When my mom was about 9 years old in the early 1920s, she decided she would bake a cake while her grandma and mother were out of the house. The only problem was that at that time they still had a wood-burning stove, and she didn’t know quite how to maintain a proper baking temperature. When she opened the oven door after the right amount of time, she would tell me, her planned surprise cake was an ooey gooey mess. She was so embarrassed to have wasted all the precious ingredients that she hurriedly dug a hole in the back yard and buried all the evidence.
I always thought this was a cute story, but today I totally understand.
First some background.
One of my favorite things to do is to watch those baking videos on Facebook—you know the ones where the ingredients magically appear in the glass bowl, and then with a snap of the fingers they are mixed, and then a few seconds later the delicious concoction is on a plate and a fork full is held up to the camera looking absolutely irresistible.
Well, one video I have watched over and over is for Absolutely Amazing Chocolate Cake. It looked not only fabulous but totally doable. So last week when I was asked to bring a cake to a funeral lunch I thought this was the perfect moment to make the Absolutely Amazing Chocolate Cake.
The layers baked up well and smelled divine, though they looked a tad lopsided. I waited the requisite 15 minutes and then tipped them out of the pans. That is, I tipped part of each layer out of the pan—part was loath to leave its comfy residence in the baking pan.
No problem. I pieced the layers together, let them cool completely, and commenced assembly of the layers. Once stacked, the lopsidedness was even more pronounced. I’m not sure what I did to the frosting, but, rather than holding the layers together, it was more like a lubricant inducing a tectonic shift.
In despair, I watched my beautiful layer cake slide slowly but surely toward the side.
Then I called my son and asked him to pick up a cake from Costco for the funeral.
Our family ate my cake the next day, which actually did taste amazing. So this week, with a birthday dinner planned for Sunday, I decided I would perfect my Amazing Chocolate Cake. My amazing baker friend told me how to trim the layers and freeze them before assembly, so the structure would be more sturdy. I also learned to line the baking pans with parchment to ease getting them out.
This morning I carefully prepared my pans with parchment paper and mixed up the yummy batter. I measured out the batter into each of three pans. The recipe said to put about 3 cups of batter in each pan, but, hey, I had extra, so I just divvied it out equally among the pans.
Midway through the baking time I smelled burning chocolate. I peeked in the oven to find all three pans were overflowing onto the racks and the bottom of the oven, bubbling over like three volcanoes of molten lava, flowing relentlessly toward the burners.
By the time I took the pans out, the house was filled with smoke so thick that vision was obscured. Paul appeared, crying out, “What happened? Is the house on fire?”
Then he rushed about opening windows and turning on fans. I stared at the remains of my totally amazing cake. The layers had totally collapsed, admittedly in a rather amazing way.
Ever the optimist, I told Paul they could still be rescued with frosting. Then I tasted the cake. Amazing chocolate flavor, with deep nuances of smoke.
Wisely, Paul insisted we take the cake immediately out to the trash.
Looks like a Costco birthday cake after all.
But you know, I think I’ll try again. I know how to fix this—just 3 cups of batter per pan! Parchment paper! Trimming and freezing to avoid the lopsided layers!
As Abraham Lincoln said, “I’m doing the best I can, the best way I know how, and I will continue to do so.” I can just keep trying, and maybe my best will get better.
Or maybe I should just admit that we all have different talents and leave the cake baking to Costco and my amazing neighbor.
