Cheryl Sherman discusses a day in the life at Ambrosia Bakery. Photo by Robert Giglio.

Cheryl Sherman stands proudly next to a gleaming case filled with trophies, the results of 17 years of hard work. She holds court at Ambrosia Bakery, a veritable bakery palace that produces some of the most beautiful and elaborate cakes in the country.

Cheryl, a certified cake decorator, and her husband Felix Sherman opened Ambrosia as a tiny 1,200 square foot bakery in 1993. Now it has grown to an 8,200 square foot bakery on Siegan Lane. Cheryl began decorating cakes in the 1980s and now oversees the wedding cake portion of the bakery.

Wedding cakes are given special care at Ambrosia, where the cakes can take on almost any form the customer can imagine, with beautifully painted flowers, pearls, ribbons, sparkles and an almost limitless supply of icing and cake. Cheryl even attended a national cake convention, sitting on a panel that included representatives such as Carlos, the star of the TV show ‘Ace of Cakes.’

“We can do anything a bride wants – [but] people in the South are more traditional,” Cheryl said.

Beginning with a process that includes the baking, layering and frosting of the cakes, wedding cakes can take anywhere from a day to a week to produce. Each wedding cake is hand-decorated and can range in price from $800 to $3,000, depending on the amount of decorating and fondant, a type of sheeted icing, used on the cakes. “We’re working on a cake right now for a bride in New Orleans that will easily run her about $3,000,” Cheryl said.

Photo by Robert Giglio.

Each wedding cake is made from scratch, and all require an entire team of bakers, layer stackers and decorators to produce the sugary masterpieces. Stepping into the kitchen is like walking into a Wonka factory wonderland of cake, icing and sugar. The sweet smell of freshly baked cake wafts through the room, and everyone busily spreads icing, pipes fruit-flavored filling or precisely measures where the next cake layer should go.

“We just put so much detail and attention into the cakes,” Cheryl said. She and the other decorators at Ambrosia have created cakes decorated with almost anything a customer can imagine, including ribbons, pearls, polka dots, figurines and flowers. Ambrosia has also created wedding cakes made of multiple smaller cakes, cupcakes or king cakes, and offers a variety of flavors from plain vanilla to pineapple.

Ambrosia takes orders for cakes six months to a year and a half in advance because of the high demand.“We can do anything in a cake, but we’re not like ‘Ace of Cakes.’ Some of our cakes are hand-painted, and ‘Ace of Cakes’ doesn’t even do that,” Cheryl said assuredly.

Though they maintain a more traditional rep, it’s apparent the cake makers at Ambrosia are capable of making any kind of cake, including a large E.T. cake stored in the walk-in refrigerator and a recent groom’s cake that was an exact replica of a fishing camp.

“I mean, if someone wants a cake in the $3,000 bracket like on ‘Ace of Cakes,’ I can give it to them. We do whatever the customer wants,” Cheryl said proudly.

An E.T.-shaped cake awaits delivery at Ambrosia Bakery. Photo by Robert Giglio.

Cheryl has entire books full of pictures of truly amazing cakes, including Tiger Stadium, a crawfish pot and a statue of Lady Justice. Some of the most creatively constructed cakes are the groom’s cakes, many of which have to have PVC pipes and dowel rods for support.

“As with any bakery, there’s always the potential for mistakes,” Cheryl said. “Of course, we make mistakes and have accidents, but it’s all about how you recover from them and handle them that prevents a disaster.”

She said with utmost confidence that mistakes are very rare because they work so closely with their customers. “I draw out the designs well before we start making the cakes. We’re very hands on and always make sure we get it right.”

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With a simple hand gesture from drum major Rob Dowie, members of the Tiger Band stand at attention. Trumpets, tubas, mellophones, piccolos and clarinets are held high in the air. Their owners march onto the field with stoic faces, held in time by the drum line’s cadence.

It’s hot today. Nothing out of the ordinary for this time of year, but that’s about to change. In a matter of seconds, the humidity in the air seems to condense as an afternoon shower starts to drench the band. This doesn’t deter them. In fact, they play louder and with more gusto as the rain intensifies. The music is soon replaced with cheers and excitement from the band.

“Don’t get distracted. It’s going to rain tomorrow, too,” Dowie shouts from his post above the field. “This is what makes us the best band in the country.

