(Image: Tina Tiller)
(Image: Tina Tiller)

KaiApril 25, 2023

What we can learn from the not-so-sweet TikTok drama over a birthday cake

(Image: Tina Tiller)
(Image: Tina Tiller)

A dispute over a sprinkle-covered birthday cake has gone viral on social media, demonstrating the risks of running a business – and of being a tricky customer – in the digital age. But is US$75 too much to charge for a rainbow cake?

As far as foods go, few are as universally symbolic as cake. It was the Ancient Greeks who first marked birthdays with cake, but now their sweet presence is part of the celebratory ebbs and flows of everyday life. Birthdays, anniversaries, babies, weddings, farewells, breakups… and Fridays can all call for abundantly layered sponge rounds smeared with ganache or buttercream, brilliantly coloured whorls of icing and sugary piped borders. They might be topped with candles or a freckling of sprinkles and finished with bespoke messages. Cakes conjure celebration by bringing art and sweetness to our plates.

As we all know, a lot rests on cake, so it’s perhaps unsurprising that when they go wrong, things can turn sour quickly. Enter: #CakeGate.

So what is #CakeGate? 

Helpfully, TikTok has provided a new platform for workers to broadcast their experiences with rude customers and unreasonable clients. The many videos on the app from service industry workers detailing outrageous customer demands and abusive treatment reflect a reality that’s antithetical to the old adage that the customer is always right – rather that the customer is most often wrong. But one of these videos is going viral for the wrong reason.

It began earlier this month when US baker Kylie Allen, owner of Kylie Kakes in Princeton, West Virginia, posted a TikTok video captioned “This customer bashed me so hard” about a disagreement she had with a customer over a layered birthday cake. 

“Today I had one of the worst client experiences since opening the storefront,” she begins her narration in the video, before recounting the situation while making a similar cake. She explains that the customer ordered an eight-inch, six-layer rainbow cake with vanilla buttercream and the words, “Happy Birthday Trilby” written atop. The finished product, she says, retails for $75.99 (NZ$123.75).

Allen says that upon arrival, the customer became upset about the rainbow sprinkles on the cake as she assumed it wouldn’t have any. That’s when the situation turned sour. After explaining that the sprinkles were part of their in-house style, Allen says the customer became “super defensive and very rude about the price of the cake”. 

Rather than sympathy, which Allen might have been expecting from the video, many of the 6.9 million people who have now watched the video seemed to instead firmly agree with the customer: the cake in question was an overpriced mess. 

Screenshots from tiktok of the controversial cake. 'Happy birthday trilby' is written messily in black on top. The cake is scattered with hundreds and thousands and a messy smear of white icing.
The controversial cake in question. (Image: TikTok screenshot)

And that was the end of it, I presume?

Eventually, the cake maker turned off the comments, but that did little to stop a slew of reaction videos on TikTok. In fact, it might have just encouraged it.

Things only got worse from there. A few days later, the customer uploaded a series of TikToks telling her side of the story, including pictures of the actual cake. The first video was simple yet effective: a slideshow of pictures of the cake – featuring a decidedly sloppily written message, messily-applied sprinkles and a haphazard smear of white icing on top – with audio of an off-key recorder cover of ‘My Heart Will Go On’ by Celine Dion. 

The second video featured screenshots of their heated Facebook Messenger conversation. One of the messages from Allen reads “a disrespectful person is no good customer of mine”, to which the customer replies, “It’s not disrespectful to expect quality. It’s disrespectful to serve your reliable customers something like this.”

Sounds messy (like the cake)

As tends to happen online, the relatively mundane situation took on a life of its own. And from the drama emerged an endless tangle of TikTok recaps, explainers and commentaries under the #CakeGate hashtag. Plentiful videos and comments raised concerns about the cake maker’s lack of gloves while applying sprinkles. Many took issue with the haphazard appearance of her cakes for sale compared to their price tags. A few were suspicious that the baker had been using stock image pictures of cakes on her social media (Allen has refuted those claims). Some, pointing to what looks like Betty Crocker boxes in her videos, accused the baker of using boxed cake mix. 

Scores of TikTok cake makers demonstrated how they would create the same rainbow cake. Others were bothered by her defensive response to the customer complaint and decision to raise the issue on TikTok in the first place. Numerous marketing and PR experts even offered free video advice on how they would have handled the situation (hint: not at all how Allen handled it).

