I like to think that I'm competent in the kitchen. Actually, that's false modesty. I think I'm a darn good cook, and I'm a pretty good baker to boot. So when Dr. P volunteered to bring King Cake to Friday rounds at the hospital I was ready for the challenge. In fact, I was so ready I didn't even know what the "challenge" entailed. I had no clue what this royal pastry was, let alone how to make it. So I set to googleing, and in a blink of an eye I had answers.

King Cake (it seems), is a garish Mardi Gras delight. A sickeningly sweet freak show of colored sugar, butter, and dough. And for those who are not offended by the mere sight of this grotesque gâteau, snuggled into the madness is a little, bitty, plastic Christ child.

Now, I am sorry, and I mean no offense, as I'm sure there are many folks out there who love and revere the rosca de reyes, but this is not my kind of cake. So, I decided to deviate from the doctrine of the King cake (as I am prone to do), and make it suit my sensibilities.


The cake God is a jealous one, and when you mess with his business, he will mess with you.

Somehow my beautiful, fluffy dough baked into a hard nasty brick. You might blame it on the recipe, or the oven, or it even might be (heaven forbid) a result of my own folly. But I choose to blame the plasticine Prince of Peace. I think this was retaliation for disliking the whole "mangy manger cake" concept from the start. So I repent, and I promise that I will sacrifice any future king cakes I create in the traditional round/tacky/embedded-imitation-infant manner. And just in case... I'm using THIS new recipe instead :-)