The Universal Cupcake

From our special HP correspondent, Jesslyn Raddack:

When Jacob first started school, the domestic doyenne and über-mom in me took over. I eagerly told Mrs. Sharkey that I wanted to bring in cupcakes for his birthday. She seemed overjoyed—perhaps a little too much so—and thanked me profusely.

As I walked out the door, she said, “Don’t forget, Amanda can’t have sugar and Lars is allergic to peanuts.” No problem, I thought, I have a great recipe I used for a relative with juvenile diabetes, which substitutes unsweetened applesauce for sugar. It calls for chopped walnuts, but I could ditch those.

“And Lila is allergic to gluten,” the Sharkster added innocently.

I didn’t know much about gluten-free cooking, but I was still confident that I could accommodate this twist. I scoured the Internet and found some great gluten-free recipes. But many included sugar and nut-based oils. Still, I would not be deterred!

Then Terrence’s father called me. “I heard you’re making cupcakes for the class tomorrow. Terry is so excited! I just wanted to make sure you knew that we don’t eat animal products in our family.”

That was the ingredient prohibition that broke my inner-chef’s back. Cupcakes without eggs, butter and milk? Now I was stumped. After hours of trying to reconcile sugarless, wheat-free, no-nuts recipes that didn’t require eggs, butter, or milk-based products like cream cheese or yogurt, I had a total motherhood meltdown.

How could I pass AP Chem and not be able to re-jigger a recipe? I was a cupcake flunky. I couldn’t do the simplest and most time-honored of Mommying 101 tasks: making cupcakes.

My husband presented me with the Yellow Pages. “How is that supposed to help?” I asked.

We called a vegan bakery and ordered 24 cupcakes at $5 each. I brought in hard-as-rock, flavorless cupcakes, which looked more like muffins and tasted dry and stale. Most kids took one bite. The polite ones engaged in the old routine of breaking them up and smearing them around their plates to give the illusion of good-faith eating. The honest ones practiced their best shots at the trash can.

As discreet as a four-year-old can be, my son spit his optimistically oversized, half-chewed bite into his hand and gently put the glob on his plate. “They’re kind of yucky, Mom,” he whispered apologetically.

The next time I was called on to bake cupcakes, I had wizened up. I just made my usual recipe and told the parents of kids with various dietary restrictions to please send in a treat that their child could enjoy during a birthday party.

I still feel guilty that I couldn’t come up with a utilitarian recipe for a hypo-allergenic, gastronomically-correct cupcake. And I’m sure there are fantastic vegan cupcakes out there. But the name “Fake Cake Jake” stuck with my son for far too long and I learned that sometimes, in trying to please everyone, you end up pleasing no one.