Carol’s Chocolate Cake

Frustration – Day 869

Posted on by Lisa Weikel 2 Comments
Train Wreck – aka – Dud of an Aunt Grace’s Cake – Photo: L. Weikel

Frustration

I baked a cake today and I’m brimming with frustration. For the life of me, I don’t know why it turned into this monstrosity resembling a chocolate milk-colored lava flow slowly inundating a toppled pile of walnuts.

I know why it looks like a toppled pile of walnuts, though. Because each layer of the cake resisted removal from its pan, that’s why. One layer left a strip of itself along the edge in the pan. I retrieved it. But did it want to rehabilitate itself back into the society of the rest of the cake? No, it did not.

Another layer left a chunk of its very center in the pan. It was fully cooked. Don’t fall for that play for sympathy. You know: “Oh, I wasn’t ready to come out of the oven yet! It wasn’t time for my debut and she forced me on stage without reading me my lines!”

No. That’s baloney. It was time.

And then there was the third layer. Or I should say the first layer, for it was the one I placed at the bottom, giving it the responsibility of being the foundation upon which the integrity of the entire confection rested. Well, that trust was certainly misplaced. While it could be noted that this particular layer perhaps did not leave as much of itself in the pan initially, it more than failed to meet its pathetic attempt at mediocrity by just leaning over and succumbing to the weight of its self-loathing.

Then Came the Icing

Was it something in the air? Was it a sign from above that it’s time to dramatically cut back on the sugar intake, Lisa?

I don’t know what it was, but to add insult to injury, the icing was simply a mess. It never got firm. It’s not firm now and it’s been in the refrigerator since late this afternoon. And while the icing tastes ok…it is not the near mouth-gasm I know this recipe is capable of creating.

Something’s off about it and – just as I have no clue what the hell happened to the cake, I am equally flummoxed by the implosion of the icing.

With respect to integrity of the ingredients, there is the possibility that this effort went to hell in a hand-basket because I allowed the butter, which I’d placed on top of the stove to soften – just two simple sticks of butter still wrapped in their paper cloaks, hanging out on the oven while it warmed up – to sort of melt.

In my defense, I got sidetracked by a visitor – and forgot what I was doing, as we chatted outside in the sunshine while maintaining appropriate social distancing. Nevertheless, Karl made a valiant attempt to salvage the effort by sort of scooping them up onto a plate. They struggled to maintain their structural integrity, but only superficially succeeded. I do think the partial melting may have contributed to the creation of lava.

Other Variables

Beyond these slight snafus, other variables did come into play. I attempted to use my mother-in-law’s vintage standing mixer from the ‘50s. Mind you, I’ve never used one of these ever in my life – always having been a hand-held mixer girl up to this point.

Well, because I burned out my hand-held over Christmas and had to buy a crappy 3 speed whose fastest speed barely musters enough power to beat an egg, I thought I’d give the standing mixer a try. The indicator on the side of the contraption hinted at lightning speeds achievable. I dreamed of whipping all the ingredients into a quivering frenzy.

Dormeyer Standing Mixer – Photo: L. Weikel

Yeah, well, I guess it worked. Technically at least, I guess it did what stand-ups do? But I did not have the control I craved (and have always wielded) while using a hand-held. Call me crazy, but it felt like a variable that may have influenced the final outcome. It just didn’t feel…right.

Another factor – at least in the failed creation of the layers of walnut torte – was a potential aging or impotence factor in the baking powder I used. Frankly, I sense that blaming the baking powder is less than optimum and definitely doubtful – although my recent attempt to make Carol’s Chocolate Cake resulted in a density to the cake that also was unnerving. Where oh where was the light and airy fluffiness of my cakes? Am I losing my touch?

A Bummer

I just don’t know. But having one’s ‘face fixed’ for exquisite confections only to have them turn out not only to look like natural disasters but also taste just ‘OK’ – when they should, by all rights, send one’s mouth and senses into ecstatic overload – is, in a word, inauspicious – especially if considered to be a harbinger of the year to come. In another word:  a BUMMER.

Finally, as the accompanying photo shows, I am capable of baking this cake like a champ. Not this year, though. Nope. <<sigh>>  Maybe next time.

A Better Rendition of Aunt Grace’s Cake – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-242)

All Talked Out – Day 758

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Last night’s sunset – Photo: L. Weikel

All Talked Out

There’s something about the silence that holds hands with the darkness of winter nights. I know it’s not yet technically winter (we have 12 days to go), but you might be forgiven for not realizing that fact if your only barometer was listening. It’s almost as if the world is all talked out.

