And treat those two imposters just the same

This is a story of hubris, preserves and living in a sitcom.

The first thing I did after breakfast on Saturday was to water the poly tunnel and harvest some of the produce. The first batch of tomatillos were ripe, there were 17 jalapeños ready, some dwarf cucumbers and courgettes ranging from acceptable to giant marrows.

After chucking the marrows to the hens (chickens love them) I laid my haul on the garden table. I called  to Mark, "behold, I have a crop of finest Green!" in a daft pompous tone. The photo went to friends and family, Facebook and Twitter; I was extremely satisfied with the fruits of my labours. Downright smug even - look at the Earth Mother growing her veg and making preserves and pickles! How very Good Life. 

I wasn't far off the mark, but not in the way I thought.

The next thing I did was tackle the overgrown raised bed to remove some of the giant courgette leaves, the borage that had collapsed in the high winds and was drooping across the path and remove the bits that were rotting or dying back.  It's a job I'd been putting off because they are extremely prickly plants. Despite long sleeves and gloves, I had the raised bumps and  rashes I always get from the many bristles poking into me. My forearms were covered in them. I hate that job.

Mark and the kids were doing errands in Zach's car (Mum's aged Polo) so I messaged him to ask he buy a big bottle of white vinegar so I could do the pickling in the afternoon. We usually buy the glass bottles with a screw top. This time he bought plastic bottles with the small hole in the stopper (like you use for putting vinegar on your chips) because he thought I might need lots and it was cheaper. This will matter later.

I was looking forward to making the salsa verde with the tomatillos. You can't buy them easily in the UK and they are delicious. We love  Mexican/Central American food in general, really - hence the jalapenos! 

The counter was *covered* in stuff because I am a slob who lives with slobs. I couldn't be bothered clearing it all properly. I knew I could clean down a working area and ignore the rest - to Mark's horror I can do this perfectly happily. For reference, here's how it looked last week when I was making a curry:

Yes, I am ashamed. Mark can't work in this chaos because he's normal but as long as I can clear and clean a small space I'm good to go. 

First, I peeled the papery cases from the tomatillos, washed their soapy residue off, halved them and roasted them skin up in a very hot oven for 10 minutes.  I'd then pop them in the blender with half a chopped onion, a big fistful of coriander, a garlic clove, 3 chillies and the juice of a lime. Whizz it up, salt to taste, and there you've got a fantastic salsa that lasts about a week in the fridge or several months in the freezer.

Spot the food blogging in the anecdote; I'm content-rich, me.

While the tomatillos were cooling, I started on the pickling liquor for the jalapeños.

My preferred recipe is 250ml water, 250ml vinegar, a teaspoon or sugar, a tablespoon of salt and a few garlic cloves simmered to boiling, to which I  add the sliced chilli peppers off the heat and leave them to infuse/gently cook for 10 minutes before putting in a jar. It's very good, I heartily recomment it.

(See - content! Two recipes already)

I tried to prise the stopper off the vinegar bottle with the edge of a spoon so I could pour out 250ml, but it wouldn't be shifted. Damn it.  I squeezed the plastic bottle into the measuring cup.

I squeezed a bit hard.

The stopper came off with a POP and vinegar poured out at force, covering everything.

Everything.

Veg, cooking equipment, papers, a book, bowls, fruit, phone, floor, me.

I found every single scratch I got pruning back all the prickly stuff this morning. Ow.

It took me 40 minutes to clear up: wash everything down, mop the floor, rinse the fruit and veg and leave them out to dry, bin the butter in the butter dish, wash the pasta jar, lay out the papers and novel to dry, change clothes, wash up the crockery I doused.

 I was knackered and sweating. 

My (freshly washed) hair and face got covered to. I sweated VINEGAR into my EYES.

I smelled like a chip shop.

I want to be an Earth Mother type, whereas I am in fact in a slapstick sitcom or a Carry On film.

It was the hubris particularly.  “Look at my amazing monochrome veg harvest. Isn’t it gorgeous! Aren’t I such a great example,  growing and preserving things?” to a Joni Mitchell Ladies Of The Canyon soundtrack. Me in my maxi dress and wellies, tending my crops and preserving my veg.

Fast forward to vinegar drenched train wreck.

I did get a happy ending - see the jars below. 

This morning I resolved to have a less farcical experience. I went down the garden to sit in my new swing/hammock chair and read a novel. Swaying gently in the sunshine enjoying a favourite book I was feeling at one with the world.

