WEEK SIX LESSGO.
So this weekend, I ventured home to see my little sister for her birthday. The big One Four. Old, I know. When I finally got there, I figured…being fourteen isn’t bad enough. So I plotted to make the occasion even worse by baking a made-from-scratch chocolate fudge cake that I would inevitably fudge up (LOL, get it?).
Seeing as I was home for this one, my family had most of the ingredients in stock already. Because of this, I didn’t buy everything the recipe called for but I did make sure that it would cost under $20 if I had.
Ingredients:
Cake
- 2 cups flour
- 2 cups sugar
- ¼ teaspoon salt
- 2 eggs
- ½ cup milk buttermilk
- 1 teaspoon baking soda
- 1 teaspoon vanilla
- 1 cup butter
- 4 tablespoons cocoa
- 1 cup hot water
Icing
- ½ cup butter
- 4 tablespoons cocoa
- 6 tablespoons milk
- 1 lb confectioners’ sugar
- 1 teaspoon vanilla
After I return home from the grocery store, trusting that my family had possession of all but three ingredients, my mother informed me that whatever little it of vanilla is in the bottle is all that’s left so, “don’t spill it.”
Guess what I did.
Didn’t spill it. HA YOU THOUGHT.
I did almost knock it over while pouring the flour though, causing a minor panic attack.
After this, I got into a kind of groove. Things were moving; it all looked right. I then went to rinse out the measuring cup that had transported the cocoa. I turned the water on and was immediately hit with regret as the circular measuring cup shot the water back into my face.* I wiped my face and opened my eyes to the surprisingly violent scene that had unfolded before me during my temporary blindness.
The cocoa had splashed and dripped all over the white sink, looking similarly to how I imagine fresh, red splatter paint or a recently carried ou, violent murder would appear.
Needless to say, I was shocked. I took a minute to collect myself and then jumped right back in with boiling the water, butter, milk, and cocoa. I looked at the combination of densities and consistencies that were supposed to go into the pot—excuse me, ~*sauce pan*~—together and thought to myself, “This feels wrong.”
My next thought was, “But I’m doing it anyway!”
I’m responsible.
So there I am, trying to boil solids, and my dad comes up and gives me a real boost of confidence. I mean SUCH a boost.
“Baking is a science, not an art. If you follow a recipe, you’ll be successful.” AKA I could really suck at this and still be fine. Thanks, Dad.
And, you know, I guess he’s right. Baking is more exact than cooking. If you measure everything correctly, you should do it correctly.
Unless you forget to grease the pan. Which I did.
I had just put the pan with the final mixture into the oven and was setting the timer when I realized this grave mistake.
I stood there for a moment, wondering how necessary the grease was. My dad saw my face and immediately said, “Take it out. It’ll ruin the entire thing.”
Apparently grease is important.
I took it out, transferred everything to a greased pan, and put it back in the oven for 25 minutes. Which was the perfect baking time. I did the whole sticking a toothpick in it thing and it came out entirely clean.
WOO
Being that I was in a house with actual adults who think things through, I had access to potholders. Using them even though I still hadn’t remembered to buy my own seemed like cheating.
I felt dirty.
And then I decided that cheating** is better than having third degree burns on my palms and quickly got over it.
I took the finished cake out of the oven and poured the icing over the top. Later that night, we had a ceremonial birthday tasting, and my sister really blew me away with her articulate and thoughtful feedback.
“This is disgusting.”
I needed a second opinion.
My dad tried it and was a little more kind. He thought it was good! Especially with some vanilla ice cream.
So there you have it. My first experience as Birthday Cake Baker Extraordinaire was either a raving success or massive failure.
I’ll just leave it there. Ignorance is bliss, right?
Grade: C, the most average of average grades.
(The numbers say 41 intentionally. Yes, I'm that person.)
Okay, that’s it. Keep calm and grease the pan.
—The Unseasoned Gourmet
*I rewrote this sentence because I accidentally made a really inappropriate joke in the first draft. And now you get to sit there and wonder what it was.
**In this context, cheating means using potholders that are not mine. I do not condone other kinds of cheating. That’s right, I’m talking to you, kid who looked at my spelling test in third grade.
