I could just see the birthday cake – rich, dense finger-thick slices dusted with powdered sugar, sitting on pretty dessert plates with a dollop of lazy whipped cream, a mint leaf… delicate forks, embroidered napkins…it all evoked some mirage having to do with the Kentucky Derby and fancy hats… Chocolate Bourbon Pound Cake called to me like a siren’s song with a Southern accent. And the recipe – it was a straightforward enough nine stepper that started with ‘preheat to 350’ and ended with the cake cooling on a wire rack. Easy. Or so I thought.
But in the reality, in the process and in the mess of my kitchen, it became quite clear that what that cake really was – was a caveman cake. And it had me running around in circles with nowhere to hide. It was crass + base, wild in that throw-you over-the-shoulder-and-spin-you-around way. Hell – with ingredients like a pound of butter, a brick of bittersweet, a thermos of strong coffee and a fifth of bourbon – what should I have expected? And to enjoy the ride and the freedom of it — I had to let go of that ever-present, ever nagging, always intimidating, uptight, precision rap that gives baking a bad name.
It took every mixing bowl I had – none of them were large enough to hold the ever-expanding unbridled cake batter. I had done nothing fancy — merely the basics of baking and yet there seemed to be no way to get those ingredients under control. It was as if it was beyond my best efforts and fingertips. The batter had a life and soul of its own. So there I was a girl with a volcano…
When I added eggs and enough baking soda to call in the bomb squad there was nowhere to turn. My only option was to keep moving so I could stay ahead of the flow. And after corralling it into my greased baking pans – it still overflowed and leaked everywhere leaving my oven with hard burnt reminders that cake often has a will of its own.
Ninety minutes later, cooling on a steel wire rack, I smiled at my terror. Biting into the dense complex pound cake with Kentucky vapors — and no one will ever know the doubts and fears I faced….only the delicious offering of love.
Sometimes — knowing, trusting that it’ll all come out in the end, the way it’s supposed to, is all you need. And a sense of humor doesn’t hurt either.
