When You Absolutely, Positively, Need a Chocolate Birthday Cake by Tomorrow

Last Sunday evening, I set out to make a chocolate birthday cake.

Not just any chocolate cake.  It was a recipe for the signature three layer chocolate cake from Gibson's Restaurant.  It was published in a magazine in which my dear friend had several articles published in the same issue.  So I thought, "Wouldn't it be THE chocolate cake to brag about at his birthday?"

I studied the recipe, and the only part that worried me slightly was the last two phrases, which said, "pan and bake at 350 for about 25-30 minutes.  Frost with chocolate butter cream and serve."  The magazine did not include a recipe for chocolate butter cream.  But I have a kick-ass Hershey's frosting recipe, so that would do.  But there was the "pan and bake" part.  The photo clearly showed three luscious layers, so I used three 8-inch cake pans.  (I only have two 9-inch pans, so....  I improvised).

My son loves to act as my sous chef, and he knows his way around my KitchenAid mixer.  One pound of butter, five eggs, a whole heap of cocoa powder and cake flour later, I realized this recipe was probably meant for a restaurant kitchen with an industrial-sized mixer -- not a home kitchen like mine.  When adding the wet ingredients alternately with the dry ingredients, let's just say..... spatterage happens.  My son ducked and ran for cover.

The pans, admittedly, were filled a little more than I would normally feel comfortable with, but I was in the mood to just go for it.  I put the three layers in the oven and placed cookie sheets strategically on the rack underneath the layers, just in case there would be drips.

I watched periodically through the oven door.

The cake layers puffed up high on the sides like souffles, at first.  I was alright with this.  What happened next I was not prepared for.  I witnessed the mostly-crusted, cooked side of one of the layers break away under a flow of cake batter that took it over the side.  It flowed like lava pouring out of a volcano.  It kept going, and going, and going.  I watched in dismay as this process continued with the second, then the third cake pan.  It must have been 10 minutes or longer that I watched my science experiment unfold.  My son, who was passing by the kitchen, asked, "Mom, how long are you going to sit there and look through the oven door?"

"I've just never seen anything like this happen before," I replied.  (Please note that I am not what I consider to be a baking novice.)

The cake batter created stalagmites on the "drip pans" I had placed under them.  But the first drops had now started to burn -- and smoke -- so I had to switch them out before my smoke alarm was alerted.  All I could do now was hope the lava mudslide would end, and the layers could continue cooking through without the bottoms burning and becoming one with the pans.

What if the chocolate cake tasted horrid?

I cut a chunk off one of the stalagmites and offered it to my son.  He has watched too many cooking shows on TV, by the way.  As he tasted the sample, he said, "Chewy,.... sugary,....... tastes good."  I exhaled.  Then he said, "It's just not as..... TALL as I thought."  He was referring to the three layer, towering cake in the photo along with the recipe.

The layers eventually cooked to what I thought was the right consistency.  After some cooling time, I began the process of prying the cake layers out of the pans.  The first two were manageable with only a slight amount of damage that could be rescued by frosting.  The third layer didn't bake all the way through and about a third of it stuck to the pan.

My kitchen looked destroyed.  It looked like I somehow shredded the cake.  There were crumbs all over just about every surface.

The next morning I put together the surviving layers and produced what I think was a pretty darn good chocolate cake.

My plans for the remaining layer was a recipe from my Southern Living at Home days.  I used to make this Brownie Trifle for "death by chocolate" parties.  It involved soaking a pan of brownies in Kahlua, then crumbling them for a layer in the trifle.  Since I already had a chocolate cake layer in shambles, what did I have to lose?

Don't you just want to dive into those pillowy layers of pudding, whipped topping, and toffee bits?  Yep, I almost did.  For breakfast.

All is well that ends well.  For me, chocolate cake is good when it's moist, pure, and has just the right amount of crumb.  I like it to be firm, but not dry.  I have to say that the Gibson's recipe taught me several new lessons in baking.  But I'd say the recipe is a keeper.

Who Put The Happy In My Birthday?

It began yesterday. People with well wishes jumping the gun. And a delightful card that showed up at my office depicting all the things and people I love in this world and beyond.

This, for a girl who spent some years purposefully hiding her birthday so that nobody would notice. I blame this partly on the fact that a birthday so early in the year meant suffering through birthdays at the hands of people ridden hard by the holiday monster. I mean, really, who wants to concoct another celebration and come up with yet another gift in early January. Cake, too? Can't we just say we're exhausted and make it up at another time?

The other reason I hoped to escape birthdays was the confusion about happy celebrations and excitement for the sake of it. I spent a good portion of my 20s working through codependency. I worked 12-step programs and attended Adult Children of Alcoholics meetings. I learned why happiness didn't seem natural to me, but confusion and chaos felt normal. My 30s I'm glad to say approached normalcy and happiness rose to the top of things worth fighting for. Now, I say, bring it on.

Not to say that birthdays weren't special days in my family. There were birthday dinners and favorite cakes. My grandmother turned out this lovely creation called an Italian Cream Cake, my hands-down favorite: a dense white cake with pecans, coconut and cream cheese frosting (topped with more coconut). Lordy. I have so many fantastic memories because of my grandmother and I miss her dearly. So when this little card showed up at work reminding me of my favorite things, my eyes fell upon the center of the card where a red heart with the word "Grandmother" in the center stopped me for a few moments. I searched my brain for how anyone would know what to put on such a birthday greeting, and remembered a little questionnaire I filled out shortly after I accepted my position. Who did I most admire? My Nanny.