Until the hook holding the chair gave way.

Cue title sequence.

P.S. No, I'm not kidding, yes, it hurt and I'm on painkillers and yes, it did look ridiculous and yes, I was flat on my back like an upturned tortoise.

A bit of a catch-up

As Storm Ali turns my tree into a Whomping Willow, I'm hunkering down inside. The chimney and the window gaps are making spooky noises and the animals are jumpy so I'm banishing the eerie atmosphere with smells of spices and cooking vegetables. I have pans of pulses simmering, batch cooking underway. 

Next Week Me will be very grateful.

The younger two are back at school and thriving. Z is in Sixth Form and absolutely loves his courses. He's so full of enthusiasm, I do love to see that. He's also exhausted - lots of work! Miss B is about to go on one of the highlights of her secondary school experience - the Year 8 trip to Butlins Skegness with the whole year group. 300 kids taking over the place for a week, living in apartments with their friends and having an incredible range of activities and workshops put on for them. I know she'll love it and throw herself into everything.

Familial relations have broken down still further amongst our feline residents.  Ferris Mewller has ceased coming home entirely, even when his adopted family went away. I looked for him and called for him, but he refuses to enter the garden, never mind the house. He hisses at us when we try bring him inside and ignores offers of food. 

I miss my special lad, he was very much My Cat (or I was very much His Person) until I ruined things by bringing Gonzo to live with us.

Poor Isaac Mewton is suffering too. Gonzo's only 2 years old and he's ENORMOUS. He is the alpha cat now; eats all the food, fights with Isaac every time they are together. He's a thug - bites Isaac while he sleeps, claims every sleeping place Isaac prefers. This morning they were fighting on opposite sides of a glass door for heaven's sake - it's madness.  I have to chuck Gonzo outside and feed Isaac separately; they work the house on a timeshare system.

I'm definitely not the cause of any trouble

This autumn I can appreciate the advance planning of Winter and Spring Me, as all those events I booked tickets for are finally coming around. We have a lot of standup comedy to look forward to, some workshops, activism, Yarndale, theatre, music, a meal at a Michelin starred place we've been looking forward to, and of course the mighty Hamilton. It's lovely having all these things on the horizon. I start getting tense about the coming dark months around now, and having so many interesting things to focus on is such a help.

I've not done a great deal of crafting for a long while. This year I have been focusing on cooking new things, expanding our meal choices and overcoming my unease at cooking with meat. I don't eat meat myself much (pastrami and pancetta are my exceptions because they don't have the texture that puts me off) and I've always hated handling it. However, the point of a blog called Fearlessly Attempting is to have a go at stuff that made me nervous.

I've done pulled pork, poached chicken, pork loin steaks, cooking meals with mince, chicken curries, meatballs, fajitas.  I still hate the smell, especially of the fatty meats like the pulled pork, but the successes of getting B to try more food combined with how delighted Z is with the meals makes it worth it.

As well as the many Indian recipes from Meera Sodha's wonderful books, I've done more Mexican influenced food too. (OK, TexMex, and not remotely authentic, but tasty anyway!). There have been  refried beans with additional chillies, spicy tomato and paprika rice with onions and peppers, guacamoles and fresh salsas. Pulled jackfruit was pretty good, although at heart I do prefer a veggie chilli. Miss B and Z like tacos and wraps, Mark prefers a plate, and I don't care as long as I get to eat it.

Of course, having settled down to type what I've been up to,  I've completely lost track of time. I am dragged back to painful reality by the acrid smell of a pan burnt dry.

Aw hell.

That's going to take a lot of scrubbing to make it useable.

No refried beans today. 

Looking forward

It's been a pretty rough couple of weeks. Most significantly, my beloved new Vespa, my pride and joy, my ticket to freedom and self-reliance, was stolen from outside the food bank where I was volunteering. I'm heartbroken.
Through assorted coincidences, mistakes, and glitches, I faced the equally devastating news that there will be no insurance pay out and I am not going to be able to have another bike.
This also means no more volunteering in the Food Bank Office, as I can't get there by public transport. That's a blow to me and them both - I'm pretty good at admin. I felt like my insides had been kicked out.

Wallowing isn't going to do me any good.  There are people in real distress in our community, and while loss of a vehicle is a significant dent in a life it's something I can push past. So I am attempting to direct my attention towards more positive things.

