An Imperfect Piece

The older I grow the more comfortable I grow also in my conviction that human nature is fallen and that of its own will it can't get up and that the only remedy of the imperfectability of humanity is to fight the fantasy that any remedy is possible. Which is not to say that persons singly and together shouldn't cease to strive to ameliorate the harms that persons singly and together cause each other. But that no effort to lessen human suffering, never mind how imperative and praiseworthy, can ever disentangle itself from the snares of self-interest and deceit and abuse and pride and vicious habit that cause so much suffering in the first place. In matters of ethics I have no doubt that the perfect is the enemy of the good. In matters of cake I am less certain. 

A Piece of Chocolate Cake with Walnut Rum Butter Cream

Given the impossibility of human perfection, it makes no sense to feel disappointment at its lack. Many theorists of beauty have even argued that too complete an appearance of perfection is actually an impediment to the apprehension of beauty. An awkward angle, a lack of symmetry, a detail out of proportion or out of place, is necessary they say to complete the picture. More important, a bit of imperfection renders the picture recognizably human. With regard to cake I believe something similar is true. A home-baked cake should look home-baked. A subtle lack of polish is part of its charm and also practically relevant, since it is an insult to any home baker to ask, from what bakery did you buy this cake? I made it! a cake should speak clearly in its own voice, without prompting.

The Crumb Coat

Still one must have standards. One must draw the line somewhere. At the gloss in a chocolate cream glaze, for example, so that I couldn't avoid a sense of moral failing as I was finishing last night this chocolate cake with a walnut rum butter cream. I've made a similar glaze numerous times, and always thought it was foolproof:  warm three quarters of a cup of heavy cream, pour over nine ounces of bittersweet chocolate, let stand a few minutes, stir until smooth. Only the instant I started stirring I knew that something was wrong. The chocolate was seizing. In place of a smooth creamy brown glow the chocolate was grainy and the glaze had an acneous black shine.  In my gut I wanted to start over. The waste to my mind seemed too extravagant. Reason and instinct for a moment faced each other down, and then in a reckless dash I began pouring.

Rum Syrup Keeps the Sponge Moist

I was past the point of no return and I put the cake away to set in the refrigerator and pretended I wouldn't care in thirty minutes, but when I returned the damage looked clearly irreparable. So I filled a tumbler with bourbon and backed away slowly and sipped away slowly until the spirits steadied my nerves. And they did. They also did the exact opposite to my hands and to my inhibitions with a parchment cone full of melted milk chocolate.

Happy Birthday Catherine!

It wasn't the perfectly smooth finish I was planning. But it didn't exactly put anyone's eyes out to look at. And did it taste good? Yeah, it did. Perfect, really.