It’s all the fault of the Strawberry Ombre Cake.

I was seduced by clouds of pink frosting, perfectly complemented by triple layers of delicate sponge in three distinct shades of, again, pink. It was, in short, a vision.

But I was sure the recipe was needlessly persnickety.

Really, there was no need to use three different shades of food colouring. I could simply use varying amounts of the same pink dye to get the same effect.

It called for far too much butter and icing sugar, I harrumphed, so I cut that by half. And for good measure, I also streamlined the numerous construction steps, because, sanity.

The result was…sad. I’d been buoyed up by an image of loveliness and sophistication. But the cake before me lacked Technicolour appeal.

There was no pink ombre effect, and in fact, it wasn’t even pink, because I hadn’t used enough colouring.

The icing hadn’t come together, because, of course, I hadn’t followed the recipe.

And it stubbornly refused to stick to the cake, because I hadn’t prepped the darn thing the way the recipe writer had advised.

Reader, I binned it.

Fast forward a couple of years and I was ready to give layer cakes another bash. I’d learned my lesson, I reasoned.

I’d follow the recipe. I’d watched enough baking shows to know what I was doing this time around. I’d use a baking mix for fail-safe results.

And I’d picked a cake that would, I was sure, be an absolute doddle to put together.

The cake in question was a triple layer chocolate sponge, covered in chocolate buttercream frosting, decorated with a bird’s nest made by drenching shredded weetbix in chocolate, protecting a clutch of speckled eggs, watched over by birds shaped from fondant. (Side note: this might be the only acceptable way to eat weetbix).

I popped out three layers of cake – one of which was not sunken at all – from their tins on Sunday morning as planned. Then readied myself for the decorating marathon.

Cake baking is not for the faint of heart or the weak of wallet. You’ll go through quantities of sugar and fat that is frankly, obscene.

A typical buttercream frosting calls for 250g of butter and 500g of icing sugar, and because the butter is unsalted it’s even less likely to already be in your fridge. (I had to do an emergency Sixty60 order.)

Also, let’s talk about the waste. I’m an environmentalist, for Gaia’s sake.

Expert bakers slice through the crusts from both the top and sides of each cake layer, letting go of perfectly good dessert.

But my experiment with the strawberry cake had taught me how crucial this is, because otherwise the icing won’t stick to the cake. Despite this, I felt each knife thrust to the crust as a stab to my heart.

I ended up with a considerably smaller set of layers, and sandwiched them together with jam and frosting.

Those truly committed to zero waste will save the scraps for cake pops, though honestly, I never have.

Now for the crumb coat. That’s the baking jargon for the first layer of frosting that sticks closely to the cake and provides a smooth surface for the fancier swoops and swirls.

This was where things started going awry, because the buttercream refused to stick to the cake. I was knee deep in flour and sugar, with chocolate smearing my apron, sweat on my brow, and a cake that was not cooperating.

“It’ll taste delicious!” my husband said, sneaking a piece of discarded crust.

I was shocked. It’s not at all about how the cake tastes, but how it looks. And at this point we were very, very, far from the glossy picture in the cake decorating book.

Time for the bird’s nest.

Good thing I’m a baking supplies hoarder, because I magicked out little bags of chocolate chips from the pantry despite forgetting to put them in my trolley the previous day.

I was hopeful the cake was salvageable, but then my five-year-old said, “Mama, can I help you decorate?” Finally, of course, the ungrateful creation broke when I transferred it from the turntable to the plate.

All in all, that was a nine-hour bake, and I fell into bed exhausted. But not before a quick scroll through Pinterest in search of my next cake project. Which I will definitely be outsourcing. Definitely.

And yet I keep thinking about how my kid and I spent the entire day making a cake together. And how blaming my preschooler gives me such a great cover story when the cake fails.

And I’m sure that next time, next time, it’ll all come out exactly like the picture.