Have Three Cakes and Eat Them Too
a first wedding anniversary reflection
Hi there,
Welcome back to Twirlable Pasta, and welcome to new subscribers! I hope summer has been going well for you and yours.
I've been basking in the relative simplicity of my summer. One of its highlights for me was not actually an event as much as the reminiscence of one: the commemoration of our wedding day, or in other words, our first wedding anniversary. My husband Gabe and I celebrated the occasion last month by bookshop-hopping and having a nice dinner out in the city. This was a stark contrast to all the excitement that went into wedding planning and all the loving reunions marking our big weekend last summer. Both situations, however, were equally wonderful ways to celebrate love—and big life decisions.
We got married last July in Gabe's hometown of Bozeman at a venue 20 minutes from where he grew up: an early-20th-century yellow barn, with a view of the Rockies—the Bridger mountain range, more specifically—and open fields as our backdrop.
In our early days of dating, we always joked that Gabe was the exotic one in the relationship: Everyone knows where New York is, but when I'd tell family and friends I was seeing someone from Bozeman, there was an immediate need to resort to Google Maps for a geography lesson. When my Pakistani family living all over the globe began planning their trips to Bozeman, their preparations resembled those made for an exotic destination wedding, evoking the reverse of what white Americans experience before attending their first ceremony in a foreign locale. There was the anticipation of both culture shock and the hope to purchase and don local traditional attire (cowboy boots). Inquiries were made about bucking broncos, barn etiquette, bear spray, gun laws, and geysers, with some citing the hit television series Yellowstone as a reference.
Of course, once situated in Montana, which wasn’t the easiest feat due to unpredictable US domestic connecting flights, everyone fell fully in love with the gorgeousness of the landscape—at peak green in mid July—and the hospitality of our newly extended family.
"My stereotypes of Montana have been completely shattered," one uncle concluded at the end of the week. (I have since received multiple requests for a family reunion anniversary celebration in Montana).
The day before our wedding, we held a mehndi, or henna ceremony, at a recreation center in a local park. While I took care of organizing most elements of our wedding day, my mom took control of this day, more in line with her familiar traditions, coordinating with family members to bring bangles and decor from Pakistan and England (i.e. Pakistan No. 2). Aunts on both sides took charge of flower sourcing, garland making, and henna mixing. Cousins prepared coordinated dances. Gabe and I wore outfits designed by a multitalented friend of the family. Their color was chosen to perfectly match the secondary blue-green tones in the intricate red dupatta that I wore: This was the very one my mom wore on her own wedding day, 40 years earlier. Gabe’s parents supplied their own home furniture and rugs to create a focal point in the room, where the two of us would be ceremoniously seated. Ultimately, a Bozeman rec center was completely transformed into a Lahore (or Birmingham/London) mehndi venue.
At a henna ceremony, it's traditional for aunts and other older generation members to feed the new couple bites of sweets along with their offerings of a dab of henna and blessings for the reunion. There wasn't a mithai shop in the Bozeman vicinity from where we could order these traditional sweets, but fortunately this incidence lined up nicely with my specific request that no one smuggle these overly sweet treats in. Despite my notorious sweet tooth, I've always felt badly for the couples who have no choice but to take bite after bite of these saccharine syrupy sweets, sometimes having someone stuff their face while still in the process of chewing another glob of pure sugar—all while managing somehow to smile for photos in between, the prospect of a proper dinner hours away. Getting an instant migraine was a tradition I was happy for us to sacrifice.
Instead, our family hand fed us bites of date bars, also known in some parts of the world as matrimonial cakes. These were custom baked by my mother-in-law Kristi; they’re a favorite recipe of Gabe's, and are newly beloved by me. I was hungry, and these delicious bars—just sweet enough—doubled as a ceremonial symbol and an ideal repeat appetizer for peckish newly-weds-to be.
Weddings are always personal, involving those nearest and dearest to us: What are weddings if not a celebration of the relationships with the most important people in our lives? But there was an extra layer of the personal that fully personalized our celebration. Aside from our own involvement and that of our parents, each aspect of our wedding day was made possible thanks to someone special, and in most cases, in attendance.
Our friend Hayley assembled my very natural, glamorous, and functional updo. My wedding dress—a rose gold lehnga with intricate golden threadwork and tiny red flowers—was dreamed up from scratch by a designer in my dad’s family hometown of Lahore. Rather than accessorizing as an afterthought, our starting point and inspiration for my outfit was a matching set of a golden necklace and earrings I’d planned to wear: These, like the dupatta I wore for my mehndi, were also items my mother wore on her own wedding day.
