As you can see, there are no currants on top of this cake, and no gold leaf either, so it doesn't have the same spectacular look as the cover cake. It's still pretty spectacular, with the gleaming glaze, however, and the photos don't do it justice. Even my daughter Liz, who is, in her own words, "picky about everything," told me it was beautiful. The birthday candle is for Liz's husband Joe; the two of them flew in on Joe's birthday for my daughter Sarah's wedding.
I took Wednesday afternoon off from work to bake this cake, and it's a good thing, because I haven't had any time this weekend to do any baking at all. It certainly had the potential to be a disaster--I was distracted by a million different things I was supposed to be doing, and I wanted to bake a nice cake for my son-in-law, and it looked like such an elegant (that is, easy to botch up) cake. But it turns out to be a simple cake to bake and put together, and all of the components are forgiving.
The cake starts out with a rather unpromising mix of lots of cocoa and lots of sour cream, which, even with eggs added, didn't want to mix up. In fact, you could say "they're like sour cream and cocoa" instead of "they're like oil and water," except no one would know what you're talking about. And they do eventually mix together, so probably the "sour cream and cocoa" saying is never going to catch on.
After the sugar, butter, and dry ingredients are mixed in, it becomes a very thick and luxuriant batter, which will be darker or lighter, depending on your cocoa. I'm still using up a tin of Hershey's natural cocoa, which is lighter than Droste, my go-to brand. I have a friend who swore there was no Dutch-process cocoa available in Minnesota. I told her I'd get her some. I brought her a box of Droste, and she said "This doesn't say Dutch-process." I said, "Well, no, but it says it's made in Holland." "Oh," she said. "I get it." Anyway, I know that Dutch-processing is something that people feel strongly about, but I have no firm opinions one way or another; I just like the way Droste cocoa tastes in brownies.
A close-up of thick chocolate batter is Jim's second-favorite picture, right after the mountain of sifted flour.
Of course, at the point I'm about to put the cake into the oven, I see all the "plan ahead" directions, and I realize I'm going to be cutting it closer than I'd like. At this same moment, I get a call from Liz, saying their plane has been delayed. I think, but don't say, "well, that's a relief."
Now I have plenty of time to grind the chocolate in a food processor, add warmed creme fraiche and cream in which the chocolate melts, and smooth out the flavor with a ittle butter and vanilla. (I didn't use the optional creme de cassis, since I wasn't going to use the fresh currants anyway). You can see the very messy food processor behind the nice, neat bowl of completed ganache.
By this time, the cake is out of the oven. With two of the three elements done, I feel okay. I also realize that if I got really pressed for time, I could just stop with the ganache, and swirl it instead of smoothe it to prepare for the layer of glaze. But the lacquer glaze seems much less forbidding than it did the first time I made it (for the chocolate apricot roll).
In fact, here's how unforbidding it is. After I mixed everything up, and strained it, I realized that I'd forgotten to add the cream. I just added the cream after I'd already mixed in the gelatin. It didn't seem to care that I did a few things in the wrong order.
Another new experience: I've never done a crumb layer before. In fact, I had no idea what a crumb layer was before I started this cake-baking project. It sounds unappetizing, doesn't it? But it's just a thin layer of frosting that anchors any crumbs in place so they don't show on the real layer of frosting that comes next, after you refrigerate the crumb layer for an hour or two.
And it's true. The frosting does go on more smoothly. Because any faults will show under the glaze, the layer of frosting is supposed to be as smooth as possible. Once you smooth out one place, however, someplace else gets messed up. Eventually you run out of patience, and say, "good enough."
Before you say anything, I know I should have had the cake layer on a wire rack with foil under it instead of on the serving plate, but I couldn't figure out any way that I could possibly get the lacquered cake from the wire to the serving plate, so I already had it on the plate. I think I'm going to have to get some cardboard rounds. I'll bet they're cheaper than edible gold foil.
It's so shiny! The shine is not quite as intense after it dries, but its gradual drying allows you to carefully slide the pieces of wax paper out from under the cake, leaving a simple, beautiful, one-layer shimmering cake. It's just lovely.
I topped the cake with a few cut strawberries, a few blueberries, and a sprinkling of sparkling sugar. Not as elegant as the currants and gold leaf, but--again--good enough.
Do not, I repeat, do not be put off this recipe just because it's five pages long and has three components. It's not as easy as the infamous cake-in-a-cup microwave cake, but it's not difficult. It does take a while, although I managed to finish it before Liz and Joe landed at the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport. It has the sophistication, taste, and simple elegance of a French little black dress. Three days later, I served the rest of the cake to family who was in town for the wedding, and it was still good--a little bit drier, but that was made up for by plating it with a dollop of whipped cream.
The next time I see currants in a grocery store--and that's a very iffy proposition--I think I'll bring this recipe out and try it again. Maybe I'll even bring out some gold leaf.
TASTING PANELJim: "It has a great chocolate flavor. It's beautiful too!"
Liz: "I like flourless chocolate tortes better, but this is nice too. Maybe it's a little dry."
Joe: "It's perfect. Except maybe it's too moist." [joke]
Doug: "I love the frosting."
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