Recently, I was asked to make a custom cake, a request that I've not accepted for a long time...too many balls in the air, not enough hands. I used to make wedding cakes on a regular basis and I enjoyed it 
immensely,
until it came time to deliver them. I had a rule in which the only people that were allowed to transport these cakes were: the one who made it or the one who paid for it . Since the latter was rarely an option, it was often left to me. Gratefully, they all arrived intact at their destination, and on time, but I estimate that I've lost about 5 years off of my lifespan on the winding, hilly roads of Connecticut.
I accepted this request, mainly because the theme intrigued me; it was to reference the recipients' penchant for Gucci shoes.
I learned to sew at about the same time that I learned to cook. I never considered either of these skills as something that I could build a profession on...until I discovered haute couture; the extreme 
form of fashion. It is often the extremities of things that attract me to it, then allow me to find my own ground within it. After high school, I headed to NYC to study fashion design at Parsons, long before Tim Gunn & company put it on the reality TV map. I had high expectations, perhaps unrealistic ones. I went there to explore the extreme, but found
that they were peddling moderation in the form of ready-to-wear. In the ensuing years, I have found my ground in fashion design, even when I started cooking professionally, and to this day, I maintain parallel careers in fashion and food. I have designed and made many things, from dog collars to wedding gowns, but I have never made a pair of shoes...until now. It is not without irony that my first pair would also be edible.
It was through the extremities of avant guarde cuisine that I first learned 
of hydrocolloids and other chemicals. I don't deny that I was seduced by their possibilities, but I had questions. First up: "Are they safe to consume?" For answers, I turned to scientific data and independent studies and avoided all information that was tempered by agendas. Satisfied, I moved on to the next question, "What is the point?" Do they contribute to making food better, or are their applications just smoke and mirrors? I reconciled with this by examining the ingredients that I already use in making cakes. Baking powder, baking soda, cream of tartar, cornstarch, and gelatin are some of the processed additives that are commonly used in baking. The transformative effects that they produce in cake batters and other baked goods are undeniable and have stood the test of time.
The use of rolled fondant to cover cakes is something that I have struggled with. Although it is completely edible, I've never found it particularly good to eat...it brings to mind the centers of the drugstore chocolates that were abandoned after the first hopeful bite. It's only merit is that it provides a pristine and alabaster-smooth surface to apply decoration, acting like the gesso on an artists' canvas. I always point out these pros and cons to my clients when they request a fondant-covered cake. When they insist on it, I try to find the humor when the plates come back to the kitchen with peeled-away strips 
of fondant, like discarded rinds.
On the occassions when I am required to use fondant, I choose to make it from scratch. My recipe is based on the one found in Rose Levy Beranbaum's "The Cake Bible" and contains gelatin, glucose and glycerine, as well as shortening and confectioners sugar. For this cake, I swapped sodium alginate for the gelatin, remembering that it is sometimes used for the commercial production of this product. While it produced a more pliable and silkier fondant to work with, it didn't make it any more palate-friendly...don't think I'll be joining a fondant fan club anytime soon.
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