Most of the leaves on the deciduous trees have fallen to the ground or been blown far and wide, so there’s barely a rustle now when a wind kicks up. Crickets and katydids have been gone for weeks and peepers and tree frogs have burrowed deep in the mud in their attempts to escape getting nicked by Jack Frost.

Of course, the silence is what’s speaking to me this evening. I find myself remembering writing with the front door wide open, a cacophony of wildlife from insects to four leggeds to winged ones sharing the night with me.

I’ve written before of my comfort with being immersed in quiet. Winter (or pre-winter) nights are simply the best for contemplation and reflection. Sometimes I have to reel myself back in, realizing I’ve been surfing the edge of presence and now have 15 fewer minutes in which to write a post.

No Tree Yet

Truth be told, the only thing I’m missing right now are the lights of a Christmas tree. That’s actually a most excellent excuse to leave the house this weekend, as it won’t entail going inside anywhere to secure one except to pay. The exponential increases in infections are not to be ignored. We’re being careful, but every day things feel riskier and riskier.

The fact that we’ve not bought or put one up yet this year has us running a bit behind schedule – at least in comparison to recent years. We’re actually pretty much on schedule with the way my parents bought a tree, though. We’d always get our tree ‘right around Carol’s birthday,’ which this year will be this Thursday. (Yes, this is the Carol of Carol’s Chocolate Cake.)

So maybe this year’s Christmas tree hunt will harken back more to my childhood than that of my own kids’. And no Karl, it will not bring back the good ol’ days of melting tinsel on the Christmas tree’s lights.

Wind Chiming

Aaah. Just as I’m writing about the silence of winter, the wind chimes Karl and I gave each other for our anniversary are nuzzled by a baby blow of cold. Just enough to magically ring but one single note over and over, carrying it down the yard to the barn and back again. “Ding…ding… ding.”

How is the whispering wind managing to kiss the chimes ever so precisely as to ring only one tone out of five?  Somehow that single note only heightens my realization that I’m all talked out.

(T-353)

Double Icing – Day 637

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Carol’s Chocolate Cake with Double Icing – Photo: L. Weikel

Double Icing

It’s been a running request for years now. Whenever I asked Karl what he wanted for his birthday (meaning which confection would he like me to bake), he’d blurt out, “Double icing!” He didn’t care which of the two in my vast culinary repertoire I baked (Aunt Grace’s Walnut Torte or Carol’s Chocolate Cake) as long as I made ‘double icing.’

This request is a throwback to the days when my sister and brother-in-law would bake one of Aunt Grace’s Cakes for Karl’s birthday – and would whip up an extra batch of icing for him, plopping generous multiple tablespoonsful into cupcake liners for him to hoard in the freezer. Ah yes, the hedonistic pleasures of youth.

Those particular indulgences took place in what now feels like another time, another era. As our lives unfolded (and our waistlines expanded) a time came when Karl realized that icing ‘cupcakes’ were unbelievably indulgent and not exactly the healthiest thing to consume on an even fairly infrequent basis. (In other words, his requests for these icing nuggets came to a reluctant end after both of us lost a good chunk of weight 30 years ago.)

The Request Renewed

Slowly over time, though, as these things tend to wriggle their way back into our consciousness, Karl started espousing the, “if the icing on the cake is scrumptious, then twice as much would be even better” approach to life. But I held firm.

For a long time, in fact, I held firm. Part of me vaguely recalls giving in maybe once as his annual requests grew more plaintive – but I can’t be sure. If I did, it was probably a year or two after Karl (our son) passed away, figuring I could assuage some of the sadness by dosing it with butter and sugar. This is especially true since there were only four days between the two Karls’ birthdays.

Fast Forward to Today

Perhaps as a result of the pandemic and wanting to surprise him with a guilty pleasure, or perhaps as a result of the stunning fact that Karl didn’t even once yelp, “Double icing!” in my general direction as August started unfurling its katydid nights, I decided to indulge his desires this year.

Without even asking for it, Karl received Carol’s Chocolate Cake with double icing. (Rest assured that was the cake he requested this year – I’d never deign to make that decision for him.)

Speaking for myself, double icing is too much of a good thing. Gobs of butter cream icing drown out the deliciousness of the dark chocolate, coffee-infused cake. And besides that, my whole body starts to buzz.