Images of other Kylie Kakes cakes. (Images: Facebook/TikTok)

Ha, typical Americans with their drama

We’re not immune to cake drama in Aotearoa either. In 2019, The Caker baker Jordan Rondel shared an image of a flower-garnished wedding cake she had made along with a screenshot of an email from the bride-to-be demanding a refund and describing it as the “ugliest cake” they’d ever seen. It sparked heated discussion, with some critical of Rondel’s decision to share the screenshot, but many more critical of the customer.

Last year, a mother, who was disappointed by her daughter’s 21st birthday cake, took the cake maker to the Disputes Tribunal. The mother told the tribunal, which eventually dismissed the case, that the cake lacked the marbled blue buttercream filling between the cake layers that she had expected.

But the #CakeGate controversy seems to have unfolded in such a heated way because of its uniquely online presence. And the reliance of small food makers on social media and online reviews often only fuels these kinds of controversies.

Like Kylie Kakes, Auckland-based cake makers Zi started their business online. “Our business was born from social media and is still primarily a social media-based business,” says co-owner Paloma Harada. “There have been a lot of positives associated with having an online business, such as being able to connect with our customers 24/7, sharing our processes, a look at the behind the scenes of running a business and a look into us and the brand, but these can sometimes overlap with the negative side of things,” she says. 

“There is constant pressure to be so connected and be so prominent in the digital world, where it’s almost a different realm of reality.”

A red and yellow vintage-style cake by Zi.
Zi’s traditional cake which costs NZ$115 for the six-inch size. (Image: Supplied)

But, she says, “if we were to be in the same situation I would never take it online and openly complain about the customer to the rest of the world. It leaves you in an open-ended argument with people from across the globe.”

Surely $123 is too much for a rainbow cake though, right?

Harada believes there are some customer misconceptions around the price of cakes, saying that while ingredients are often factored in by those wanting a cake, packaging, labour, electricity, skill of the cake maker, specialist equipment, rent of a commercially approved space and GST are often overlooked. Zi’s ornately decorated cakes start at around $65 and she says “it’s hard for a customer to factor in all the costs that are associated with making a cake. Typically the biggest cost is always the time it takes to make and decorate a cake and it’s something most people don’t even consider when they see the price.”

So is the customer at the centre of #CakeGate exemplifying this misconception? Harada doesn’t think so. For comparison, one of Zi’s meticulously iced six-inch cakes that serves 10-16 people costs NZ$115 – equating to $7 less than the controversial rainbow cake.

“For someone to not have the cake which they expected to have for such a special event and occasion, they are entitled to be upset about it,” Harada says. “[A cake is] often a focal point and to not be able to show off and share it with others will leave anyone rather disappointed, especially when there’s a price tag attached.”

Keep going!
Anzacs hot out of the oven (Photo: Amanda Thompson)
Anzacs hot out of the oven (Photo: Amanda Thompson)

KaiApril 25, 2023

Don’t mention the war: On grandparents and Anzac biscuits

Anzacs hot out of the oven (Photo: Amanda Thompson)
Anzacs hot out of the oven (Photo: Amanda Thompson)

Amanda Thompson doesn’t really do Anzac Day. But what she does do is remember the people she knew who had a lifetime to remember stuff they didn’t really want to, because of a war they didn’t ask for. And she does make Anzac biscuits.

First published in 2021.

All my grandparents suffered the war, like all the grandparents of anyone my age. Some of them two wars, even. It was hard to imagine as kids, as we watched our walk-shorts-and-socks wearing, grey-haired and church-going elders pottering about in their golden years. It also didn’t help that nobody we knew would ever talk about living through such an extraordinary thing. My whole class once found out that our otherwise gentle and bespectacled art teacher flew a British bomber across Europe; performing bravely under intense cross-examination from a bunch of nine-year-olds, he refused to tell us how many Germans he’d killed. “I like to think,” he replied firmly, “that I didn’t kill anyone.” I suppose if I was him, I’d like to spend the rest of my life thinking that too.

Sometimes you’d get the funny stories, the ordinary ones about how the baby (your dad) once wore pyjamas made out of sugar bags because of the war, how Great Aunty Whatsit drove tractors because of the war, how old Uncle Thingy met his wife at a dance in some posh home he would never, ever have been invited to if it wasn’t for how much he looked like Clark Gable in his uniform because of the war. But mostly, our grandparents lived up to their moniker as The Silent Generation and didn’t tell us much about it at all – especially not the heroic and terrifyingly violent bits. We got those stories from history books and Hollywood, just like everyone else. 