Many agree with him. The Tiger Band was unanimously voted the best band in the Southeastern Conference by SEC band directors in 1997. They won the Sudler Trophy just five years later, which proclaimed the Tiger Band to be the nation’s best collegiate marching band. After winning ESPN’s Battle of the Bands in 2009, the Louisiana Music Hall of Fame officially inducted the band at a Sept. 11 press conference at Lod Cook Alumni Center and again during halftime of the Sept. 12 football game against Vanderbilt.

Maintaining this standard of excellence is hard work. The band meets four to five times a week on the field where they practice for an hour and a half, gaining a one-hour class credit in return. Jordan Robelot, a tuba-playing freshman, says the exhilaration of Saturday night performances is worth every moment of practice.

“[It’s] like a rush,” she says. “Scary, exciting — like every emotion you can think of.”

The hard work is about to pay off and the band will feel the rush as game day arrives.

The musicians meet on the football team’s indoor practice field at 12:30 p.m., just hours before LSU is squared to take on Florida. They are a swelling mass of athletic shorts, gold Tiger Band t-shirts, black socks and plain white marching shoes.

Director of Bands Frank Wickes, who has been with the band for more than 30 years, watches them carefully during the two-and-a-half-hour practice. With two granddaughters holding small stuffed tigers by his side Wickes encourages the players.

“Today, when we are on display, representing everything this school is, I want you to show Florida what this thing is all about,” he says.

Then, as the music fills the metal walls of the practice facility, Wickes walks toward a line of trumpets. He beckons forth their music with calm, yet deliberate hand gestures.

Beyond the confines of this facility, University students and visitors are tailgating. The smell of grilled burgers fills the air as tailgaters laugh and forecast the evening’s game. Band members, however, don’t usually get to share this tradition.

The band gets a two-hour break after practice. They must cart their instruments and uniforms to the band hall across campus. It’s here where the 300-plus hungry musicians enter and scatter their cases on the ground. Instrument cases, their owners and an excess of chairs clutter the floor as a football game plays noiselessly on a large screen and uniforms are hung all over the room. A line of hungry band members ready to eat stretches out the door. It extends past tables supporting heavy trays of catered chicken pasta, veggies and purple and gold iced cake.

After a quick lunch, the band members dress in purple overalls, golden jackets and plumed hats. They lovingly polish away fingerprints and raindrops from their instruments before warming up with their respective sections. As they rush to line up for the march down “Victory Hill,” they still find time to Tiger Bait passing Florida fans.

“Sometimes it sucks, [people tailgating] look like they’re having a good time,” says trombone player and business management sophomore Philip Taylor. “[But] being a part of the entire pulse that makes the game alive is awesome.”

As the band marches from the band hall, on-lookers attempt to make them — as straight-faced as soldiers at Buckingham Palace — smile or laugh as they head to the Pete Maravich Assembly Center to put on a private performance for the Tiger Athletic Foundation.

Maddie Svoren, clarinet player and general studies freshman, says that it’s hard not to appear happy with all of the people around you.

“I don’t know what would happen [if we did smile], but I don’t want to know,” she says with a smirk.

The march is a brief glance at the talents of these musicians. Dowie, dressed in sequined white suit, leads the band, Color Guard and Golden Girls to the PMAC. They enter to shouting and clapping from their supporters. Smiling, excited, often intoxicated faces bear down on the group. The noise increases during the first four notes of the “Geaux Tigers” chant — perhaps the most recognizable in all of Baton Rouge.

Marching down the hill is one of the most electrifying parts of game day for Tajji Abney, clarinet player and psychology freshman.

“I love the hill,” Abney says. “I’ve never tailgated before … [so] before I went to LSU, I watched YouTube videos and was like, ‘Oh! I want to do that!’”

As the band marches onto the field for pre-game and half time shows, 93,129 people — the largest crowd in this history of Tiger Stadium — yell and cheer. The band emerges from the stadium’s ramps and through a dark tunnel leading onto the brightly lit field. What was once a sea of friends and foes is now a wall of purple, gold, blue and orange. The size is daunting, yet incomprehensible. The only intimidation is the noise that reverberates through the night demanding more.

