The Cooking Of The Chocolate Cake

I was one of those cooks who liked to share the whole cooking with as many people (and things) as possible.

When I tapped an egg on the side of the bowl I liked to share the experience with the floor as well.

When I cooked Sticky Fruit Balls, I liked to have as many ingredients as possible join in the fun. It didn't really matter if all the ingredients that were supposed to be in the Fruit Balls weren't in there and all the ingredients that weren't supposed to be in the Fruit Balls were in there. I didn't really care that I improvised a bit too much and nobody could eat them, the point is, everything joined in and had fun.

When I cooked the soup, I thought it was a shame to leave out all of the water in the tap that could have been in the soup, so mixing the measurements round the wrong way on the jug just helped me carry out my noble intentions. Cooking the soup for a couple of hours in the microwave and still having crunchy onions was just a small sacrifice we had to pay.

Add to this list leaving the salt out of the bread, using the wrong butter in the frosting, forgetting to turn the oven on, leaving the eggs out of the cake, ignoring the kitchen timer when it went off, using the wrong flour in the cake and you're getting about the right idea. My cooking was a little - experimental and erratic.

Over the years, my culinary skills have improved. Granted I still put too much milk in the mashed potatoes so they taste lumpy, granted I still burn the fries, granted last time I did Cesar Salad it was the most disgusting thing I had eaten that month and granted my Mom and sister sometimes still look at what I have cooked and then look at each other with a "we've got to eat that?!" look, but never mind. My pies were kindly said to be unexceptional and I have most graciously been granted the title of Muffin Queen.

Armed with this encouragement, I baked a chocolate cake. This was no ordinary chocolate cake. This was a Death-By-Chocolate-Chocolate-Cake. This was serious business.

I shall make no apologies for saying that it was a brilliant success. It was totally yummy and fully justified its name. It looked fantastic and tasted like your dream chocolate cake (or what your dream chocolate cake would taste like if you dreamed about chocolate cake).

Sadly, my preparation methods did not reach the same dream-like quality. I have never dreamed about making a chocolate cake, but I am sure that if I ever did, it would bear no resemblance to what happened The Day I Cooked The Chocolate Cake.

I got in a fuss over the eggs. I ran out of flour one cup into the measuring. I couldn't find the sugar. I drained one bottle of oil and had to start on another. I didn't start with enough clean cup-measurements. I didn't use a big enough bowl.

That was the real mistake - the bowl was just a few inches too small. The mixture fit in alright, but when you added the electric beaters ...

Thankfully I had had the foresight to wear an apron. In general I dislike wearing aprons, but that day it saved my top from almost sure destruction.

All was going quite well. I was happily beating away and then ... I lifted the beaters one little one-eighth of an inch too high. Really it was quite artistic, if you look at it in the right way. My apron had a lovely brown ring around the middle. The wall had been redecorated for free. If I had been in another part of the kitchen I'm sure the brown spots on the floor would have covered up the holes in the lino beautifully. Why do they always make beaters white the whole time? Spotted ones look far more like ... well ... like they've just been covered in spots of chocolate cake batter.

Oh well, cake eaten and lesson learned. Today, I was making another chocolate cake for more guests. Bigger bowl - much bigger bowl. I carefully measured everything out beforehand and the only thing I ran out of this time was hot water. I was most circumspect with the beaters, keeping them well down in the bowl and carefully tilting the bowl so that if anything splashed, it should be on me, not on the shelves at the back of the counter.

Mix the oil and sugar ... add the eggs ... fold in the flour, cinnamon and coca-powder ... hmm, thats looking a bit thick and stodgy for the beaters, better start adding some of the coffee now ... In went the coffee, sitting in a nice brown lake on top of the sticky mixture. In went the beaters, I moved the dial ... and drops of brown coffee flew in all directions. Over the bowls, the shelves, the counter, the wall and me. This time it decided the floor was beneath its notice but if come spring-cleaning time we find brown spots on the ceiling, I shall not be one bit surprised.

This time the cake is not to be eaten straight away, but will stay in the freezer until next week. I hope that it tastes good.

If it doesn't, maybe I'll take up painting and interior decorating as an alternative to cooking.