Perfection

CHOCOLATE CAKE WITH VANILLA BUTTERCREAM*

1 cup boiling-hot water
3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 cup whole milk
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
Rounded 1/2 teaspoon salt
2 sticks (1 cup) unsalted butter, softened
2 cups packed dark brown sugar
4 large eggs at room temperature for 30 minutes
4 cups vanilla buttercream
Various food colorings
Patience
Even temper
Ability to accept failure

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 350º.

Japanese homes usually don't have ovens.
When I first moved into my apartment in Japan, I noticed it was furnished with a microwave. I don't ever cook with microwaves, but my friend Patricia pointed out that it also had an oven function. I immediately began to fantasize about the possibilities: quiche, bread, roasted vegetables, and cake.

2. Butter 2 (9- by 2-inch) round cake pans and line bottom of each with a round of wax paper. Butter paper and dust pans with flour, knocking out excess.

Anvita had invited me to a potluck dinner at her home on Monday night to celebrate our friend Rob's birthday. I've spent birthdays overseas before, and I know how lovely it is to have a proper birthday cake when you don't expect it. As Monday was a holiday and I didn't have to go to work, I felt I could afford to spend a day in the kitchen test-driving my oven and baking a surprise birthday cake for Rob.

3. Whisk together hot water and cocoa powder in a bowl until smooth, then whisk in milk and vanilla.

I was worried that I wouldn't be able to find all the proper ingredients and cookware, but after forty-five minutes of hunting through the giant super-shopping center near my home, I found everything I was missing: unsweetened cocoa powder, cake pans, a candy thermometer, baking soda, a dozen eggs, unsalted butter, a pastry brush, food coloring, and birthday candles. I lugged my goods back home in my bicycle basket, and added them to the assembly of ingredients on my kitchen table.

4. Whisk together flour, baking soda, and salt in another bowl.

The funny thing is, I had never met Rob before. He's been living in Japan for three years now, but he was away for the prefectural orientation for all Tochigi JETs, and whatever social events he attends, I seem to miss. But it doesn't really matter that his birthday party would serve as our introduction; everybody deserves a birthday cake once a year.

5. Beat together butter and brown sugar in a large bowl with an electric mixer at medium-high speed until pale and fluffy, 3 to 5 minutes. Add eggs 1 at a time, beating well after each addition.

There is something decidedly homey about the smell of cake batter. I worked patiently to achieve the desired “fluff”, scraping the side of the large mixing bowl with a rubber spatula, and using my finger to wipe away the sugary flecks of butter that jumped to the rim.






6. Reduce speed to low and add flour and cocoa mixtures alternately in batches, beginning and ending with flour mixture (batter may look curdled).

Adding the dry ingredients is always a tricky part. My mixer is proportionately miniature compared to my large mixing bowl, which caused clouds of flour to burst from the bowl like puffs of smoke. I soon became covered in a layer of white powder, my forearms pale from the dust that settled on every surface in my kitchen.
The breeze from the window stirred the sweet smells of butter and chocolate with the sound of a church choir practicing down the street.

7. Divide batter between cake pans, smoothing tops. Bake until a wooden pick or skewer comes out clean and edges of cake begin to pull away from sides of pans, 25 to 35 minutes total.

As the smooth chocolatey batter ribboned down into the cake pans, my mind drifted to wondering what birthday wish Rob might make as he blew out his candles.

8. Remove cake from oven, cool in pan on rack for 10 minutes. Remove from pan, cool on rack completely. Cool layers in pans on racks 10 minutes, then invert onto racks, removing wax paper, and cool completely.

The poster child of optimism, I slid the first cake pan into the oven (it's only big enough to hold one pan at a time), and set the timer for 25 minutes. I quickly washed the dirty bowls and spoons, and prepared to begin making the somewhat tricky buttercream frosting. This frosting, I hoped, would elevate the cake from yummy to scrumptious.


