The thermometer is the boss of the day.

Mirror glaze behaves in a small range. Too warm and it runs off like rain. Too cool and it sets mid-pour and turns lumpy. The glaze wants a number and it doesn’t negotiate.

Gelatin sits in a small bowl of water. It looks like nothing. It feels like cold skin when you pick it up.

Sugar goes into the pot again. Condensed milk. White chocolate. The same ingredients as before. Ordinary groceries turning into something that photographs well.

Steam rises, then stops rising. The spoon drags along the bottom of the pot. You can feel the thickness change. The chocolate melts and vanishes. The gelatin goes in and vanishes too.

Then it’s waiting.

The temperature drops one degree at a time. It takes longer than you want. There’s probably a faster way. There usually is. I stand there anyway.

I split the glaze between two bowls again. The purple one looks like wet paint. The white one looks like a new fridge.

The cakes come out of the freezer and they’re hard with cold. You can tap them with a fingernail and hear it.

Wire rack on a sheet pan. This is where the mess goes. Drips have to go somewhere.

The pour is a one-take job. You aim for the center. You tip the bowl. The glaze hits the top and spreads on its own, finding the edge. It slides down the sides in thick curtains.

The sound is quiet. A soft rush, then slower as it cools on contact.

A drip hits my thumb. It burns in a small, clean way. I wipe it on a dish towel and the towel gets a purple smear that will stay there.

The first cake turns glossy in seconds. The surface tightens and smooths. It shows you everything you did earlier. A tiny bump becomes a feature. A bubble becomes a spotlight.

The second cake gets the white glaze. Same motion. Same commitment. The white looks expensive even before it’s done dripping. It also looks like it would show fingerprints.

I can see my face again in the finished tops. Two warped reflections in two different colors. Same person hovering. Same overhead light.

The drips set on the rack and turn into little glass stalactites. The sheet pan collects puddles. Purple glass. White glass. They harden fast at the edges.

Cleanup starts right away or it starts tomorrow with a butter knife.

There’s dye on my knuckles that soap won’t touch. The sink gets streaks where the glaze cooled on stainless steel. It looks like spilled nail polish.

I run hot water and it doesn’t help much. I scrape with the edge of the wooden spoon. Sugar makes its own decisions when it cools.

Both cakes go into the fridge. Glossy in the cold light. They look finished. They look like they belong to someone else.

The sink still has glassy stains.

I’ll chip them later.