I'm 47 years old. In 3 years Mark and I will both turn 50 and we will celebrate our 25th anniversary. Rather than my usual "Things that scare me that I will try this year" list, I'm going to write a list of things I'd really like to do before the end of that big year - not challenging necessarily, but pleasing.

For example, I've never been to Hadrian's Wall. I'd really like to, it sounds cool.  History was my favourite subject in school and actually seeing the things I've only learnt about in books always gives me a thrill. I was ridiculously overexcited the first time I saw the Rosetta Stone (back before the boxed it away in a big case.)

So, like the National Trust's 50 Things To Do Before You're 11 3/4, here's the first 10 items on my list of things to do before 2020:

1. Go fishing. I'm serious. I've been trying to do this for 6 years and it just never quite happens. Mark's promised it me as a birthday present twice, for heaven's sake. I want to go fishing for mackerel and then eat them.
2. See the Giant's Causeway. The first time I saw a picture of it was in National Geographic's kids' magazine, World, back in the mid 70s. I couldn't believe it was real.  I've always wanted to see it, and unlike the Northern Lights is isn't hard to find. Nor, unlike Petra, is it prohibitively expensive to get to.  So I am determined to go.
3. Try salsify and Jerusalem artichokes. Somehow despite 26 years as a vege- or pesce- tarian I've never had them and I want to know what they taste like.
4. Go rock pooling. Not a new experience, but something I completely love to do and rarely get the opportunity.
5. Sing in a choir. Singing out loud with a bunch of people is scary as hell - what if I'm terrible? - but I also think it would be amazing fun. I even know of a choir I could try out for, but previously fear and now my lack of transport conspire against me.
6. Grow cut flowers. I'd like a change from my total vegetable gardening focus to grow some lovely cut flowers for the house. My Very Excellent Mate Kirsty got me thinking about it, and I do fancy being able to have flowers in my room.
7. See live music. I tend to use any money for going out on ballet tickets or comedy. I tend to think of music as not for me, really, because I have terrible, uncool taste and had A Thing about singing badly. I've determined to get past that now.
8. Visit Hadrian's Wall (see above)
9. Spend all day at the movies. Mark and I did this all the while before we had the kids. There are very few films from the mid 80s to early 1999 that I didn't see, excepting scary films. Don't like being scared. Pulling a 3 or 4 movie marathon would be a blast from the past. 
10. Learn to apply make up properly. I only occasionally feel like wearing makeup, but when I do, I feel uninformed. I have favourites, I have skin care standbys I know how to use but I can't do flicky eyeliner, smokey eyes eyeshadow, apply false lashes, prevent lipstick bleeding or do contouring. I'd like to have a clue how to apply makeup that enhances my appearance rather than slapping on a lippy and hoping for the best.

In which people are just lovely

I was in for a cracking weekend.

I'd planned it months ago. Registered for Rugby World Cup tickets, booked my Yarndale ticket, had all my favourite things with some of my VERY favourite people.  Fantastic.

Friday night Dad headed here to avoid the match traffic and Mark bought fancy fish from the lovely fishmongers and cooked us a gorgeous meal. I'd never had halibut before. It's lovely.

Saturday was match day. Mark, Miss B and Luke went to the cinema to see Inside Out (and were treated to popcorn at the Everyman by the rather ace Jessica who works there) while Dad, Zach and I were off to the rugby. Canada vs Italy, and given the crushing defeat in the Canada vs Ireland I was trying prepare Zach for disappointment. I needn't have worried. It was marvellous.

I mean, yes, in the end Italy won but it started with a 10 point lead for Canada and right up to the last 5 minutes it could have gone either way.  Masses of action, great excitement and huge men with beards battling it out mere metres away from us. We were so close to the touch line; any closer and we'd have been in the scrum itself.  I'd had a pig of a job sorting out Zach's ticket after they'd allocated him a seat in another part of the stadium. After 4 1/2 hours on the phone I got him moved to directly behind us, assuming I'd take that seat myself. In the event the lovely blokes next to us swapped so we could all be together.

(Given how loudly I cheered, Zach and Dad might have preferred to have left me sitting a little further away. I do get rather excited.)

That evening I got yet more excited watching a punishing match between England and Wales. I texted my apologies to the next door neighbours after an injury-wracked Wales roared to victory in the final moments. Marvellous stuff.

Sunday was Yarndale. All hail the Yarndale crew for a third event that brought so much happiness to others. It was so organised and well considered that it was a joy to attend. I had every faith it would be.

