So, I promised the chocolate cake to end all chocolate cakes?
Well, I'm one to stay true to my word . . . even if I don't make deadline.
On a recent trip back to the Rads, we celebrated my dear friend Ad's birthday with a dinner party at her place. It was beyond spectacular. Three courses of amazingness - so good that I stole two recipes from the night and pulled them out at my own fundraising dinner part a few weeks later.
One of these recipes was for Ottolenghi's chocolate fudge cake. It was seriously the best thing I'd ever tasted. The table went silent when Ad served it up. We were lost for words, totally caught in the moment.
So it's only fair that I share the love with you . . .
Ottolenghi’s Chocolate Fudge Cake
So as you can see, the cake needs to be made in stages. And I was juggling a couple of dips, the lamb tagine and a few other dishes as well. As well as a date or two. Big week.
I started on the Thursday night with stage one - my housemates all chipped in and helped me make the batter. I let them eat the leftovers. Best housemate ever.
The first layer was sublime. Perfection. I was proud as punch. I had to leave it overnight to cool and then planned to cook the second layer on the Friday. I came home from work and was in a frantic rush, the tagine was on the stove top, I was monitoring the cake and slapping on some makeup for a date that night.
I was all set to go, glammed up and feeling top of the pops when the timer went off and I opened the oven door to take out the cake. It was heavenly, the perfect amount of rise, still gooey in the centre but crunchy around the edges.
I was a little cocky, perhaps. Then . . . the oven mitt got caught and I burnt my hand on the cake tin. It was bloody hot so I squealed a bit and moved my hand from the edge of the tin to the base. Which was loose. Which detached from the sides. Which upended all over my benchtop.
I hate springform tins.
I swore like a sailor and stamped my feet in a tantrum like a three year cracking the shits in the toy department at David Jones. What a waste! All that chocolate, all that melting, all that cooking, all that waiting!
My housemate rushed over to help - but his version of helping was getting a bowl and a spoon and salvaging the cake for himself. He seriously stood there and ate it while muttering nice words of support.
"If it makes it any better, Kate, it tastes really good!" quickly followed by "Oh, are you going to cry?" at which stage he put the bowl down and went to fetch a bucket and mop.
I couldn't do anything but pick up my phone, take a photo, clean up the mess, top up my red lippy and head off on my date. Where I drank far too much champagne far too quickly.
Apparently you can cook it all in one go, saving yourself that second cooking stage, but if it's worth doing, it's worth doing well so I mustered up the courage (and the budget!) to start all over again the next day.
And boy, it was worth it.