Fuck Baking.Submitted by Ducky at 2009-04-03 04:22:29 EDT
Rating: 1.69 on 62 ratings (62 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
I'm really good at taking things out of cans and re-heating them.
I have tried on several occasions to use an oven but things seldom work out. Years ago a girlfriend asked me to make her a black forest cake for her birthday. I worked hard on this cake…making sure that it looked absolutely fucking perfect. Unfortunately though, I had not mixed it properly and within the chocolaty goodness lay a minefield of various sized balls of flour that had, much to my chagrin, decided not to socialize with the other ingredients. I remember watching her take a bite and on her exhale came a mouthful of white powder…followed by choking…followed by what sounded like “mruwhatthefruk?!”
In addition to this, some of the ingredients had decided to stage a takeover in the oven, and turn all things soft into all things crunchy…minus the flour which remained flour but with the balls themselves having a crunchy exterior. I think it may have been the eggs. Bastard. Fucking. Eggs.
Tonight, this same girlfriend had another birthday dinner. I decided to put the years of what she refers to as “gentle teasing” to rest and make her the ultimate birthday cake. The girl loves brownies, so I figured I would make her a cake made of brownie batter. Impossible to fuck up.
My first mistake was to use the recipe on the side of the cacao, pronounced Ka-KAY-O, container…and to double it. One would think that upon seeing that these brownies would require 4 eggs for a single batch would be an indication that doubling would be unnecessary…in hindsight it was good that I did this anyways.
3 enormous (and all different sized) cake pans were slipped into the oven moments later, with the promise of perfection in A MERE 35 minutes. I stirred the fuck out of it to make sure that none of that sneaky fucking flour was hiding at the bottom of the bowl…which I always want to spell as bowel, but that would be strange and something I haven’t even seen on the internet…you know, with flour in it...
The phone rings with 7 minutes to go…I’ve just finished cleaning up the grotesque mess I’ve made in the kitchen…like a monkey flinging shit at the walls but a person flinging random items that taste terrible on their own. 7 MINUTES TO PERFECTION. It’s her. She wants a ride home from uni as her car is in the shop. I knew I’d be doing this, but she was calling an hour early. Ummm…I say, I can pick you up in 25 minutes…I’ve just got something in the oven at the moment. Ah, she replies…want someone dead I see.
Very fucking funny.
The DARTT (dingy apple reminder timer thing) goes off! BRILLIANT I think as I skip all Betty Crocker apron and thick glove thing in hand racing to pull my PERFECT BROWNIE CAKES out of the oven.
They’re raw. Toothpick says so.
Okay no problem I think, glancing at the time and deciding that ten minutes won’t kill her. Still raw.
Glancing at the oven…willing the heat to turn the gloppy batter into excellence…up to the clock…5 minutes to make a 10 minute drive…check them again…fuck.
I didn’t know what to do. I KNOW! I’LL FUCKING CALL HER AND TELL HER I’M LATE THAT’S BLOODY BRILLIANT LAUREN YOU SMART FUCKING THING. Her cell was off.
Okay okay okay okay plan B.
I turn the oven off, put the trays onto the lowest rack, LEAVE THEM in the oven and go.
I race there, pick her up, speed her home…Paul Tracey my ass back home…and they are all fucking black.
FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. WAIT! SURELY IT CAN’T ALL BE BURNED.
I madly dump out the cakes, slice them in half…throw the bottom halves out…and voila! Nice fucking save.
And now icing…I look up how to make icing on the internet…put in all the ingredients and find that I am short on the actual icing sugar itself. No problem…it just won’t be as sweet. I felt pressed for time at this point because the dinner was fast approaching and did not cream the butter properly. Nor did I give what was quickly becoming Frankenstein’s Bride enough time to cool. It was okay I reasoned…the chunks of butter in the icing would just melt in…problem solved.
I stacked the brownies on top of each other…a layer of “rich icing” between each, as well as a handful of white chocolate chips. It looked like shit – needs more decoration. I heat up some dark chocolate, and not having perfected the art of the drizzle, take spoonfuls and slingshot-style fling globs of it onto the cake. Finding this sort of fun, I decided to look around and find other things to shake/throw onto the cake. I confetti style’d a fistful of coconut on top of the chocolate…did the same with some chopped nuts, and threw another handful of white chocolate chips on top.
Fucking amazing, and with time to spare.
A couple of hours later, I pull the cake out of the fridge and decide to transfer it onto an actual cake platter. I am disturbed by the fact that I can pick the entire thing up by one corner. It was kind of like one of those facsimile cakes that you see in the window that look nice but that are actually made out of plastic and styrofoam…except this weighed about 5 pounds with the consistency of a brick and I’m pretty sure I could have thrown it through a window. It was cool though, because I was sure the inside would be soft and wonderful.
Dinner is nice…there are 12 of us there, 6 whom I’d met, at the restaurant. After dinner I pull out my masterpiece and ask the waiter for a knife. He brings me a steak knife. With all eyes on me, the perfect friend, I take the knife and begin to softly cut the cake. Nothing really happens though so I start strong arming it, sneakily mind you, minus the shaking arm and grit teeth...trying to slice through. I make it through the first of three layers.
I look up and smile at everyone with a reassuring look to let them know that this taste sensation is mere seconds away. Still looking away from what I'm doing I hear a snap and the expressions change.
The cheaply made knife had broken off at the hilt.
I saw this for what it was. Obviously there was either a flaw in the knife or it was cheap to begin with.
I see the look of fear on their faces...slowly tonguing their incisors...thinking about the inevitable damage...suddenly...
the waiter appears again with a beautiful cake that someone else had purchased...PURCHASED WITHOUT ANY LOVE OR EFFORT...for her.
“OH GOOD, THE REAL CAKE!” she says.