Gabe’s mom crafted my bridal bouquet, creating a “spilling, thrilling, and filling” medley of peonies, pink roses, snapdragons, scabiosa, feverfew, nigella pods, dianthus, sweet peas, dahlias, and lilies. Along with her Flower Committee of beloved aunts, she concocted a fairytale setting, arranging all the dinner table floral settings, corsages, and boutonnières. One morning before the wedding, my father-in-law (and botanist) Matt handpicked wild Montana grasses to perfectly complement my bouquet flowers and the other flower arrangements.
Our one and only sibling, Gabe's sister Amanda, presided over our ceremony, replete with moving blessings from each side of the family: a beautiful Irish prayer and a recitation of al-Fatiha, the opening verses of the Qur’an, meant to acknowledge new beginnings.
I experienced a most magical moment walking down the aisle accompanied not just by my parents but by the ethereal vocals and guitar playing of one of my oldest friends Renata. One of my favorite songs just happens to be “Avalanche” from her second album, and to hear her personalized and acoustic solo rendition of it for this most important day was unforgettable. Our amazing cocktail hour music was organized by one of Gabe's oldest friends Aaron, and proceeded to include talented friends from both sides joining in the jam. Our dear friend David photographed our wedding weekend, leaving us with stunning and dynamic snapshots of all our favorite people and moments.
A local Bozeman caterer, Doug—well known to a sizable number of our guests which also added to the personalized feel—was in charge of the hors d'oeuvres and dinner. Despite being the bride, I am happy to report that I did actually eat my fill on my wedding day. And as a Former Bride, please allow me to fully endorse Eating At Your Wedding.
This finally brings us to cake. When Gabe and I got engaged during the pandemic—in his family home in Bozeman on Christmas Eve—his neighbors and family friends Alison and Charlie came by to congratulate us; they also insisted that we allow them to make our wedding cake.
Professional bakers who once ran a beloved cafe in town, they kept their word. A couple Christmases later, Alison and Charlie organized a wedding cake tasting for us, in the form of a sampling of deconstructed cake elements, so we could determine what we liked best.
Naturally, we were fans of all the elements, and their immediate decision was that they would make us two cakes: a tiered white wedding cake and a chocolate one for the chocolate lovers that we are.
Our wedding cake was a three-tiered lemon curd wedding cake.
But in the end, there wasn’t just a second cake to elevate the occasion.
There was, in fact, also a third.
The other two cakes, then, that Alison and Charlie dished up (No Big Deal!) did nothing less than satisfy my chocoholic tendencies, honed from a very young age.
They were a gold-flecked opera cake with perfect chocolate ganache….
….and a flourless chocolate chestnut torte. (Whipped cream and raspberry sauce not pictured!)
When I say these cakes disappeared, I truly mean that they vanished within the half hour. No sooner had Gabe and I dutifully cut the three-tiered cake that a line began to assemble by the dessert table, with many guests coming in later for seconds (and thirds, no doubt, in order to try all three slices of heaven).
Luckily our wedding coordinators Emma and Abbey saved us two plates with a sampling of all three slices each, which we carried in hand as we were driven to our honeymoon suite. Otherwise, our decision to have a romantic sunset photo shoot would have been to blame for having wedding cakes but not being able to eat them too.
Observant readers may well be scratching their heads wondering if today is actually Sunday, the day this newsletter usually comes out. If this resonates, my question for you today is: what does "day of the week" mean in the summer, anyway?! Consider this an offering reflective of one of the last weeks where the actual day ceases to matter. Biweekly Sunday posts resume in September!
As another offering for these last weeks of summer, I’m happy to share our wedding dance party playlist below. We danced that night away with our friends and family members across four generations. Our guests kept the dance floor full—and the creaky upper level floor of the barn ominously shaking.
The dancing success was in large part the result of the efforts of our resident DJ Groom, who designed a seamless playlist of bangers that epitomized “Montakistani”: the moniker I coined for our festivities.
Here’s the playlist, which still remains in the order that our DJ chose for that night!
Enjoy the rest of the summer, and enjoy these tunes that sealed so many wonderful memories for us—whether you’re on the road, having a solo dance party at home, or sharing it with other loved ones.
Have a wonderful week, and until soon,
Insia
Insia, once again your words capture the day with such heart! It was a beautiful week of celebration and love. A melding of families and friends - not to mention flavors! Keep them coming ❤️
A most wonderful and memorable occasion relived again with your beautiful recounting