The link between sweet and nasty is really not any different to that between love and hate, high and low, good and bad. In other words, they are two sides of the very same coin and therefore a perfect, and naturally befitting match. However, it is actually quite novel that delicious cakes are being made in the form of gory body parts, and therefore rather worthy of examination and even a little applause. Comparing the Viennese tradition of enjoying a slice of Nusstorte to the experience of eating a piece of serial killer cake produced by the British Miss Cakehead, we dare to suggest that there is a certain similarity.
“Don’t play with your food!” Many generations of parents have advised their children not to fool around with edible goods – to stop using the spoon as a catapult for shooting peas, to not slurp their spaghetti, and to never splash about with their ice cream. The rules set by parents follow a clear line, which is that food is not entertainment. Food is serious.
Sitting in a Wiener Kaffeehaus and enjoying a Melange coffee and a slice of Nusstorte is part of the traditional lifestyle in Vienna. A scenario akin to a stage play. Not so different to overwhelming boredom, but with a great sense of ritual and detailed orchestration. Everything is in the right place, and you can trust in that.
Cut. Miss Cakehead enters the scene and you lose your footing for a moment. Cut. From one ear to the other, straight across the forehead, the huge butcher’s knife slides through the skull. While (in vain) waiting for the blood to come pouring out, you realise that Dexter is now the victim. Blood spatter pattern analyst Dexter Morgan, who leads a secret life as a serial killer, the main character in Dexter, the American TV series (played by Michael C. Hall), is laid on the table and cut into pieces.
It was the idea of Miss Cakehead, aka Emma Thomas, to create attention in honour of the last season of the drama series, by slicing Dexter into bite-sized morsels. Thus, a Dexter cake was produced at full-scale by food artist Annabel de Vetten. It took over 100 hours to make, and used more than 105 kilograms of flour, sugar, buttercream, sugar paste, and marzipan.
HA-BLOODY-HA
With a grand dose of British humour, Miss Cakehead plays with cakes and cookies, as well as with our beliefs and imagination. This past June, the 15th anniversary of the Heathrow Express was celebrated by the presentation of a train entirely built out of cake and sweets. Last October, the Eat Your Heart Out event formed another highlight in Emma Thomas’s diary. More than 20 cake makers contributed 53 designs for a repulsive but delicious cake shop, temporarily set up in the Pathology Museum at St Bart’s hospital in London. Diseases from lung cancer to the plague were presented in sugary form. The liaison between a desire for sweets and cruel illness was catchy and disgusting at the same time. And it was a great media success.
As creative director, Thomas believes in the irresistible power of cake to draw attention to social issues. The fact is that one out of four people will experience a mental health problem during their lifetime. Her recent charity project, The Depressed Cake Shop, made visible just what depression means. Thomas: “If you are depressed, you feel sad, hopeless, and lose interest in things you used to enjoy.”
Professional and hobby bakers alike contributed to the event. Their pastries were grey and dull, visualising the mood in a bittersweet way. No doubt Miss Cakehead’s experimental food and her supporting network is a far cry from the Wiener Nusstorte, but her concoctions, too, play with our inbuilt expectations about cakes and cookies, and do so in a dramatic fashion.
Enjoying a Slice of Dexter Morgan’s Life. Literally. A Miss Cakehead concept created by Annabel de Vetten. Photos: A J Pilkington / Manicks Productions Ltd.