Wedding Cakes Can Topple

Oh, the stories I could tell!

The kind of knowledge you have to knead into your brain is the best kind, and goodness, have we kneaded loaf after loaf.

Here’s how I learned wedding cakes can topple.

We had been commissioned a 4-tier cake, all in buttercream and with fresh flowers cascading down the side. I was still very much learning everything—how to stack a cake, how to do the scroll piping and borders that my mom made look so easy, and most of all, how to deliver a fully stacked cake to the venue.

We had done a few deliveries together. I had driven the car, listened carefully to the instructions to brake and accelerate slowly, take corners more slowly, and always keep a safe following distance. I was using my mom’s vehicle since I had the choice of a stick-shift car or a truck.

The fateful Saturday arrived. I was to deliver the cake to Lewisburg (just a hop-skip-jump type distance down the road), and it was mostly a straight shot. Mom had a church event and wasn’t available to come along, but she assured me I’d be just fine.

Photo of me doing something vaguely bakery-esque and official looking.

Okay, this is getting too long. Just get to the point! (There's a "too long, didn't read" (TLDR) summation at the end.)

Click me to jump to the point!

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Now, some cake designers will stack the cake when they arrive. This was not how my mom, a 25-year veteran cake artist, ever did it, so of course, I did it her way. Blast the AC, drive slow, and away we go.

We had fully decorated the cake together at the bakery. When I loaded it in the car, I felt really good about it—I was proud of how it looked and excited to tackle my first delivery solo. Mom was right, I would be just fine. I tapped the brakes a bit—okay, they’re a bit more sensitive than what I’m used to, but that’s no biggie. I adjusted my mirror to make sure I could check the cake in the back—witnessing a little pleasant wobble every so often, but nothing concerning.

Halfway to Lewisburg on Route 45, the color had returned to my knuckles. This was going well, for sure. Just as I got close to an intersecting road, the car in front of me jammed on their brakes. I was at a safe distance, as instructed, but it startled me, and I also hit my brakes with what I felt was appropriate force.

The instant I felt the vehicle lurch in a more dramatic fashion than I expected, I looked in that rearview mirror. In a vision that still horrifies me to this day, I saw the top two tiers fly forward through the car as the bottom of the cake stayed in place. The top tier made it all the way up to the back of the passenger seat.

In a string of profanity that got increasingly frantic, I pulled over and ran to the trunk and witnessed my worst nightmare - scattered flowers, smeared icing, and tiers of cake on their side. And even worse, I had no idea how to fix it.

I called my mom. No answer. I called my mom again. No answer. I called again. NO. ANSWER. I called TEN TIMES, no exaggeration.

By this point, I think I had scrunched myself up in the back of the car with tiers and tears alike, waiting for some miracle. Do I go forward and try to fix this at the venue? Do I go back to the bakery? Do I need to notify the couple who were probably saying their vows at that very moment? I was absolutely frozen by indecision and anxiety.

A helpful graphic of the anatomy of a tiered cake.

 Something to know—every tiered cake has a set of structures inside to keep the cake from collapsing in on itself. It’s a series of supports and cardboard bases that mitigate any disasters due to weight. We are religious about these—how to cut the supports to the right height, how to make sure the cardboard was cut and wrapped, how to make sure the cake was being stacked straight. We also keep the cake as cold as we can on delivery. You’d be surprised how sturdy a cake from the fridge is.

The thing Donita never did was use skewers or a center post to make sure those cakes did not shift side to side. My only explanation is superpowers.

 After a grueling 5 minutes, my miracle called me back. Cool as a cucumber, she said to return to the bakery, and she would meet me there. The cake decorations were destroyed, but the tiers themselves, with their layers of cake and filling, were still intact. We had about an hour before guests actually started arriving at the venue, which would give us about 30 minutes of actual fixing time in the bakery, and we would definitely do it best with all our tools at our disposal.

And, well, we did it. Mom whipped out that scroll work like she had been doing it for decades (she had), I worked on salvaging and replacing the fresh flowers (thank goodness they weren’t gumpaste or piped), and we got to the venue as guests were arriving for the reception.

So you know what has become standard for us? A big old skewer that goes down through the center of the cake to prevent shifting.

A few more lessons and 8 wedding seasons later, only one other cake has toppled since, and we've always gotten the cake on the table in time to be fully enjoyed.

I guess that proves we are the most trustworthy despite the failures—we get it done, despite any obstacles! I don’t have the same anti-inertia superpowers my mom does, but do you really need superpowers when your mom can do anything?

Here it is! The real cake from the story, post-topple and happily sitting at the reception.

The TLDR that was promised.