Chocolate Meringue Cake

This recipe gets its name from the crisp-chewy meringue (studded with toasted hazelnuts and pockets of gooey chocolate... mmm) that crowns the chocolate souffle cake beneath. 

When my mom requested that I make this recipe for her birthday, I was not thrilled about it.   Up to that point, my contact with meringue had been mostly limited to soggy pie topping and those stiff little cookies resembling pastel ping pong balls (and tasting no better).  In my book, meringue had a bad rap as the "light" alternative to my favorite accompaniment (luxurious mountains of sweetened whipped cream!).  Why top a delicious chocolate cake with a wispy pile of over sweetened egg-whites when you can just as easily serve it with a dollop of luscious whipped cream?

Despite my misgivings, I went along with the recipe, grumbling throughout the sticky process... but just one bite proved me wrong.  Though toothache sweet, the meringue oozed with chunks of dark chocolate and paired perfectly with the rich cake and earthy nuts. 

And so began my turbulent, love-hate relationship with meringue.  Sometimes, in my quest for the next ethereal meringue delicacy, I beat my whites into a froth only to have them collapse, wet and weeping.  Other times, my meringue whips up as soft and sweet as cotton candy, and I fall in love all over again.  Worst are the recipes resulting in those cratered wafers that shatter into shards and sugar-dust at the slightest provocation.  But this recipe is tried and true.  When I want that meringue magic, this is where I turn.   What fun to ladle those soft, shimmering layers onto my crackling cake!  How glamorous to dress my dessert in silken folds, laden with nuts and chocolate!  The voluptuous gown of meringue is quite extravagant and fanciful. 

If you want to impress your friends, show up to the party with this little lady in tow (the cake, not me! haha).  

Ingredients

10T. unsalted butter, plus a little extra for the pan
1c. hazelnuts
A sprinkle of flour for the pan
3/4c. light brown sugar
6 large eggs, separated
4 large egg whites
12oz. bittersweet chocolate chips, melted and cooled
4oz. bittersweet chocolate bar, roughly chopped
1T. vanilla
1T rum (optional)
pinch of salt
1T. cornstarch
1/4t. cream of tartar
1c. superfine sugar (regular granulated will do just fine though)

Preheat the oven to 350.  Butter a 9in springform pan, and sprinkle it with flour.  Tap out the excess flour.  Spread the hazelnuts in a single layer on a rimmed baking sheet, and toast them in the oven until your kitchen smells wonderful, about 10 minutes.  Remove them from the oven and rub them vigorously in a dish towel to remove the skins (don't worry if some of the skin sticks around).  Allow the nuts to cool, then roughly chop them and combine them with the 4oz chopped chocolate bar.  Set aside.

To make the cake, cream the butter and brown sugar in a large bowl until pale and fluffy.  Add the 6 egg yolks one at a time, beating well after each addition.  Drizzle in the cooled, melted chocolate, the vanilla, and the rum, and beat until well-mixed.  Set the batter aside.

In a medium bowl, beat the pinch of salt with the 6 egg whites on high speed until soft peaks form (use a CLEAN whisk!  If you get even a drop of batter, or even water into your egg whites, they won't whip well).  This will take about 2 min.  Stir 1/3 of the egg whites into the chocolate batter, then gently fold the remaining beaten egg whites into the batter until just combined (don't over-mix!).  Pour the batter into the springform pan, and bake 25 minutes.

Meanwhile, prepare the meringue.  Beat the remaining 4 egg whites and the cream of tartar on high speed (again, clean beaters, clean bowl = important) until frothy.  With the mixer running, add the cup of sugar in a slow stream, and then continue beating until stiff peaks form, about 8 minutes.  Stir the cornstarch into the chocolate-hazelnut mixture, and then fold the chocolate and hazelnuts into the meringue. 

Remove the cake from the oven, and spread the meringue mixture over the top of the cake.  Pop it back in the oven and bake until the meringue is lightly browned, crisp, and crackling, 25-30 minutes. 

Let the cake stand at least 10 minutes before unmolding, and allow it to cool for 30 minutes before slicing and serving.

Mascarpone Cheesecake

I almost called this post "High Maintenance Cheesecake," but then I figured no one would make it because it would sound like too much work.  People, sometimes the good things in life take a little extra work!  Yes, you have to go out and find some semi-exotic ingredients (mascarpone and creme fraiche).  Yes, you need to buy the expensive, delicious brand of shortbread cookies instead of the crappy ones to make the crust.  And yes, you either need a food processor, or a big kitchen mallet and a lot of patience to pulverize your expensive cookies into crumbs, but you will be rewarded for your efforts with the creamiest, richest, most luscious cheesecake you have ever eaten.

It's kind of the same with high maintenance people, right? Right?  At least, that is my new motto after realizing that I might be a more high maintenance person than I thought.  I like to think of myself as pretty laid back, but when I proclaimed this to my bf (an otherwise very polite and considerate person) he guffawed in my face without a shred of restraint.  "You? Ha. You may not be 'high maintenance' but you are DEFINITELY not low maintenance."

