A Homemade Life (25 page)

E
veryone needs a chocolate cake in her repertoire. Actually, if we're really going to get down to it, a good soup is also important, and a basic vinaigrette, and at least one type of cookie. But a chocolate cake is essential.

The dense, silky thing I call “my” chocolate cake was inspired by a recipe I found in a French cookbook a few years ago, a recipe for what is commonly, on that side of the Atlantic, called a
fondant au chocolat.
Derived from the verb
fondre,
or “to melt,” its name translates roughly to “melting chocolate cake,” which, I would argue, is what all chocolate cakes should be. It contains nearly half a pound of chocolate and an equal amount of butter, five eggs, about one cup of sugar, and a single tablespoon of flour. In the oven, it puffs like a bastardized soufflé, and when it cools, its crust crackles like the top of a brownie. When you slice it, it yields to the knife like soft fudge. I first made it only a handful of months before I met Brandon, and I don't think the timing was coincidental.

At the time, I was newly single and doing what felt, to me at least, like a lot of dating. I even asked out my cashier at the grocery store, however unsuccessfully. That fall, I made my chocolate cake for every man I dated, all two of them. I also made it once for my friend Kate, who requested the recipe immediately. Soon she had baked it for a guy
she was seeing, and then again for an old flame who came to visit. She even called once from Jackson Hole, where she was skiing with friends for the weekend, to request an emergency reminder of the ingredient quantities, so that she could make it for a guy she'd just met. It was Kate who gave the
fondant au chocolat
the name by which it is now known: “The Winning Hearts and Minds Cake.” Because, politics aside, that's what it does. It's not something you want to serve to someone you feel so-so about. It's what you serve when you want his undivided attention.

I would have made my chocolate cake for Brandon on his first visit to Seattle, had we had more than thirty-six hours together. I knew that I wanted him to stick around. I made it on his second visit, and his third, and his fourth.

 

When it came time to choose our wedding cake, we were adamant about one thing: it had to taste good. We didn't need a white cake, or frosting, for that matter, or multiple tiers, swags, or rosettes. We didn't even need to hire someone to make it. I wanted to do it myself. First I thought about banana cupcakes with a bittersweet ganache. I even tested a few recipes, one of which was pretty promising. But then, one night, I made the Winning Hearts and Minds Cake for a dinner party. Brandon walked into the kitchen as I was pouring the batter into the pan, and he took one look at it and said, “Why aren't we having
that
for our wedding cake?”

He knows a good thing when he sees it.

So I made twenty of them. It wasn't nearly as bad as it sounds. It was actually sort of therapeutic. The Winning Hearts and Minds Cake is a breeze to make, and it freezes beautifully. All I had to do was stir, bake, wrap, and freeze; stir, bake, wrap, and freeze; stir, bake, wrap, and freeze. The day before the wedding, our friends Ashley and Chris retrieved them from our freezer and delivered them to the caterer, each cake snug in its own 10-inch pizza box. It was the easiest wedding cake, or cakes, I can imagine. They weren't beauty queens, with their thick
waists and crackly, crinkled skin, but I didn't care. The work-to-pleasure ratio was about 1:10, which is just the way I like it.

Our guests apparently liked it, too. I'd never seen so many empty, chocolate-smeared plates as I saw that night, scattered across tables and perched atop chairs. We had only three cakes left over, which we sent home with anyone who wanted them. My sister Lisa took one back to her hotel room. I later heard that the next morning, when she went to check out, she accidentally left it in the mini-bar refrigerator. By the time she got back upstairs to retrieve it, the housekeeper had come with her cart and its enormous trash can, on whose rim was now balanced, ever so precariously, the cake in its pizza box. Lisa was undeterred. She took it anyway. That's high praise for a wedding cake, I would say. The Winning Hearts and Minds Cake never fails.

 

The day after Brandon's first visit to Seattle, which now seems like pleasantly ancient history, I sent Kate an e-mail.

“He was
amazing,”
I gushed. “So sweet. So funny. I drove him to the airport this morning and cried all the way home. I think this might be the best thing that's ever happened to me. And the hardest.”