And that’s just what the band does: playing throughout the night and leading cheers as the Tigers fall to the Gators, 13-3.

After singing the alma matter, the sweaty, exhausted and dedicated musicians make their way back to the band hall a little before 11 p.m. After their hurried march back, they undress and eat the last pieces of leftover cake. Linda Moorhouse, the Associate Director of Bands, plays a tape of the night’s performance. Moorhouse rewinds the tape to show mistakes several times over, silently highlighting her point. The tapes are punctuated by nervous laughter.

While the remaining members study the day’s film, Death Valley — which not long ago was filled with the sounds of Florida and LSU’s bands — is a desolate island of green grass, metal bleachers and eight spotlights shinning on the field. The melodic roar of the Golden Band from Tiger Land is lost, but they will be back.

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“On an average day for lunch, we’ll serve 8,000 meals,” said Don Koshis, University Director of Operations.

“Down-time?” Gennie Sims, Chick-fil-A employee and former high school sports star from Christian Life Academy, said as he laughed at the question. “We have a lot of stuff to do when the lunch crowd isn’t here. We’re in the back, wiping down coolers and walls. Sometimes, you have to find something to do. But if [the managers] see you standing around, you have got to leave.”

After taking a year off from school and work, the 24-year-old father of four was ready to get back into the daily grind. He comes to work around 10 a.m. ready to stock napkins, forks and straws. Busy work to some, but he prefers the constant movement, even during lunchtime.

“The time goes by faster,” Sims said. “Your adrenaline starts pumping, and we always get the people that tell you, ‘You’re doing a great job.’”

LaTonya Porter, 33-year-old Chick-fil-A supervisor, said the job isn’t stressful because of the fun atmosphere the employees have created.

“We play jokes on each other all the time,” Porter said with a slight chuckle.

These jokes are a huge aspect of working in the Tiger Lair. Union Retail Manager Ryan Lewis tries to instill that camaraderie in his staff.

“It’s about getting them amped up and ready to work,” he said.

Lewis does whatever he can to make his employees feel at home, whether it’s finding out what sports teams they like or giving them a pat on the back for a hard day’s work.

But during the first two weeks of the semester, Lewis might not have as much time for conversation. He and Koshis are busy examining reports that will allow them to predict how much food to prepare.

“Right now, we’re producing for the unknown,” Koshis said. “We’re overstaffing and overproducing for the lunch crowd because the students haven’t quite gotten into that routine.”

Koshis and Lewis use velocity reports to track the amount of students who come through the food court. After Lewis checks those reports from his third-floor office, he relays the information back down to the second floor.

Between changing out the registers for the next rush and compliments from bosses and passing students alike, you have to wonder: do they ever run out of food?

“Yes and no. We might be out of a certain dish for a period of time, but we batch cook all day long,” Koshis said. “Our ovens and cooking utensils are big enough for a certain amount of food. We can only make a batch at a time that would serve a certain number of people. Then, [the cooks] start another batch a little later so there’s fresh food available.”

Koshis needs more than 400 associates to serve a large percentage of University students, and said the process could be easily marred with mistakes when communication fails.

“We do run into some glitches and communication breakdowns,” he said. “We are not going to sit here and say we don’t make mistakes, but it’s not out of a lack of effort.”

It all comes back to preparation.

“Our customers don’t change,” Koshis said. “We have to be the ones that change. We have to analyze what’s best for the students. We look at all the trends on television and the Internet. We can’t just sit back and say, ‘We had a great year.’”

Koshis understands that not everyone will love the food selection in the Tiger Lair, but he said it’s difficult to pinpoint what each student wants for breakfast, lunch and dinner. However, thats not his main objective.

“I would love to serve all of the 35,000 people and make them happy,” Koshis said. “We do a lot of things to try, but I don’t know if that’s feasible. So, we look at what the mass wants. And if we can prepare for what 80 percent of those people want … That’s great.”

It’s almost an exact science, like cooking that perfect meal. A shake of salt, a tablespoon or two of olive oil, a bit of heat from the stove and some smiles here and there.

Together, it’s enough to make a young man like Sims be more than a face behind rows of bagged chicken sandwiches.

“Dream job?” Sims surmises, pondering. “I wouldn’t mind running the Lair.”

Photographs by Sahir Kahn