Hello! Happy November! I know it's cold, dark and depressing, but at least we have delicious food and strong drink to get us through! Whaddaya say Franklin?
Franklin says yes.
Anyway, it was B's birthday last week, and I was under strict instructions to make him a chocolate birthday cake (the only acceptable flavour of birthday cake, apparently). Ordinarily I'd just throw together a Victoria sponge with a bit of cocoa powder added to the mix, but this cake was the take-along dessert for a dinner party and I thought a sponge might be a bit...boring.
So I decided to attempt a Sachertorte. I'm not sure what I was thinking.
(Recipe from here.)
It was all going so well - I was whisking up egg whites like Mary Berry herself, feeling very competent and in control. The thick, gooey mixture got poured into the tin, the tin went in the oven, and off I went to the sofa for a bit of West Wing. Forty-five minutes later, the top looked crunchy, a toothpick came out cleanly - so I took the cake out of the oven and turned it carefully out onto the cooling rack.
The middle fell out of the cake.
The middle fell out in great, uncooked, goopy lumps.
BIG.EPIC.BAKING.FAIL.
I screamed, B ran in, and together we scooped the batter back into the tin, levelled it, and slung it back in the oven.
Once I'd covered the top in icing sugar, you couldn't really tell. Ahem.
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