I had hoped to go with my Very Excellent Mate Rach again, but it didn't quite work out. A mum from the school run had asked to go with me, too, but her work schedule clashed with the event. My neighbour Vanesa had also planned to come with me but had to visit a relative in hospital. That's OK - I had a brilliant time the very first Yarndale when I was on my own, so at 9:30am I set off on my beloved Vespa at half nine for a day of yarn, craft and meeting new people. There was plenty of mist and it was pretty chilly but that would soon burn off and we were promised a glorious sunny day. I love a chance to ride in the sunshine through the gorgeous scenery of this region, and I was confident I could squish my purchases into the storage space on the bike.

At 10:25, a few miles outside of Skipton, it went horrible wrong. My poor Vespa lost power and made some truly appalling noises.  I drifted to a stop at the hard shoulder of the A65 as lorries blasted past me.  My iPhone told me I was 7 minutes from my destination.  It was wrong.  I wouldn't make it to Yarndale until 2pm.

While I was waiting for the breakdown truck and feeling very isolated indeed, people were ace to me.  A bloke in a car on the other side of the carriageway pulled up to say he lived in the next village, so would it help if he fetched me some petrol? Then a guy on a Ducati pulled up. Roger had owned a Vespa ET4 like mine some years back and offered to see if the problem was something he could repair. He had a toolkit on his bike, had a look and a listen.

We agreed our Italian bikes sure had style but that if it was reliability you wanted, Hondas were hard to beat no matter how clunky they looked. Ducati and Vespas were more temperamental beauties. Roger did his best but the fault was beyond his skills. He offered me a lift to Skipton but I needed to stay for the recovery truck.  He reluctantly went on his way, but I was very touched by his help and concern.

The lad driving the recovery truck was called David.  He and the insurance service were thrashing out the details of taking the bike back home for me as it was 25 miles away and my cover had a 20 mile limit. Drat.  Then I remembered Colin Appleyard Motorcycles had a branch nearby.  Before their Leeds branch shut down I'd used them for repairs for 15 years - perhaps they could take the Vespa? Google claimed they were open on Sundays, so I started ringing while David loaded the bike up.

We set off, with me continuing to ring the garage.  In between calls, David told me all about his upcoming holiday to Dubai with his partner, and how much he was looking forward to it. He was so friendly and pleasant he made a tough situation much nicer. However, Google's information was wrong and the garage was all locked up. Oh bugger.

By this time Mark, with Miss B in tow loudly protesting the interruption of her pancake-making activity, arrived at the garage too. He'd brought me a flask of coffee which is one of the many reasons I love him so much. I drank that while David rang his depot to run something past them. Rather than leave me and my bike stranded or drive the 25 miles to Leeds which still wouldn't get the bike to a garage, David offered to take it back with him to the locked depot overnight and drop it off at Appleyard's in the morning.  That meant Mark could take me to Yarndale, the insurance would still cover the distance and the Vespa would be safe and secure until I could get her looked at.

Brilliant!

Mark got me to Yarndale where I had a lovely couple of hours despite feeling knackered by the events so far. Jane from Baa Ram Ewe gave me a big hug when I arrived to help soothe me from my bike upset, and I had a cuppa and a butty before diving into the stalls. I had a go at lacemaking with bobbins like the people I saw on holiday in Bruges - very cool! I met up with exhibitors I knew, chatted to the Yarndale committee, bought everything my mother-in-law requested plus a hank of hand-dyed alpaca wool for myself. I met fellow rugby enthusiast and many, many fellow crochet junkies. I got home by public transport, complete wiped out, and Mark had made me another lovely dinner.

My Vespa is beyond repair, it seems, and I am feeling bereft. But I am also very touched by the friendliness, good nature and kindness shown to me in so many ways by match stewards, fellow fans, motorists, Roger, David and Mark and everyone at Yarndale.
People are just lovely. I'm glad to have met so many of them.

J xx

A quick catch up

Hello webby pals!

Sorry I've not posted for a few days. If I wasn't working I was asleep, which left little time for blogging. However, I've a spare half hour now and I thought I'd do a quick round up of the last week's events.

When I bake it is usually to order. People ring me up or email me, and agree what they want and for which date. All my cakes and biscuits are pre-sold, which means there is no wastage. With ingredient costs being so high at the moment, this is a definite advantage and allows me to work for a small profit whilst keeping my cakes as affordable as possible.

