Once, I made a chocolate mint cake for someone’s birthday. We’re talking a big-deal kinda birthday cake, tall and proud, with Valrhona, fresh mint leaves steeped in cream, chocolate curls and piped borders. When I was finished, it looked like every Baking 101 technique out there had assaulted the defenseless, 10×6 confection. It took days to complete. And it only took a split second to devastate.

The cake was transported from my kitchen to the birthday site, a mere 10-minute drive down a residential surface street. I sat in the passenger seat with the plated cake in my lap. Sometime during the drive, I remember blinking, and the next thing I knew my seatbelt had tightened forcefully, and the heavy weight on my lap was suddenly absent. While my friend cursed the car that had caused the sudden stop, I sat stunned, staring at an almond-crusted pile of shit at my feet. It may as well have been steaming.

Cakes don’t travel in my lap anymore. At the very least, they travel in wide boxes with slip-proof rubber mats underneath. Since then, I’ve had a few more rounds of travel mishaps — like a car floor covered in cream of mushroom soup and butterscotch pudding after yet another sudden stop — but for the most part, things have remained unscathed. A homemade three-tiered wedding cake survived a three-hour trip from Orange County, Calif., to Santa Barbara, and this strawberry cream cheese cake recently arrived at a San Diego housewarming party in near-perfect condition. Thank goodness for that. 

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Being in a sour mood doesn’t always have to mean that you want to plant crossed arms in front of your chest or scrunch up your face and hold it there for as long as you can. Being in a sour mood can be a good thing.

Like when you’re in the mood for something sour, for example.

I for one am a big advocate for putting sour cream in quick breads like muffins, pancakes and coffee cake. Sour cream adds a moistness (fat! Yes!) and tang without even a mutter of its presence. If it’s added in the right quantity, you won’t even know it’s there. It’s ummph, and just because it’s pucker-worthy doesn’t mean it’s having a bad day.

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In my early years of college, I was editor-in-chief of our campus newspaper. The first decision I made under that title had nothing to do with breaking news or investigative stories, however. Instead of getting down to business, I planned a party.

It was kind of business-related. I thought it would be cool to have a summer bonfire at one of the local beaches as kind of a get-to-know informal event, so editors could befriend some of the incoming writers and vice versa. We’d have a united staff, I thought, bonded equally by our love of sniffing out the news and the strong friendships that would stem out of this gathering. It was gonna rock.

And initially, at least 30 staff members also thought it was gonna rock, all agreeing to come after we settled on a date in August that worked with everyone’s schedule. As it drew nearer, I started stocking up on goodies like booze and s’more ingredients.

On the day of the bonfire, people slowly trickled in — until the attendee flow just stopped completely. In all, seven people, including myself, showed up. I’ll never forget the moment we gathered around the fire, outnumbered by the boxes and grocery bags that lay before us. I sat there lost in my thoughts of failure in bringing our staff together. But then I heard a laugh, breaking my concentration. “Well, we can have a bottle each,” he said, pointing to the cooler full of vodka, rum and juice. Hmm. There was a bright side after all.

So there we were, all seven of us, with a gazillion boxes of graham crackers, a boatload of family-size Hershey bars and an estimated 3 pounds of marshmallows. And at least 10 bottles of top-shelf rum and vodka.

We drank like kings that night.

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