Big Top Cupcake Saga

I spent most of last Saturday trying to make a Big Top Cupcake. The commercial says that it is faster and easier than making smaller cupcakes, but after at hours on Saturday I can honestly say that is not the case.  At least not for me.

It all started when my sister, the thoughtful and awesome person that she is, got me the As-Seen-On-TV silicon bakeware.  

Nothing screams "You have a serious cupcake obsession," like receiving a Big Top Cupcake maker.  The Big Top is 25 times bigger than a normal cupcake, which means it's about the size of a child's head. Anyone cupcake-crazed enough to purchase this product is too far gone to consider the practical realities of how to eat a massive cupcake.  (I'm pretty sure the only way to eat it is to grab huge chunks of it with your hands or fork - perfect for an addict.)

Given my love of cupcakes and recent daydreams of working in a cupcake shop, I believed I would be a natural with the Big Top Cupcake.  I even went so far as to take some liberties with the cake mix by adding in chocolate chips (I really know how to shake things up and get creative in the kitchen).  But the Big Top instructions for baking were vague, saying I should follow the cake mix instructions for timing and heat.  

The only easy part was putting the batter in the bakeware.

A half an hour later I had a crisp, dry outer Big Top with a gooey center.  After another 30 minutes minutes in the oven, the outside was as hard as a rock, but the center finally looked quasi-edible.  Still in denial and determined to make the Big Top a success, I made a bourbon butter cream icing in an attempt to redeem my jumbo cupcake.  Even though I waited until the cupcake cooled, it rejected the icing like a bad haircut.  

Will everyone's face light up when they see this king-sized cupcake??

Not only did the Big Top refuse to cooperate with my increasingly desperate attempts to make it at least attractive, if not edible, but it also called into question my future as a cupcake natural.  Exhausted from the hours and emotional energy I'd lost to the fruitless endeavor, I took the bourbon icing and left the kitchen shaken to the core.

Later, my roommate found me comatose, with a half-eaten bowl of bourbon icing.  It was not my finest moment.  I incoherently told her about the traumatic episode, and she suggested that I cook the Big Top longer at a lower temperature (maybe 300 degrees).  Brilliant.  This weekend, things will be different.  I just know it.