so it’s been about a year since i first stumbled into adriano zumbo patissier. right now, there’s a big pink 1 in the window; happy birthday, zumbo! truly, an occasion that calls for cake.

i haven’t been in there a lot lately — a non-conducive combination of feeling poor and fat — but in the last week i seem to be able to fit into my jeans again (and i figure any day now an invoice will get paid), so friday saw me in the little corridor of a shop, eyeing the beauties behind glass.

and here’s the thing. friday mid-morning, it was just me in the shop and the boy behind the counter. it was like the old days, when i could — and did — ask any number of questions about the new cakes, like, “what’s this, like the cloud 9, except with the green powder?” (it’s a pine-lime custardy thing under meringue, like a splice.) or, “what’s this custardy-tarty-looking thing?” (it’s a custard tart), and i wouldn’t be in anyone’s way. these days, it’s a line of ardent admirers wanting pastries, and no time for lingering.

sigh. it was a great place to linger.

just before the next barrage of cake-seeking women hit the shop, i made away with miss marple.

all at once prim and saucy, she is a sturdy lass with a delicate bonnet of snap-crackle toffee and a petticoat ruffle of french crepe. the peekaboo through the sugar is enticing, no? a melange of slippery sliced strawberries and orange segments, tossed in grand marnier.

bundled up in the chewy crepe is a maple sugar mascarpone with more fruit for good measure. the mascarpone is smooth and custardy, and laced with grand marnier too — a hidden trap for those of us so, so allergic to alcohol — but it is so, so good i ate through the disturbing tightness that ensued. hem.

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a few weeks ago, the kid and i had a zumbo picnic date with the little matchbox girl. but it has become quite clear that a zumbo picnic is at odds with the ways of the universe, because — you remember the first two rained-out events — it was third time unlucky: as picnic hour approached, so did the big black rain clouds. by the time we stepped out of the shop, fat droplets were pelting down.

so we went to starbucks.

they were nice about it, at starbucks, turning a blind eye as i unwrapped my brown paper package, unsheathed my knife from my picnic basket (so much for positive affirmation), and divided up the handsome cake within.

and i’m sorry to have to type these words, it really irks me, but the unfortunate name of this cake is… “piste as she goes”.

-__-

because, yes, ok, there are pistachios in it. a pale green pistachio mousse actually, right on top, and it’s am-a-zing; bright with flavour. the subsequent chocolate mousse and caramel cinnamon ganache layers are luscious too. but as we delved deeper, into the slightly stale rice crispies in the praline riz souffle, and the slightly tough chocolate cake base, we became somewhat less enchanted. maybe the name was prophetic, after all.

if ever there was a contender for another glass version of a zumbo cake, this would be it. a tidy column of pistachio mousse, with a sash of chocolate and cinnamon — it would even be worth saying the name out loud for.