My Right Arm

My upper arm is a little tired, and it's not from boot camp, where Patsy has us lift weights and do dips. No, tonight it's because I made, for the first time, the flourless chocolate cake from Baked.

I wonder, could this count as a calorie-burning exercise?

I've made this type of cake before, but not the one from this book. What puzzles me is that you have to separate the seven eggs, beat the yolks into the batter, and whisk the egg whites separately until stiff peaks form. Then, you "fold" the whites into the heavier batter by hand with a spatula, turning the bowl as you go, and you're not supposed to rush the process. That's what made my arm hurt. Fold, fold, fold, turn, turn, turn. Flourless chocolate cakes are so rich and dense, why do you have to fold cups and cups of airy whipped whites in? It surely has to do with not breaking down the texture.

So what looks like a really simple cake on the plate [not a pinch of flour, after all] turns out to be quite a workout. And that doesn't count the chocolate ganache glaze I'll pour over it--with panache--tomorrow. 

This is the second Friday night in a row I spent baking a cake for a special occasion [last week it was the angel food for the block party, this week it's for our Montclair next-door neighbors, coming over for dinner tomorrow]. 

I kind of like this. I take such pleasure in baking--measuring flour, melting fine chocolate, cracking eggs. Smoothing the soothing batter. Sliding the cake into the oven and letting the appliance do its careful work, like a big stainless-steel mama, while I do the rest of mine [dishes].

And a once-a-week tradition would allow me to look forward to and savor one of my favorite sports, so I wouldn't feel deprived. I'd know that once a week, I'd have a slice of a kick-ass dessert I made myself. [On Wednesday, I'm bringing Sis her request when she comes to visit Dad--a very late butter birthday cake with whipped orange frosting.]

Good night.