No one makes me birthday cakes. I am the only one who bakes in this house, and therefore, if I want a birthday cake, I have to make a birthday cake. Don't pity me, I have long since gotten over it. Well, a couple of years ago, I found a fantastic chocolate cake recipe on a site that has since move, changed it's name and it's focus. The cake was beautiful and decadent and called for ingredients like mascarpone cheese and ganache and Ghiradelli dark chocolate.
I bought everything. It took me a little while to track down the mascarpone, but I managed. I put it all together the afternoon before my birthday. It took hours. There was much whipping and cooling and waiting. I baked it. I spread the thick mascarpone mousse over the first layer of the cake. It was incredible. I delicately placed the second layer of cake on the top, then proceeded to ignore the recipe instructions to put that cake in the fridge. My fridge was packed full, there was no room for a cake on a pedestal. It would be fine.
I whipped up the chocolate ganache frosting, spread it, and admired. It was beautiful it was perfection.
Did I mention that my birthday is in July?
I came back to the kitchen after a bit. It looked as if an earthquake had hit my kitchen. The cake had cracked in half and the top layer was sliding down the sides. After the hours that I had spent concocting that thing, I just about cried. My birthday cake. Was ruined. Still edible, yes, but not nearly as pretty.
There was really nothing left for me to do but eat it. After I put it in the fridge.
I got my do over moment, however. That Christmas, I decided that we would have the best possible dessert, and I made it again, mascarpone mousse and all. And it was fantastic.
I was compensated for this post as a member of Clever Girls Collective. All the opinions expressed here are my own.