I love to bake. It's one of my favorite things to do. I love watching things come together into a finished product that I can be proud of, and then feeding it to people I like and seeing them enjoy it. I'm also pretty good at it. Though I'm in no way a master yet, most of my creations come out tasty, if not exactly as planned and are recognizable as something you would want to eat. Every once in a while, we have an exception, as happened on my birthday.
Something else to know about me: I tend to bite off more than I can chew. Family is coming over for dinner tonight for my birthday? Okay! I'm going to bake for them! Never mind that over the last three days I've been making "The World's Best Tiramisu."* Never mind that I'm supposed to be on a diet so I can fit into my wedding dress. Never mind that we already have a crap-load of stuff to do just to get ready for dinner. No, that's not important, cause I am going to make a cake. Two desserts? The more the better. Everyone likes having choices, right?
So my mom and I spent most of the afternoon prepping for the main meal, and my cake kind of fell by the wayside, but that wasn't enough to stop me. So, at 5:00PM, one hour before people are supposed to get here, I decide to start the cake. My mother raised her eyebrows, and looked somewhat aghast, but she ends up throwing her hands in the air and leaving the kitchen to go shower and clean up.
(At this point in the story, when told to my fiance over the phone, he asks "Why didn't your mother smack you upside the head?" to which I respond "Cause she's an enabler." But that's not entirely fair to her. In reality, she just knew that it wouldn't do her a damn bit of good to try and change my mind, and would probably end with me pouting cause I didn't get to make my cake.)
I'd decided to make this cake, which I'd first seen on Smitten Kitchen (My blogging Idol) and later found in the cookbook "Sky High" which is where Miss SK had gotten it. It was pretty, it looked tasty, and I liked the way the recipe looked. The recipe called for three 8 inch cake pans, but I only had 9 inch. I've had plenty of experience using alternate pan sizes, so this didn't really faze me. I just knew I'd have to pay extra attention to the cooking time. I mixed up the chocolate cake, which, I have to say, is a very interesting recipe (over a cup of water added slowly, white vinegar) and not really like anything I'd done before. I poured the cake into the pans, stuck the pans in the oven, and got to work on the peanut butter frosting. The timer went off for the cakes, which I'd set a little early, cause I expected the cakes to cook faster in a larger pan. The tops looked a bit moist, but when I stuck them with a toothpick, they came out pretty clean, so I pulled them out and started cooling them. After the prescribed 20 minutes I turned the cakes out on to cooling racks. This was the first sign of trouble. These things were seriously flimsy. By then, my grandmother, ever the early bird, had arrived, so I was starting to be a little rushed. I finished up the frosting, started melting chocolate for the glaze, and as more family arrived, started to assemble the cake. As my Aunt, Mother, and Grandmother looked on, I frosted the first layer (which was unfortunately still a little warm) and placed the second layer. The second layer cracked a bit, and I did my best to hold it together with frosting. Then I put on the third layer, which cracked even more, and the whole cake began to collapse under the weight. I kept frosting, in an attempt to pull it into shape, but it was no good the thing was lost. The matriarchs looked on sadly, sorry that my cake had failed so utterly. At this point, it had melted off the cake plate and was a big mound on the cookie sheet I'd had underneath it. I looked at it sadly, dumped the ganache glaze on top and then went to get a spoon. I spooned the whole thing into a bowl and called it peanut-butter chocolate cake pudding and it was delicious. (It even got better after sitting in the fridge a day, and was really good with vanilla ice cream.) Though I think it gave everyone but me heartburn.
But the tiramisu was great and looked gorgeous, so I'm not all that disappointed.
Lessons Learned:
Don't start cakes at the last minute.
Always double check for done-ness.
Cool completely before assembling.
Chocolate and peanut-butter are a delicious combination even when incompletely baked and mooshed together.
*As christened by my co-workers in my former lab, several of whom are Italian. Best. Compliment. Ever.
