor, and our good friend, dust. Did you know that a cloud legitimately weighs millions of pounds? Punch the next boy that says you’re as light as a cloud, because.. rude. I digress, the crepe cake is just too good not to indulge in frequently. For crepes sake, it has a creme brulee topping–who does that? Too pure. It was disqualified from the running due to lack of batter, but also? Solid 5.
Ovenly takes the cake when it comes to frosting. Never in my wildest, sugar-whore dreams did I anticipate eating a pudding buttercream. My arteries are screaming, but the endorphins are applauding. I want to wear a dress made from this frosting to the grammys, in the style of Lady Gaga’s meat suit, but you know it would only melt off me, leaving a trail of tears behind me… albeit my own. 4.5 broken hearts.
Don’t want to put on pants and take on the world just yet? Kid, me either. Some things we just gotta do, for the love of ourselves. If not for the love of ourselves, then the love of pastry. Enjoy the video, sorry not sorry that the introduction for both this post and the vlog are the same.
Thus ends my days of being the center of a bu-cakkey, which is both the worst pun and the best visual for what I endured over the last week. My cake crusading days are over… for now.