To classify the two in the same category would be to say that the Gaylene Regine was refrigerator art. When pastry has its own given name, it has ascended (like its namesake) to the echelon of legend.

Too large to fit in the refrigerator without rearranging shelves, it was a resplendent in all its chocolaty goodness, beckoning unto all, "Come hither. There it smack dab in the center of the kitchen table. Taste of my rich and caloric pleasures." This was not your typical white cake with le frosting and "Happy Birthday" illegibly scribbled on the top. Poured liberally over the entire culinary construct is a boatload of vanilla icing and enough chocolate coating to overflow Lake Shasta. Rather I should expressly order the "Excalibur" from our local bakery. It is the width of Texas and the height of Colorado. Inside, it is layered; white cake, chocolate cake, white, chocolate, and repeat. It was my wife's birthday and she specifically asked me NOT to pick up an ordinary run of the mill, everyday cake.

Flowing abundantly between the layers is a ganache, a sweet creamy chocolate filling with enough sugar to support a battalion of dentists in their life's work.