Cooking Disasters: Volcanic Disaster Cake

So what is this, my…third post today?

I’m sorry. I can’t help it.

But it’s 10:39 on a Friday night, and I have something to say. And something to show you. So sit down, batten your hatches, adjust your toupe, gird up your loins, or…whatever. What you’re about to see may frighten you. May make you want to hurl and puke and upchuck.

I know it did that to me, anyway.

First of all, though, that “thing” I had to say? Here it is:

Oh, how far I have fallen. How very, very far.

- Me

The heights from which I have fallen aren’t extremely high. Just 3 puny little layers:

I made this cake about a year ago. Granted, it didn’t taste all that great…but I was learning! And the presentation is okay. In fact, I think it’s downright cute! Don’t you love those chocolate shavings? And the layers – mmm…the layers.

But alas, tonight I eviscerated whatever cake-baking success I’ve had over the past 8 years in one fell swoop.

I suppose I should provide a little backstory. So, you know how I finished chemistry today and all? And how I was wigging out and all? And how I had some cake-baking to do and all? And how I can’t stop saying the words “and all”, and all?

Well, I made a cake, alright. A delicious, 3-layer moist, chocolate cake that I’ve made once or twice before. I pulled the 3 layers out of the oven, triumphant and eager to get going on the frosting. But due to a temporary cessation of proper brain function, I decided to go with a cooked fudge icing. For a 3-layer cake.

Anyone out there shaking your heads at this ridiculous novice baker, busting up in the kitchen pretending she knows what she’s doing?

I know I am.

As any logical person with 1/1000th of a brain may surmise, cooked icing is downright tricky on layer cakes. I only wish I’d photographed the Slide of Epic Proportions. First, the top layer started to go. And the frosting was so thick that it took the second layer along with it. Pretty soon, I had the leaning tower of chocolate cake on my hands – literally.

My mom ran to help, and we carried it to the table, holding the edges as it cracked into three portions and fell outward from the middle. We couldn’t stop giggling. But mentally, I was beating myself about the face and neck with a rubber spatula.

After we peeled the top layer off and plopped it onto another plate, I was about ready to toss the whole shebang into the compost heap and forget it. And though I didn’t voice these particular sentiments, my mom kept assuring me that it was fine, and would still taste great. I was hard-pressed to believe her.

I mean, this is what we were dealing with, here:

After we all ate a nice plate of cake crumbs and sticky, rubbery frosting, the cake itself was declared delicious – almost exactly like a Duncan Hines dark chocolate cake mix. And the frosting declared an utter failure.

And I declared that this cake would henceforth be known as The Chocolate Volcano of Messiness and Shame and would go down in the history of all my cooking disasters as the most infamous…the most sloppy…the most ungainly cake. Ever.

Amen.