Down in the Dumps

"Dump cake. A cake made by 'dumping' the ingredients directly into the baking pan, mixing them, and baking the batter." --John F. Mariani, Encyclopedia of American Food and Drink.

Or, a cake you make when "sad" doesn't begin to describe how you're feeling.

I needed cake today. No time for plans with friends or elaborate dinners. I needed something sweet in my life and I needed it NOW.

I found out that I have a stress fracture in my right hip. I've been on crutches since Friday, and I'll be on crutches for another 1 - 3 months, depending on how the fracture heals. I was scheduled to run 5 races this season; I've already registered, the money is spent and now lost. But not only do I need to stay off my leg, I can't do ANYTHING. No yoga, no biking, not even swimming. I exercise 6 or 7 days a week, and on some of those days, twice. I walk everywhere. And now all I can do is sit. Working out, and especially running, is my stress relief. Plus, I live alone--my family is 700 miles away, my boyfriend is 800, my only roommates are two cats and a turtle. So I'm in a vicious downward cycle--I'm stressed because I can't work out and I'm trying to figure out how to accomplish basic every day errands and work and chores, but I can't relieve the stress because I can't work out. The best option for quick, albeit temporary relief, is clearly cake. So today was an Emergency Cake Day.

I giggled a lot reading this chapter. The Dump Cake is an official Girl Scout sanctioned cake, intended to be made in a standard Girl Scout issue cast iron Dutch oven and cooked over a campfire. (Thankfully, Dr. R has included a home version for those of us who never made it past Daisies.) The chapter tells the story of Dr. R's last Girl Scout camp-out with her youngest daughter, and is so candidly written and full of different emotions that in three short pages, you've found yourself crying, laughing, and swimming in nostalgia. The theme of the camp-out is Survivor, and Dr. R describes the antics of the girls as their teams try to "Outwit, Outplay, and Outlast" with clear motherly affection, and the antics of a few mothers (you know the type) with tongue in cheek.

After reading the chapter I felt a little pang of sadness, but also the tiny seed of determination. This is my Survivor Challenge. I, too, have to "Outwit, Outplay, and Outlast." But instead of two days in the woods, I have 3 months in Life. How will I cook meals, clean my apartment, feed my cats, get groceries, work in a lab while on crutches? How will I cope when I am completely and utterly overwhelmed by frustration, anger, or sadness? Baby steps. The first thing I will do is make a cake.


So I crutch into Kroger, ask the manager if I can put items in my back pack while I shop, grab the unbelievably short list of ingredients for the cake, and reluctantly but gratefully accept the help of an Infectious Disease doctor who complimented my stellar crutch technique to carry my groceries to my car. (Baby step 1: accept help. Still working on Baby Step 2: Ask for it.) I hop a couple times around the kitchen to grab a pan, a spoon, and oven mitts and preheat the oven. I dump all the ingredients into the pan (ok, so the butter was more placed than dumped) and enjoy a good laugh at how ridiculous the pre-baked cake looks. After the Tomato Cake, however, I am wise, and I excitedly put the cake in the oven and distract myself for the hour while it bakes with a book. (The Help, by Kathryn Stockett. Yes, like the movie. Read it. It's better for you.) Soon my whole apartment smells like melting butter, and when the cake comes out of the oven, it is crisp and bubbling. I attempt to wait for the cake to cool enough for me to eat, but after approximately two minutes, I scoop out a small amount.

It's almost like cobbler, sweet and buttery, soft with a perfect crunch on top. So I grab a much bigger scoop, devise a method of furniture surface leap frog to get my plate to the sofa, and eat way too much cake while watching several episodes of Scrubs. The magic of Cake Day settles in; for now, my spirits have lifted and my outlook is not so bleak, I will Survive. It might sound selfish, but I'm glad I kept all the magic for myself this time. I needed to take a moment to take a deep breath and regroup, just me, myself, and cake. (The cake, however, I cannot keep all to myself, as it would be gone in two days, and since I'm not working out, eating an entire cake is probably not a good plan.)


Right now, forget the crutches. I've got cobbler.