Karl practically passed out after eating his massively generous slice tonight. I wonder if he’s now cured of asking for “double icing!” or if next year he’ll just ask for Aunt Grace’s Walnut Torte (and the obscene icing cupcakes of our misspent youth).

Yeah. Double icing is evil – Photo: L. Weikel

 

(T-474)

Themes and Messages – Day 504

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I am loved – Photo: L. Weikel

Themes and Messages

I should’ve started writing this post on themes and messages earlier. It’s getting late and I’ve been a total hog this weekend, indulging in sushi (yes, Karl does know my weakness – witness his Valentine’s Day ‘score’ this year, too) and two – two! – birthday cakes.

Last night I baked myself one of ‘Carol’s chocolate cakes,’ so Karl and I could celebrate all weekend. You know. Be totally decadent and use my birthday to justify the massive stress eating we’ve been engaging in lately. <<Ahem>> As you can see from the photo below, someone very neatly ‘edged’ along the entire width of the cake tonight with her fork. I think it looks decorative.

Carol’s Chocolate Cake – neatly ‘edged’ – Photo: L. Weikel

I couldn’t help it.

But to make matters exponentially worse (not a good word to use, come to think of it) – lo and behold! – my d-i-l Tiffany baked and delivered to me this gorgeous and delectable berry torte with whipped cream and cream cheese icing!

Oh my goodness…take a look at that baby. Tell me you don’t gain five pounds just by looking at it.

All of which is to say that I’m sitting here on the couch in a semi-stupor.

Tiffany’s Berry Birthday Torte – Photo: T.Dollar

Last Year/This Year

There are two sets of pretty interesting themes and messages that I noted last year on my birthday – both of which I want to reflect upon. But if I’m honest, I fear the sugar and fat coursing through my system at this point is not conducive to me writing anything even remotely coherent.

So I will ‘set up’ the stories, if you will, and promise to flesh them out for you in future posts.

Living Breathing Messengers

Both last year and this year, oddly, I was pulled from my slumber by two different types of birds. Last year, a pileated woodpecker literally hammered its way into my dreams until I awakened and saw it clinging to the bark of the maple tree just outside my bedroom window. What a sight that was! They dwarf most of the other birds that hang out around (or swoop through) our yard.

This year it was a completely different bird – but one that seems to have been ‘stalking’ me for a couple weeks now. The fact that I’d noticed this bird had left me a good handful of feathers from all different points along our walks over the past few weeks, flown across my path a number of times, and simply made itself quite obvious, I had to smile as I lay in bed this morning, my consciousness rising up from the depths, when I realized the insistent voice I kept hearing was this very same bird.

Mind you: for weeks, I’ve noticed it and thought solely of the one snippet of knowledge I have about the ‘message’ of this bird. I kept telling myself I needed to look it up, but never seemed to get around to it. I was also dismissing that it was really showing up for me, talking myself out of the mystical sense I was feeling when I kept finding its feathers, and telling myself that these birds have always been in our vicinity (which is true). I used that fact to actively attempt to deny that there was anything ‘special’ about their appearance this year.

Medicine Card Messengers

The other comparison I wanted to make, which if I type fast I may be able to spit out and thus not belabor were my Medicine Card* ‘picks’ on my birthday last year and now this.

I had to look up what I chose on my birthday last year. Luckily I write them down every morning when Karl and I sit, have our coffee, choose our cards for the day.

Last year I chose Dog/Lizard. Dog’s primary message is all about loyalty. Loyalty to ourselves, loyalty to others – and loyalty that’s shown (or not) to us by others.

When I looked that up just moments ago, I had to tip my hat to Spirit. Without question, the lessons I learned about loyalty and how it played out in my life were the biggest, most difficult, challenging, hurtful, and enlightening ones of my entire year. I certainly didn’t see them coming – at least not from the direction they came – and as they unfolded, their very nature was so surreal that the whole situation felt like a very bad dream.

This year’s pick, today’s cards, were Armadillo/Snake.

Given everything that’s going on all around us, from the pandemic to the personal, these cards feel like an amazingly perfect selection as a theme for my personal year. The need to cultivate my skills in setting and defining boundaries – both to give myself space and to protect myself – and shedding a number of things (beliefs, roles, relationships), including perhaps the outer identity I’ve had for some time, in order to reveal a new aspect of myself and my path.

Intriguing.

