As a chocolate cake cooled on an evening I thought would be quiet, I began making ganache.

Just then my daughter Victoria arrived from work, followed by my daughter Lauren and granddaughter Adeline. Victoria’s boyfriend Tim wasn’t far behind.

Victoria got busy giving Adeline a manicure using press on nails while Lauren tasted the frosting.

“Something’s missing,” she said.

“It’s ganache,” I said. “It’s semi-sweet.”

“Our family will never go for that.”

Since the point was to serve the cake, I chose to follow Lauren’s advice and turn it into something more suited to my family’s taste.

Adeline ran to show me her new nails just as I added powdered sugar to the ganache.

“I want to help!” she said.

She added sugar and vanilla before whisking the mixture. We spread it on the cake then she started looking all over the floor.

“Victoria,” she said. “I’m missing two nails. What happened?”

“Well, they’ve got to be on the floor. Where else could they be?”

My daughter Monique popped in for a visit, took home a hunk of cake on a cake plate I’ll never get back and soon after she left my house she sent a text.

It was a picture of a slice of cake with a press on nail stuck in the frosting formerly known as ganache.

“Well that leaves just one missing nail now,” I texted back.

Tim said it was like finding the baby in the king cake and suggested we make it a tradition. I offered him a slice, which he politely refused.

The cake is slowly — and carefully — being consumed, but we still haven’t found the nail. Maybe I should sweep.

Ronny Michel may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com.