Sorry. I’ve been a neglectful blogger, leaving you with videos instead of recipes and not sticking around to chat much. There’s a reason for that – it’s called Rolling Spoon, and it’s a new website I just launched on Monday with my friend Elizabeth, who in a previous life was a music writer/editor/teenage ‘zine-maker. It’s a place where food and music intersect – we figured that the best way to get to know someone is by sitting down to a meal with them, so why not host dinner parties with our favourite musicians and bands, and document them? And ask to peek into their fridges, talk about food memories and get into the kitchen and cook together? Fun, right? We thought so.
So there’s that. But I’ve been wanting to tell you about this cake I made last weekend, a cake that should have been written off as a disaster, but it was too delicious. It’s a reminder to not judge a book by its cover, as it were. The batter was thin, and made with water of all things. It crawled up and over the sides of the pan and tried to escape from the oven, leaving (delicious) almost-burnt puddles on the baking sheet. I tweeted that I was making it, and a few asked if they should follow suit. My initial reaction, as I picked baked-on chocolate waterfall from the edge of the pan, was probably not.
And then I tasted it.
It’s an ugly (as far as cakes go), disastrous-looking, delicious damp cake. (This word – damp – is how Nigella described it, and I loved the use of the word in relation to cake. The memory of a damp chocolate cake stuck long enough for me to instantly recognize it when I saw that it had become one of Molly‘s old-sock recipes – and yet I had never made one. It’s half brownie, half cake, baked in a loaf pan. I don’t know what it is, but it’s worth making. It’s a perfect sort of chocolate thing to have sitting on your kitchen table if you, like me, are the type to slice off a nibble each time you pass by.
It was just as good – better, even? – the next day. And spread with peanut butter? Please.