“I'm
so
excited for you,” she gushed in reply. “You've been taking this on with your whole heart and that oversized mind of yours. Don't stop now. This is the bread and butter! This is what it's all about.”

I burst into tears when I read that. I've never forgotten it. When I was making our wedding cakes, all those hours at the oven, all that stirring and baking, I kept saying it.
This is the bread and butter. This is what it's all about.

It's going to sound silly, I know, but I think that what it all comes down to is winning hearts and minds. Underneath everything else, all the plans and goals and hopes, that's why we get up in the morning, why we believe, why we try, why we bake chocolate cakes. That's the best we can ever hope to do: to win hearts and minds, to love and be loved.

THE WINNING HEARTS AND MINDS CAKE OR, OUR WEDDING CAKE

t
his recipe is as simple as can be: all it takes is five ingredients, a bowl, a spoon, and a cake pan. Because it's all about chocolate, you'll want a good one whose flavor you love, with 60 to 70% cocoa solids. I like Scharffen Berger quite a bit, but in a pinch, I've also used Ghirardelli 60% chips. They have a nice flavor and are very inexpensive, and you don't even have to chop them, which saves a lot of time.

Also, note that this cake freezes surprisingly well. In fact, its texture and flavor are actually
improved
by freezing. Try to make it far enough in advance that you can freeze it for at least a day or so, and be sure to allow 24 hours for it to then return to room temperature before serving. It's worth the trouble.

 

7 ounces bittersweet chocolate, finely chopped

1¾ sticks (7 ounces) unsalted butter, cut into ½-inch cubes

1 cup plus 2 tablespoons granulated sugar

5 large eggs

1 tablespoon unbleached all-purpose flour

Lightly sweetened whipped cream, for serving

 

Preheat the oven to 375°F, and butter an 8-inch round cake pan. Line the bottom of the pan with a round of parchment paper, and butter the paper, too.

Put the chocolate and butter in a medium microwavable bowl. Microwave on high for 30 seconds at a time, stirring often, until just smooth. (Alternatively, you can melt the chocolate and butter in a double boiler or a heatproof bowl set over, but not touching, barely simmering water.) When the mixture is smooth, add the sugar, stirring well to incorporate. Set the batter aside to cool for 5 minutes. Then add
the eggs one by one, stirring well after each addition. Add the flour and stir to mix well. The batter should be dark and silky.

Pour the batter into the prepared pan, and bake for about 25 minutes, or until the top is lightly crackled, the edges are puffed, and the center of the cake looks set. I usually set the timer for 20 minutes to start with, and then I check the cake every 2 minutes after that, until it's ready. At 20 minutes, the center of the cake is usually still quite jiggly; you'll know it's done when the center only jiggles
slightly,
if at all.

Remove the cake from the oven to a cooling rack, and let it cool in the pan for 15 minutes. Carefully turn it out of the pan and then flip it onto a serving plate, so that the crackly side faces up. Since the cake is fairly delicate, this can be tricky, but I've found that the easiest way is as follows.

Place a sheet of aluminum foil over the pan, and place a large, flat plate—
not
the serving plate—on top of the foil, facing down. (A small sheet pan would also work.) Hold the cake pan and plate firmly together and quickly, carefully, flip them. The pan should now be on top of the plate, with the foil between them. Remove the pan, revealing the cake, which is now upside-down. Remove the parchment paper. Place the serving plate gently atop the cake. Wedging your index fingers between the plates to keep from squishing the cake, flip them so that the cake is now right side up. Remove the foil.

Cool completely before serving, preferably with lightly sweetened whipped cream.

 

NOTE:
This cake can be kept at room temperature, sealed in plastic wrap, for up to 3 days, or it can be refrigerated for up to 5 days. (Be sure to bring it to room temperature before serving.) To freeze it, wrap it tightly in plastic wrap and then foil, and it will keep for up to a month. Before serving, defrost at room temperature for 24 hours, still fully wrapped.

 

Yield: 6 to 8 servings