However, every year there is an exception to this business model: the school Christmas fair. I bake like a fiend and take a stall there, donating either a fee, a percentage of sales or raffle prizes like a Christmas cake to the PTA. I almost always sell out of cake. I enjoy that 2 hour stint of selling to the public, offering samples, chatting and persuading as best I can. It makes such a nice change from working alone in my kitchen with the radio for company.

Now that I have two kids in our local high school I thought I'd have a go at their school fair as well as my daughter's primary school. It is a bigger event which lasts longer, so I prepared proportionally more cake for it. Lots of cake. Lots and lots.

I did 20 chocolate gingerbread cakes, 35 boxes of Christmas cupcakes, a good stack of hot chocolate spoons, a couple of chocolate malteser cakes and a large iced Christmas cake to raffle off. All the decorations were hand made. Rolling tiny holly berries from red icing is a pretty tedious job, by the way. I'd not recommend doing more than 100 unless you have something really good on the radio to keep you occupied.  And the dratted sparkly glitter on them gets everywhere. Still, I like things to look and taste beautiful and beautiful takes time.

I spent 42 hours in the kitchen in all.
I couldn't manage a photo of the whole stall without getting my fed-up "why am I helping on a Saturday morning when I could be sleeping" son's face in the picture, and he prefers to remain anonymous at this stage, so here are 2 quick snaps of the display. The left side held most of my products in order that the right had space to let people fill in the raffle tickets.

 

Unfortunately, as well as 3 commercial cake stalls they'd booked, the high school had a PTA cake stall selling donated cakes and biscuits. Donated means they don't have to recoup ingredients cost, so they were priced accordingly. With about 1600 pupils across the primary and secondary campus, the PTA had many families to cajole into donating cake. I've never seen a stack of baked good so high in my life.  By the end they were selling them off at 50p for three cupcakes.

Hand crafted cakes made with butter, free range eggs, real vanilla and good quality chocolate cannot compete with that. People went for the pile 'em high, sell 'em cheap option on the whole, except those buying  for a gift. I sold very, very little - enough to recoup my ingredients cost, but not much more.

I sold some of the surplus to the deli and some friends. The chocolate ginger cakes would freeze, so they were fine. The rest I gave away (or we ate!) because all those hand made decorations would collapse if I tried to freeze them. It was a low moment.

Since then I did a day's work in the garden mending fences and mucking out the pets in the cold sunshine. That did wonders for clearing my head. In essence, I lost nothing but time last week. I can't get that back again, so why not kiss it good-bye and move on to things that are more productive. I shook off the disappointment and looks ahead. There was plenty to catch up on.

I've done a little more of the Christmas and birthday shopping, sorted out some paperwork, taught two clubs (glass painting and cake decorating respectively), tried to catch up on all the household chores I'd ignored while I was baking like a mad thing and spent some time relaxing with my kids.
Miss B and I finished reading On The Banks of Plum Creek and started By The Shores of Silver Lake. The Big Lad chose to cash in his reward for a half term of getting to school on time, so we all watched Despicable Me 2  together. There were cupcakes for dessert three nights in a row.  Not a bad few days, all things considered.

Now my focus is Friday's Women in Radio workshop. Eek. Thanks to my marvellous parents - coming over from North Wales to look after the kids while Mark travels back from London - I can go to Birmingham tomorrow afternoon, work out where everything is, potter around their Christmas Market or go to the movies and get up at a reasonable hour for the 8:45am start. I'm meeting a couple of the other attendees for a coffee before hand. From the little we've chatted on Twitter they seem lovely, so that should be a good start to the day.

I'm vacillating between excited and intimidated. Some of the other women who are going seem so professional and qualified. I've just got myself to offer. Yikes.I asked one of the BBC presenters who will be taking part what I should do to prepare. She says all I need is enthusiasm and questions.

I can do that. I've got loads. Wish me luck!
Jay x

I meant it to look like that...

Hello webby pals!

Fancy some cake? Of course you do. All the better if it's home made. And people like me are always telling you how easy it is to knock up a batch of cookies, or a birthday cake, or some scones.  Just throw it together, it'll be fine.
Sometimes we lie.

Blackberry crumble cake

Well, not lie exactly. Once you've got a reliable set of weights and measures, a couple of standard sized tins, an oven that stays at the temperature the dial claims it is and a straightforward recipe, baking is a doddle. And of course you need the correct ingredients, and not to be interrupted at a crucial moment so you can remember whether you'd added the baking powder or not, and you hear the timer go off so you can actually remove it when it's done.