Today was a birthday approached with reluctance at first, then full-on acceptance, sprinkled with moments of pure joy. Here it is by the numbers:

11
The shades of red nail polish I own, all with their own merits. Though I rarely paint my fingernails because I'm so hard on my hands and the polish doesn't wear well, I can't give them up. I contemplated if the extra minutes to paint my nails would be worth it as a celebratory birthday gesture. Decided to skip it.

35
The number of electronic birthday salutations I received this year, which is 32 more than I received last year. Long live social media, the marvel of my life in 2009.

3
The number of times a memory of my grandmother reduced me to tears today. There are days when the longing to be with her is palpable and it makes me wonder if she's one of my angels in close proximity at the moment I'm having that thought.

16
The number of cents left in my checking account. Let's not go there.

20
The number of dollars I was given as a gift card from one of my favorite stores as a birthday gift to come in and shop. What?! Free money on your birthday? Not a bad thing. I must spend enough money there that they decided to give a little back. I figure it this way: a new outfit makes you feel brand new. More than new shoes or a new hairstyle. Feeling good on your birthday is worth a week's worth of lunches and coffee, especially when you start with twenty bucks free and clear.

36
The age I would be indefinitely, if the universe ever gave me the option. Also, the number of roses it takes, when presented en masse, to make me giggle like a young school girl for at least a good hour.

1
The number of flowers my son can draw on my birthday card to make my heart beam with joy.

5
The number of sugar highs I experienced today as a result of tiramisu (a favorite dessert), chocolate cake with white frosting, followed by chocolate cake with fudge frosting an hour later, a chocolate caramel candy after dinner, and another chocolate birthday cake at home with the family. That's a new personal record.

All in all, a very, very happy birthday.

A "Break All The Rules" Day

Today my little boy turned 5.

I awoke this morning and forgot what day it was. My eyes opened, I looked at the clock, and my first thought was: it’s 6:30 and I’ve overslept. No, wait. It’s Saturday. As usual on a weekend, the two males in my household who are morning people were already awake.

“Is it my birthday today?” I heard Grant ask from the other room. He has been grappling with days, hours, weeks, and minutes to understand which is his special day. “Yes,” replied his father. “FI---NAL--LY!” said Grant, with all the bit of energy a fresh five-year-old could muster.

And so it is. Five years ago he was born. I remember the moment when he was placed on my torso, a completely warm, moving, lovely baby who has just made me a mother. It was like a dream sequence. I circled my arms around him and looked up at whoever was near and asked, “Is it real? Is he OK?” My mother shook her head yes, and then the whole rest of the world fell away and I was holding my child. At 6:59 p.m., after weeks and months or waiting and 26 hours of labor, my sweet baby boy came into this world and changed my life forever. Yes, it was your birth day. Fi---nal---ly.

When he turned one, I made a solemn vow to myself to spend “just us” time with him on his birthday. With the pace of life, and the fact that he would be more mobile at some point and not want to spend time snuggling with me during quiet time, it occurred to me that a loftier goal like a whole day together might not be reasonable. But a quiet moment to let him know he is completely loved on his special day would be a promise I could keep no matter what.

And so he sped off. Learned to walk; hit the milestones. He was a toddler when we first learned about his sensory integration issues (see http://www.sensory-processing-disorder.com/). He has normal days, and then there are days when his need to interpret the world in a tactile or physical manner is not socially acceptable, or welcome. He spends a lot of time being told “no” and “listen” and “don’t do that” and “you can’t eat that.” So today, I wanted to allow as much “yes” into his universe as possible. Starting with a donut with sprinkles on it for breakfast. Sugar and flour first thing in the morning, Mr. Gluten Intolerance? Sure. Followed by bowling with every plastic bottle he could pull out of the recycle bin. Play ball in the house? Terrific. Stay in his pajamas and not run errands with Daddy? Mighty fine. And a snack out of a large bag of Doritos that turned his fingers and lips completely orange a half hour before his birthday party? Go ahead. Fingerpaint with the nacho cheese for all I care. It’s his day; he gets to decide.

Next was the party. You would think that a birthday at Rainforest Café with animatronic animals, thunder and lightening, music, shooting stars, and friends would spell disaster for a kid with sensory issues. Surprisingly, it was perfect. Just when the little ones were getting impatient for the food to arrive, the apes would launch into their routine. Or a storm would pass. It was a fine environment for a boy with a short attention span and sensory overload.

We kicked more rules to the curb. Don’t wanna nap? Okay by me. Play with two remote-controlled toys while watching a video? That’s multitasking at its best. A second piece of birthday cake? Answer’s yes.

If you’re really lucky you can give your child all the basics – clothing, shelter, food, predictability, safety, and a few fun diversions. But if you’re really, really lucky you can give your child memories that are fond capsules of love, outrageous laugher, a sense of belonging, and a reason to look forward as well as glance back.

“I like my birthdays,” said Grant, with a yawn. In his honor, make tomorrow your “Break All The Rules” day. And may it be outrageously fun.


***Grant's drawing: He traced his big boy hand, and then drew a picture of himself with an M&M cake. About 6 months ago he didn't draw much more than a frantic scribble because he was being criticized in daycare for not holding a crayon correctly. So he never wanted to color. After some muscle therapy and a new daycare provider, this is what he can do.