BRUCE CAKE!

WHAT! Magic's popping up everywhere! It must be the season! Or people's "awesomety" in general. But first, a little perspective. Weeks ago, a friend and I, after meander the streets of the tri-city area in search of a little entertainment and culinary delight, unfortunately came up short, Kitchener-Waterloo generally having ABSOLUTELY no nightlife after 10 p.m. Unless you count bars of course - but I don't. EVER! We had both been hoping to wander into some obscure little joint called Saigon by Night, but, like the rest of this tame city, it was closed. A bar. Closed after 10. So, after that, and after peeking into the City's only karaoke bar (why so many bar's?), and soon running out from embarassment, we settled, much to our apathetic dismay for one of the more generic coffee shops in town - which would stay open, at least until 1. At least there's somewhat of a nightlife - for strung out university students, and pretentious fatheads who enjoy discussing Hemmingway's biting criticisms of F.Scott Fitzgerald's small penis.
So, feeling really terrible for my friend, who was the driver, and taking part in my wild, "let's-go-to-this-place" goose chase, I thought the best way to make it up to her was to buy her a slice of whatever cake the corporate coffee cash cow held behind its counter. Chocolate, generic (again) and kkkiiinnnnda decadent. And being the polite individual she is, she demanded I help her eat it - either that or she knew how terrible it actually tasted and couldn't muster up enough to get through it all alone. Hell, the both of us couldn't. And we left much of the chocolate fondant buried in a pool of table sugar, some shitty rasberry sauce, and pepper. We were bored. And she was an artist. I don't know what abstractions were at mind's work, but somehow, out of the muck, she (and I, I guess) managed to create a delicacy of post culinary delight. Short and to the point it was a portrait of a cockatoo. And if we weren't already strung out on sugar, it might have seemed delicious.
Afterwards, on our way out, having left our work on the table, we tried, as best we could, to decide on a reasonable name. We went through a myriad of possibilities, eventually settling on the powerful name of Bruce Willis, us both being a fan of The Fifth Element, she because of the story, me because of Bruce Willis' beautiful, bleached blonde, receding, yet faded at the side, haircut. We left it at that. We took some pictures, we went home, we went to sleep, we carried on.

Now, about two weeks later, this same friend, having missed Bruce dearly, and consequently me, came for another visit, with the surprise of non-other than an homage to our deceased keeki friend. She could rebuild him, she had the technology. And she did, with more than stellar results. I asked if she went to some kind of pastry academy, she said she thought about it. I said it was marvelous. But what is it I'm talking about?


Why, a cake, of course! A full cake, not just one slice of cake, or mashed up cake on a plate painted into the picture of a tropical bird - oh no, a whole cake, icing and all, made in the image of a cockatoo with great plumage! The cake's side beautifully scripted with none other than the name BRUCE WILLIS written the whole way round, multiple, multiple times. It was dazzling, and delicious. Custards, jellies, spongy goodness, a beautiful portraiture. If only you could see the textures! I mean, really SEE them! I almost regretted cutting it! How on earth did I become so lucky as to know all these magnificent kinds of people? First egg tarts, now this? If only Bruce Willis himself were there to share it with us. Someday, dear reader, someday.

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