Sometimes life isn't quite like that. The baby needs a change, or you answer the phone and forget the timer or the toddler twiddles the oven dial, or you're stressed or you read the recipe wrong. Or it just all goes a bit wrong and you're not sure why.

It's OK. It's recoverable. Don't panic.

I was chatting to another school parent last week about this when she said she daren't bake because she'll only mess it up.There is generally something you can salvage from a cake gone wrong.  I thought you might like to hear a few of them, on the off chance you make a mess of things someone you know makes a mess of a cake and you can help them fix it. Because I have faith in you.

It Looks Messy - Relish it. That's home made, babe. You know the labels on fancy-pants artisan scarves or jewellery - 'Some variation in texture or colour is a natural part of this hand crafted item' - don't you? That's your get-out-of-jail-free card. We've all heard tales of school bake sale items that have been bought at the supermarket and bashed about at the edges a bit to make it look home made. Home baking is supposed to look a little irregular. You don't want it to look like that mass produced Mr Kipling rubbish, do you?

Burnt top - Easy to fix. Use a bread knife to gently cut off the burnt top. Turn the cake upside down and ice as originally planned. (A cut surface can pick up a lot of crumbs, and it can mess up the appearance of your icing.)

Burnt And A Bit Dried Out - Still not a disaster. Cut the burnt bit off as above. Then make a light sugar syrup - 100g sugar, 200ml water and simmer until the sugar has dissolved and the liquid has reduced by half. Take off the heat, flavour if necessary (with a splash of vanilla or some lemon zest, just to match the flavour of your cake). Using a pastry brush, lightly coat both the top and bottom of the cake. Leave 10 mins to soak in and then turn it cut side down and ice.
This has the added advantage of keeping a cake moist for longer, so is a neat trick if you have to bake your cake in advance of an occasion (like a birthday party)

Uneven - if your baking and icing techniques have abandoned you, I suggest taking the 'More is More' aesthetic and covering it with sweets. Pile enough sweets on and no one will spot the saggy bit or the unevenly trimmed side. I made a friend a cake utterly coated with Maltesers once because I didn't have time to do the fancy icing I'd planned. It looked so over the top and indulgent it was actually better than my original design. (you don't have to wrap it in a chocolate collar like the one in the picture)

Overcooked - if you left it in too long and it's rather stale-feeling, serve it warm with ice cream or custard. A 30 second blast in the microwave, loosely covered, will make it warm and moist feeling for a short while. Warm cake and ice cream is a winner. (This also works with stale cake. I use this with leftovers all the time)

Collapsed In The Middle - There are a couple of options. You could cut the middle out, pour a glaze over it and declare it a ring cake.  Then scoff the messy gooey middle bit yourself and deny all knowledge. Or you could use a cutter - a circular one used for making scones is a good one - and cut out little individual cakes. They actually look very chic when iced. A quick glaze of cocoa, icing sugar, hot water and a knob of butter melted in gives a good mirror finish in situations like that.

The Whole Thing Looks Terrible - have you any fruit purée? Apple sauce? A jar of posh jam? Layer the cake, jam and some custard or cream. Someone dropping a pavlova called it Eton Mess once upon a time and we all fell for it. You can call yours Yorkshire Jumble, or English Pud, or whatever. The trick is to say it with confidence. (Chocolate sponge with raspberry or cherry jam is lovely, by the way. As is vanilla with lemon curd or apple sauce)

Oh God It's A Disaster - anything even vaguely edible, no matter how dry or wonky or cut into uneven chunks it is, will perform the role of trifle sponge perfectly. Even if you don't have it now, stick your chunks of cake in a bag and freeze them until you do.

I Think It's Dead - dropped it, smushed it, generally destroyed it? My gift to you, my dear maladroit chum, is one word: truffles. Cake crumbs, a bit of melted chocolate, maybe a dash of brandy or rum, or perhaps a drop of cream. Mix them well, form into balls, pop on a tray and freeze for a few minutes (or even a month) to firm up, then drop them in  more melted chocolate and remove them with a fork. Look! You made lovely homemade chocolates! You are so good to your guests.

In summary, with a little flexible thinking you can make something tasty out of pretty much any cake that isn't actually charcoal. Assuming you want to.
On the other hand, if you went to the trouble of baking something for someone and they aren't delighted with your thoughtfulness and efforts, they know where they can go. Yep, straight to M&S to buy something.  And you can open a  bottle of wine box of chocs and say to hell with it all.

Jay x