The First One

No, not THAT first one. Geez, if you folks don't get by now that I write titillating titles that have nothing to do with sex, well. You want those stories? Martinis, and more martinis.

No, this is about the first cake. The first fancy cake I ever made, in a real oven, with a long digression on what made me remember it. It starts with a simple word: Bob.

A few weeks ago, I went to see Matt, the Squash King, make his debut as a stand up comedian. He was more than good. He was great. But before he went up and performed, the hostess came out and announced "the comic stylings of BOB......." And when Bob came out on stage, I went back in time nearly 30 years.

Bob and I went to college together. We met in our senior year. People have good and bad stories and memories of dorm living, as do I. But senior year, on 5 Furnald, was one of those points in time when you really think that some benign spirit was looking down and decided to reward everyone with some of the most pleasant company they'd ever have in their lives. It was very hard to leave the dorm at the end of senior year, something I can't say about my other three years. And sometimes, I think that I've been trying to re-create that experience since then. And I'm getting close.

Bob was part of that. Now, I must say, right up front, that in my world then, as is also true today, I would never have imagined Bob and I to become friends. I judge. I judge a LOT. And I honestly thought Bob would NEVER want to have anything to do with me. I always tell people that I have peasant hips. It's true. I have the look of a true, blue collar southern Italian. Always have, always will. And there was Bob, built a lot like a whippet, with his long legs, his big, BIG smile, the ironed oxford shirts, and the stovepipe jeans with the penny loafers. No, Bob was definitely out of my league.

Good thing no one ever told Bob that. He sure didn't act it. And we became very good friends. Bob was also out. He wasn't the first gay person I had met, but he was the first one who actually seemed to be happy. All the time. Always with the big smile, like I said, always singing, always a joke that could break you up, if his vocal imitations of whomever didn't. I have been copying his Paul Lynde imitation for over 25 years.

Well, if Bob weren't memorable for all of that, he would be for one discussion, one night, just before graduation, when I came out to him and told him I was confused. "Oh, Norm, we ALL are. And it isn't going to stop, I'm afraid to say." This from a 22 year old. 22 going on 50, I'd say. Later in the conversation, before he went off to his dorm room, he said "you know, you have to be very brave to do this, it isn't easy. It's never going to be. But you'll be fine."

Of course he was right. All the way. And you see, I remember all of that. So when Bob showed up at that comedy club, do you think for one minute I was going to let him go? NO chance. We're back in touch again. Yet again, a benign spirit is looking down and smiling (and when Bob reads this he's going to start singing "heaven must be missing an angel, because that's the way he is. Some things never change).

One of the things that we did during that magical year was have parties. Not "party," but have parties. Birthdays. "Getting into med school" parties. You name it, if there was an excuse for pizza, or Chinese food, and sugar, sugar sugar (Bob, please refrain from "honey honey" here. Thanks). We made our own cakes. In toaster ovens. Yup, in toaster ovens. I'm not kidding. With mixes. Duncan Hines. Pilsbury. Betty Crocker. Whatever flavor looked good. With those ghastly canned icing mixes. I smile when I think of those cakes. Some of them were as much as seven layers high. I would start baking at, say, 10 in the morning, go to class, come back, make some more layers, go back to class, finish up, frost the cake, and then oh, so carefully carry it to wherever we were partying. GOD, those cakes must have been AWFUL. But we were 22, and didn't know any better. Another song cue coming up : "It was so easy then," and as the song continues "And now we are old, with debts and regrets" (you remember that one Bob?).

Well, no regrets about catching up to Bob again. I missed him.

Those cakes were sort of the precursor to my baking "career." My first fancy cake, was a flourless chocolate torte that I found in the NY Times Sunday magazine section, back in 1980. Oh, how things have changed! I used to make it with bakers unsweetened chocolate, with standard, grocery store eggs, and I overcooked it. But we all loved it. I won my first cooking contest with it. And my second. But now I make it better. And soon, I'm gonna make it for Bob. He still needs to put some meat on his bones.

Here is the recipe. Don't wait 30 years to make it. The neat thing about it, is that the batter you make is both cake and frosting, so you have to make a decision early on: cake or frosting? For years, it was my standard chocolate cake when I needed one. I haven't made it in a while, but it's time to take it out of retirement.

I've changed a few things, to make it my own. Now, make it yours. But Bob, this one is for you, MONGO MAN.

You'll need 1/2 a pound of unsweetened, or bittersweet chocolate. I am not much of a fan of chocolate, but when I eat it, I eat bittersweet (says something about me, don't you think?). Get the best you can. Or the one you like the best. I love Scharffenberger. Chop it up nice and fine, and then put it in a pot with a half pound (two sticks) of unsalted butter, that you've cut into cubes. You don't have to have it at room temperature. If you're unsure of yourself when baking, put this pan in a bigger one, that's got about two inches of water in it. Then bring that water to a boil, and stir the chocolate and butter gently until it melts. Put it to the side to cool for a bit.

While it's cooling, separate 5, large eggs. Then, put an additional three egg yolks in with the five.

Finally , get some sugar (BOB!!!!). If you like things sweeter, use 1.25 cups, and if you prefer a stronger taste, just a cup. Beat the yolks and the sugar together until the mix has become very light and thick. Sometimes, cooks call this the "ribbon" phase. Screw that. Beat it until it's the color of a lemon. Then separately, beat the egg whites until you just begin to get firm peaks What's a firm peak? Pull the beater out of the egg whites. You'll get a little "peak" when you pull it out. If those peaks do not fall over, or bend, you have stiff peaks.

Now, the fun stuff. Mix the chocolate and egg yolk mixtures together and stir until the color is uniform. This is not as easy as it sounds. Then add the egg whites, a half at a time, combining them gently. This is the only structure you're going to get in the cake. There's no flour, remember?

Preheat your oven to 300 (the original recipe calls for 350 and 90 minutes of baking. That will give you a chocolate cinder. Trust me. I know). Get a nine inch pan of some kind, and butter it with the paper from your butter in the cake, and then put in a couple of tablespoons of sugar and shake it around to coat it.

Now, decision making time: you have to use at least half of the batter for the cake, but beyond that, the amount is up to you. Then, put the cake pan in the oven and bake for 30 minutes (300 and 30). The cake may seem a bit underbaked to you, and that's fine for this cake. But if you want something firmer, bake for another 15 minutes.

Let that cake cool. Now, another decision. Do you want to flavor the frosting? I do. I usually add coffee, or rum, or my favorite of favorites, gran marnier. Just a tablespoon or so to make it nice and tasty. Spread it around on the cake, and refrigerate it, or serve it up the way it is. It's a lot like eating a big old chocolate candy kiss.

It's odd to think that this recipe is now "old fashioned" but it is. Nothing wrong about that. Like Bob and I "it's now an oldie, but it was a newie then."

Good to see you again Bob. Want some cake?