Mug cakes. Let me count the ways I love/hate you.
1. I love you because you suck so very, very much that people come to my blog to read about the carnage.
2. I hate you because you turn out a spongey mess every. goddamn. time. (The picture below is a publicity photo recreation of the carnage. The same exact thing happened the second time I did it.)
3. I love you because you are the epitome of dessert sadness. You mean that I have given up on having friends to share my cake with, so I’ll just make one for me, and me alone. Alooooooone.
4. I hate you because it takes a bazillion ingredients to make you and by the time I get all that shit out and assemble it, I might as well just bake a fucking cake.
Mug cake, I can’t quit you. That’s why I decided to try this pumpkin spice mug cake in honor of the season.
We started off about like I expected. A bazillion ingredients. And some substitutions, because dudes, I was not going to go to the grocery store on the evening before Thanksgiving. (Except then I did anyway because I was out of tonic for my Tom Collins and my mother in law needed celery. It was as bad as you think.)
I did not have canola oil, so I subbed olive oil, and I did not have milk, so I subbed coconut milk. No big, I think.
You know how sometimes your brown sugar turns into an impenetrable brick? Yeah, that. But I managed to mostly break it up and mix it in with the other dry ingredients.
Then I added the wet ingredients. And now I have an excuse to make a pumpkin pie I guess, because I have a whole can of pumpkin puree open, minus a tablespoon and a half of it that’s in this damn mug.
Here it is all mixed up (and blurry because I not only fail at Baking For One, but also at photography). You will note that there’s not much in there. This is not only a single serving of pumpkin cake, but a single serving of pumpkin cake for the self-loather. It’s seriously like three bites worth of cake.
I put it in the microwave for one minute, and when it came out it actually didn’t look as bad as I thought it would. it was not in the shape of a mug lollipop or anything, and did not really resemble a sponge. Not really.
There were some spongey bits, it’s true, and some of the bricked brown sugar didn’t quite dissolve, but on the whole, it was pleasantly moist. (There’s that word again. Sorry.)
I ate it on the couch in my pajamas alone with the light off because that seemed fitting for a one-serving cake. I may have shed a single, perfect tear into the empty mug when I was done. I don’t even want to think about why you would be eating this for Thanksgiving because if you can’t find a relative to annoy on Thanksgiving, when can you?
Anyway, I hope you don’t need a single serving of Thanksgiving dessert, but in case you do, this one passes.