A well-mixed mix (Photo: Amanda Thompson)

In 1994 when the 50th Anniversary of the Battle of Cassino came up, my poppa put his name down to be one of the veterans who travelled back to Italy with the NZ Army. As if a door had been cracked open to the light, he surprised us all by suddenly beginning to constantly talk about his war – sometimes in Italian. My nana was bewildered and indignant. “I had no idea he could do that. I’ve been married to him for nearly 50 years and he’s never said a word!” 

Poppa even brought out his souvenirs. They were the usual stuff you bring back after a trip – little, light things you can squeeze into a bag. A ripped-up fascist flag riddled with bullet holes; an Italian newspaper; some black and white photos of young men smiling, sitting in jeeps, next to camp fires, holding cups. A couple of photos that were just the backs of hundreds of people’s heads, blurry sacks of something hanging from a building in the distance. The blurry sacks turn out to be the bodies of Mussolini and his mistress. 

The stories got worse, which is to be expected I guess, because so did Poppa’s war. He lied about his age so he could enlist and be sent to Europe at 17, and I imagine he really regretted that later. He never said. But he did end up getting stuck in post-war Europe in some sort of military policing type role until 1947, when he came home desperately ill with what he called jaundice and what my nana called “all that drinking”. He didn’t really deny it. He said you had to drink, everyone drank; a bloke could go doolally with what he saw, without a drink. I wonder what went through his head every Anzac Day, every year. Maybe you could be forgiven for just wanting to get blitzed and forget about it altogether.

A selection of optional extras (Photo: Amanda Thompson)

I don’t really do Anzac Day myself. And the more years we put between ourselves and the World Wars, the more odd the whole commemoration seems. I don’t like war or armies particularly, no matter whose. I don’t want to have a party about it. It also seems a bit mad to me that I have to now add a disclaimer for the benefit of the knee-jerk fringe of the comments section and say YES of course I support veterans and NO I don’t blame individual soldiers – my grandfathers, for example – for just doing what they were told. I’m just not sure I want to glorify the fact that people just did what they were told either. You see my conundrum? 

What I will do though is remember the people I knew who had a lifetime to remember stuff they didn’t really want to, because of a war they didn’t ask for. 

And I will make Anzac biscuits.

I have trialled a lot of versions of this recipe over the years – and a lot of different ingredients. I think it was originally from a 1990s Australian cooking magazine, scandalously. This recipe is huge but you can easily halve it if you want. I also like adding extra bits to my Anzacs; today I have chosen sultanas, sesame seeds and sunflower seeds to enhance the standard oat and coconut flavours. Pecans or cranberries or pumpkin seeds are also good. A lot of people might protest this variation of a classic but then a lot of my forebears fought for my freedom to lay down the yoke of tyrannical recipe shaming, and far be it for me to ignore that sacrifice now.  

Careless blobbery (Photo: Amanda Thompson)

NOT SO CLASSIC ANZAC BISCUITS

  • 1 cup of sugar
  • 2 cups of rolled oats
  • 2 cups of coconut
  • 2 cups of flour
  • *2 cups sultanas
  • *1 cup mixed seeds or chopped nuts
  • 300g butter
  • ⅔ cup golden syrup (warm it up in the microwave and it pours out easier – you’re welcome)
  • 2 tablespoons boiling water
  • 2 teaspoons baking soda
The finished Anzacs in all their glory (Photo: Amanda Thompson)

Preheat the oven to 160ºC. Put all the dry ingredients, except the baking soda, in a large bowl.

Melt the butter and golden syrup in a large pot and bring to a boil briefly. Remove from the heat, add the baking soda and boiling water, hokey pokey styles, and then pour the lot into the mixing bowl. 

Place a spoonful onto baking paper however you wish – for a neat shape roll into balls then flatten with a fork, or just dump a splodge and run, I won’t judge. They all end up tasting the same. 

Put in the oven and bake for 15 minutes, then cool before enjoying in an appropriate state of solemn remembrance, with a cup of tea for my nana or a crate of beers for my poppa. Cheers.

*These are the optional bits. If you are a dull person who only eats dull biscuits, just substitute these ingredients for equal amounts of dull oats and coconut.