Unless you’re my kids, in which case you’ll want milk in a Peter Rabbit cup and then fight over which Peter Rabbit cup you get.
You can ice, but I don’t bother. I don’t even dust gently with icing sugar or whatever it is you’re meant to do. I imagine eating this cake in big chunks on a rocky shore with a bottle of lemonade and some hardboiled eggs, but then I’ve read too much Enid Blyton.
Eat it. You’ll like it. Rocky shore optional.