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(T-607)

Carol’s Chocolate Cake – Day 126

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Carol’s Chocolate Cake (with green icing to celebrate our Irish) – Photo: L. Weikel                                                                                       (Missing from Photo: A big glass of ice-cold milk)

Carol’s Chocolate Cake     

We had some pre-birthday cake tonight. My middle son’s birthday is this week, and even though we decided not to officially celebrate until next weekend, I baked him a chocolate cake with buttercream icing on it this weekend anyway. Just because.

The cake I baked today was the ‘official’ cake of my sons’ childhoods; my ‘go to’ cake recipe that I baked for birthdays (and only birthdays) for years and years.

Officially, in the household I grew up in, this cake was known as ‘Carol’s Chocolate Cake.’ This was not because my sister Carol came up with the recipe. In fact I doubt she even knows where the recipe originated. I’m sure I don’t know. But it was called Carol’s Chocolate Cake because she was the one who baked it.

This wildly popular darkly chocolate and seductive confection was a dessert we would have only on rare, celebratory occasions – although while I was growing up, this chocolate cake was not the official birthday cake.

NOT the Official Birthday Cake of My Youth

No, the official birthday cake while I was growing up was ‘Aunt Grace’s Cake.’

Inasmuch as I have 985 more posts to write in order to fulfill my 1111 Devotion commitment, I’m going to save a chitchat about Aunt Grace’s Cake for another post.

Although, truth be told, I really can’t talk about one without mentioning the other. You might think it odd that I did not carry on the legacy of having Aunt Grace’s Cake be ‘the’ birthday cake for my kids, but there are a couple of reasons why that happened.

How the ‘Official’ Designation Shifted

First and foremost, since my sister Carol is 13 years older than I, she grew up, went to college, and married well before I was out of the house. As a result, Carol was gone but the cake needed to be baked. And so I was tasked with becoming its baker. It was a recipe I ‘brought to the marriage,’ so to speak, and since I knew how to bake it from having taken up the reins when Carol grew up and moved to Massachusetts, and the recipe was easy, it became our official birthday cake.

The second reason was because Aunt Grace’s Cake was never one that was baked in our house. As can be gleaned from its name, it can also be deduced – and you would not be wrong in making that deduction – that it was baked at Aunt Grace’s house. Indeed, all I ‘knew’ about Aunt Grace’s Cake was that my mother would buy what seemed to be vast numbers of Hershey’s bars, walnuts, and eggs, and would drop them off at Aunt Grace’s house days before any of our birthdays.

I never saw the recipe, nor did I ever think I could master this feat of orgasmic culinary wizardry. This was mostly because my mother would just rave and rave over it – not once did she even feign an interest in baking it herself. (Smart woman, my mother.)

A Cake’s Daunting Legacy

As a result, I had it in my head for the longest time that it was something only an expert in the kitchen could bake. Or a Hungarian – as it was a recipe my Aunt Grace (who was an aunt by love and affection, not blood) had brought in her head as a child when she emigrated here from Hungary.

So I never even tried. Not until, oddly enough, about eight or nine years ago.

Instead, through pretty much the first 30 years of Karl’s and my marriage (and consequently our sons’ lives), I remained loyal to the achingly delicious, tried and true, now Aunt Carol’s Chocolate Cake. It was the official birthday cake of the Weikel household.

And I’ll tell you the secret to why this has always been exquisitely pleasing: it has a robust cup of coffee in it. Yum. So not only do you get the caffeine hit of cocoa, but also of coffee. Add sugar, butter and flour and you have a hit. But top it off with homemade buttercream icing?

Yeah, you get the picture.

An Impossible Choice

Fast forward to Son #2’s 31stbirthday: When asked which cake he wanted me to bake for his birthday (which again, he opted to celebrate next weekend, since it falls in the middle of the week), he asked for ‘the walnut cake’ – which is another name for Aunt Grace’s Cake.

I could tell from the lightning-quick looks that flashed between him and his wife that my son’s choice may have been slightly influenced by my daughter-in-law’s unabashed passion for Aunt Grace’s Cake. Not that any of us suffer for that selection, mind you. (Smart son I have.)

But what the heck.

Especially considering what I wrote about last night and the preciousness of making our ‘time’ count by virtue of the experiences with which we choose to fill it, I decided we all needed a pre-birthday fix of Aunt Carol’s Chocolate Cake.

Just for old times’ sake.

(T-985)