Sioned & Lowri — three tiers
◆Welsh honey · Sicilian lemon · garden sweet peas
We added a fourth tiny tier for the dog. Nobody ate it.
Wedding cakes by commission
Élodie takes four wedding commissions a month — rarely more, often fewer. Each begins with a long, unhurried conversation in the shop and ends with a cake that tastes like you, not a trend. No sugar roses, no piped signatures, no fondant unless you truly want it. Welsh butter buttercream, seasonal fruit, and a sponge that waits well through speeches.
How the conversation goes
Wedding cakes live or die on a handful of honest choices — who you are, what's in season, how the room is set, and whether you actually like marzipan. Élodie handles every commission personally, start to finish. There is no sales team and no brochure.
It usually goes like this, though each couple bends the order.
Tell us the date, the rough number of guests, where it's being held, and — if you know — two or three flavours you've been thinking about. Long notes are welcome. Short ones too.
Usually on a Tuesday afternoon between bakes. If your date is already full, she'll tell you so straight away and point you kindly towards someone good.
Two hours on a Tuesday morning over coffee. Six flavour pairings, a sketch pad, a stack of old cake photos. You leave with a handwritten proposal and roughly a week to think.
Once you've decided, we hold the date with a fifteen-percent deposit. The final design is locked at six weeks out — the flowers can still move with the season.
Built at the venue by Élodie herself, on a linen runner with fresh-cut stems. No fuss, no photographer-ready unveiling — it's just there, quietly, by the time guests arrive.
Flavours we keep returning to
Llancarfan honey sponge, bright lemon curd, Pembrokeshire butter cream. Pale yellow all the way through. Reads gentle; finishes long.
Madagascar 72% ganache, Kentish morello cherry soaked in kirsch, sponge made with brown butter. The cake most grooms ask for and most guests finish.
Sicilian pistachio frangipane, rose-water crème, fresh Welsh raspberries when the season runs long enough. The spring and early-summer cake.
A cake that keeps well — whole-almond sponge, Seville marmalade, bitter-orange buttercream. Winter weddings and anyone with Spanish family.
Loose-leaf Earl Grey sponge, roasted Denbigh plum, a thin lid of crème fraîche ganache. Made for September and for people who don't like cake-cake.
Anglesey salted caramel, toasted black walnut praline, dark sponge. The cake Élodie thought she'd retire and couldn't.
Tahitian vanilla génoise, Vale strawberries at the peak of June, a whisper of elderflower syrup. A classic June cake that earns the word.
Cakes we've made before
Sioned & Lowri — three tiers
◆Welsh honey · Sicilian lemon · garden sweet peas
We added a fourth tiny tier for the dog. Nobody ate it.
Ffion & Huw — two tiers
◆Dark chocolate · morello cherry · blackberry
A November cake, cut at 11pm, gone by midnight.
Hannah & Rhys — one tier
◆Pistachio · rose · Welsh raspberry
Thirty-four guests. One of the best cakes I've made.
Anna & James — three tiers
◆Vanilla · Welsh strawberry · elderflower
The ivy was cut from the couple's garden that morning.
Four commissions a month leaves us forty-eight cakes a year — this is a quiet corner of the archive. Élodie brings a folder of photographs to every tasting.
Élodie's note to couples
I say this gently, because wedding-cake photographs have trained all of us to think about silhouette first. Your cake will be photographed once, cut twice, and eaten by a hundred people standing on their feet at eleven at night. The sponge matters. The buttercream matters. The fondant almost never does.
I'd rather make you something simple and properly made than something tall and impressive that doesn't survive the marquee. When you write, tell me what you ate at the best meal of your year — that is usually where we start.
Write to Élodie
No form is the right form for a wedding cake, but this gives Élodie the bones. She reads every message herself — usually on a Tuesday afternoon — and writes back within the week.
Questions couples usually ask
Pulled from the first emails of the last two years. If what you need isn't here, write — Élodie prefers it that way.
Because no two of our cakes share a price. Tiers, flavours, the number of guests, the venue, whether there's sugarwork involved — all of it moves the number. An honest figure needs an honest conversation first.
As a very rough guide, recent commissions have fallen between £450 for a single-tier and £1,600 for a three-tier with fresh flowers and delivery.
Nine to twelve months is the sweet spot. We hold four commissions a month and the May–September weekends close off nine months ahead without fail. Winter weddings can often be booked closer to four months out.
Last-minute enquiries (under six weeks) are rare but not impossible — write anyway; Élodie sometimes has a gap.
Yes — always Élodie, always in our own temperature-kept van. We cover South Wales as standard (Cardiff, the Vale, Newport, Brecon, Carmarthen). For venues further afield we add a mileage cost and, if we're honest about it, a cup of tea when we arrive.
All three, and all from scratch in-house — not bought-in bases. We can build an entire cake that way, or an individual tier for a particular guest with the rest kept traditional. Allergen handling is separated in the kitchen; we'll ask for the details when we meet.
We don't do sugar flowers as a house style — Élodie prefers fresh stems from your florist or from the garden at the venue that morning. Fondant we will use if you genuinely love it, but we'll always try to steer you toward buttercream or ganache first. They simply taste better.
Tastings are held in the shop on Tuesday mornings by appointment — once we've exchanged a few emails and your date looks free. It keeps the conversation intentional, and lets Élodie prepare six pairings especially for you rather than a generic box.
You are, of course, always welcome to walk in and try whatever is on the counter that fortnight. That's the honest tasting.
Still have a question worth asking? Write it — we'd rather answer properly than guess.
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