Buttercream Cake Frosting

4 large egg whites at room temperature for 30 minutes
Rounded 1/4 teaspoon salt
2/3 cup water
1 1/3 cups plus 2 tablespoons sugar
4 sticks (2 cups) unsalted butter, cut into tablespoon pieces and softened
2 teaspoons vanilla
fire-proof suit
humility

Special equipment: a candy thermometer, cat-like dexterity and flexibility

1. Combine whites and salt in a very large bowl.

Separating egg whites and yolks can be a meditative practice. The yolk is firm and independent, but is kept so only by the salivic white that swaddles it in the shell. The yolk will slip away easily from the white, but the white clings stubbornly, unwilling to let go of its companion.
But if the yolk skips across the jagged edge of broken eggshell, its strength is lost with its binding surface tension. It slips freely and willingly into the white, stretching out thin yellow fingers of impurity.
Just one drop of egg yolk will spoil a bowl of egg whites.

2. Stir together water and 1 1/3 cups sugar in a 3- to 4-quart heavy saucepan until sugar is dissolved, then bring to a boil over moderate heat, without stirring, brushing any sugar crystals down side of pan with a pastry brush dipped in water.

My kitchen is tricky. There are several things which I do not have: #1 enough space to cook, #2 a long enough cord on my electric mixer, and #3 a 3-to 4-quart heavy saucepan. This proved to be an unfortunate, if not tragic combination of deficits.

3. When syrup reaches a boil, start beating egg whites with an electric mixer at medium-high speed until frothy, then gradually add remaining 2 tablespoons sugar and beat at medium speed until whites just hold soft peaks. (Do not beat again until sugar syrup is ready.)

Egg whites are like some kind of culinary magic; from a slimy goop they rise up in small pillows of foam.

4. Meanwhile, put thermometer into sugar syrup and continue boiling until syrup registers 238 to 242°F. Immediately remove from heat and, with mixer at high speed, slowly pour hot syrup in a thin stream down side of bowl into whites, beating constantly. Beat, scraping down side of bowl with a rubber spatula, until meringue is cool to the touch, about 10 minutes in a standing mixer or 15 with a handheld. (It is important that meringue is properly cooled before proceeding.)

I was poised like a warrior ready for battle: in my right hand, I held the mixer, beating the egg whites on high. In my left hand, I positioned the candy thermometer in the sugar syrup, tipping the irregular, cheaply made pan so enough syrup would coat the thermometer to register a temperature.
The line on the thermometer climbed.
The egg whites began to peak.
I perspired.
And then it hit 238º.
Quickly, I pulled the thermometer from the pan, and removed the mixture from the heat. Moving the pan to the edge of the bowl of egg whites, something altogether unexpected happened: the handle of the pan snapped off. A tidal wave of boiling hot, sticky sugar water slopped over the edge of the pan as it tumbled onto the counter, spattering a shower of scalding syrup on everything, and instantly cooling into little blobs of hard candy. Desperate not to lose everything, I grabbed a dishtowel, and using it as a potholder, plucked the pan from the sink, trying to salvage the small bit of syrup that was already beginning to harden to the side of the pan.
But my efforts were futile, earning me only a bowl of deflating egg whites crusted with syrup candy, and second-degree burns on my fingers.

I suppose the failure of the Buttercream Frosting wasn't so much of a big deal. As it turns out, I wouldn't have had anything to put it on anyway. After baking my cake for 45 minutes in my “oven,” the result was a blackened disk smelling of campfire, with a gooey, liquid center. I nibbled at the edges of the cake, and tasted the bitter-sweet flavor of honest effort and failure.

Later that night, I carefully positioned five birthday candles in a pint of Haagen Dazs ice cream. As we droned out the Happy Birthday Song, I presented the pint to Rob, whose face glowed with birthday joy in the spotlight of the flames.
I had spent the entire afternoon in the kitchen, trying to make the perfect birthday cake for Rob. All I wanted was for him to have a happy birthday.
But what is it that makes us happy? Is it a birthday cake on our birthday? Is it the satisfaction of success? Is it the ability to make something beautiful?

I was left to wonder this, and in that moment looked up to see Rob pause in contemplation of birthday wishes. Lips pursed and ready to blow, I wouldn't have known he was smiling, but for the reflection of merriment in his eyes. And then with the release of a wish, the candles turned from fire to smoke, filling the room with birthday candle smell and sending us all into the darkness and memories of birthdays past.

*Try it for yourself: www.epicurious.com/recipes/recipe_views/views/109040