News to me!!!!  I championed my cause for an hour or so, and finally convinced him that maybe he was defining "high maintenance" differently than me.  Satisfied with my position in the debate, I turned my attention to the cheesecake..... and was promptly put in my place...

Things were going swimmingly.  The shortbread crumbs whirled in the food processor, the oven glowed, and the eggs and cheese waited patiently to be elevated to dessert royalty.  I pressed the crust into the pan, popped it in the oven... and ten minutes later shouted a stream of expletives that filled up my cuss quota for the month.  My crust had baked to a slightly darker shade of brown than the coveted golden I was going for! 

I sniffed it.  "&*%$# Goddammit!" I detected a hint of that hated burned smell.  I sighed and dumped the crust into the sink.  As the cold sink-water soggified my brown crust and sizzled against the hot pan, I realized that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't so laid back.  Would a laid back person freak out because the crust of their cheesecake was the wrong shade of brown?  Hmm... I hate being wrong, but I do know when to concede defeat and when to battle on, and I wasn't done with this cheesecake just yet!  Some things are worth the effort (right??).

So, pajama-clad and batter-splattered, I headed to Walgreen's with the hope that they carried shortbread cookies so I could start over.  It seemed that the world was determined to teach me a lesson for being such an irrational perfectionist.  My faulty car alarm began to sound the second I touched the car door, and refused to turn off.  The clerk at Walgreen's didn't speak English and directed me to the tampon aisle.  When I finally found the shortbread, I hastily grabbed it, which caused the entire towering stack (apparently not too many people purchase shortbread at Walgreens) to catapult into the aisle in a rain of red-checkered boxes.  As I approached the checkout counter with my wares, the checkout clerk silently raised an eyebrow (that's what you get for buying four boxes of cookies from a drugstore at night, alone, and in a disheveled state).  I paid for the cookies, hurried to my car (lights flashing, horn blaring), and began at square one.  I had learned my lesson...

Back at home, I set the oven at a lower temperature so I wouldn't have to throw away a second crust (what, did you think I was going to say I had learned to be laid back and accept a less than perfect dessert? Not gonna happen).  This time, the crust, and the cheesecake, turned out beautifully. 

We devoured our oversized slices of perfect, creamy, hard-earned cheesecake, and the exchange of "mmmmm's" said it all: some things definitely are worth a little extra patience and effort!  (here's to hoping I'm the human equivalent of cheesecake... haha...ha?)

Crust Ingredients
1 1/2 c. crumbs from crushed shortbread cookies (Pepperidge Farm Chessmen work well)
3T. sugar
1/4 c. melted butter

Preheat the oven to 400.  Combine the shortbread crumbs, butter, and sugar until evenly moistened.  Pour the mixture into a 9-in springform pan, and press it evenly onto the bottom and up the sides.  Bake until golden (so very important), about 5-10 minutes.  Mine was irreparably charred (aka slightly too brown) after 10 minutes, so check at 5.  Let the crust cool while you make the cheesecake batter.

Cheesecake
2 8oz bricks of cream cheese
2 8oz tubs of mascarpone
1/2 c. creme fraiche
3T. flour
1/4 t. salt
1 1/4 c. sugar
1T. vanilla
3 eggs

Topping
1c. creme fraice
1/4 c. sugar
1t. vanilla

Turn the oven temp down to 325.  In a large bowl, combine the cream cheese, mascarpone, flour and salt.  Beat until fluffy and well-mixed.  Add the sugar, creme fraiche, and vanilla, and beat until well-mixed.  Scrape down the sides and add the eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition.  Scrape down the sides of the bowl with a spatula between each egg, to ensure even incorporation.  Pour the filling into the crust and bake 50-60 min. 

While the cheesecake bakes, make the topping by mixing together all of the topping ingredients in a small bowl.  5 minutes before the cheesecake is done, take it out of the oven, pour the topping onto it, and return it to the oven to finish cooking.  When the cheesecake is done, it should be slightly golden, and should jiggle in the center.  Turn off the oven and let the cheesecake cool in the oven with the door ajar.  When completely cool, cover the cheesecake and chill it overnight before serving. 

If this were a Martha Stewart recipe, it would tell you in great detail how to cut your cheesecake into clean, pretty slices using a thin knife and hot water, but I'm not THAT much of a perfectionist.  Hell, I'll eat the cake out of the pan.

Old Fashioned Blueberry Cake

I'm always suspicious of bakeries endorsed as "the best" by celebrities or the general media, and I'm even more suspicious of the subsequent cookbooks published to capitalize on that new-found fame. Case in point: the cupcakes I sampled at Magnolia Bakery, featured in Sex In The City, were some of the driest, blandest cupcakes I've ever eaten, yet everybody raved about them and probably purchased scores of Magnolia Bakery Cookbooks, exacerbating the dry cake epidemic that plagues many bakeries. Thank goodness Sprinkles set the cupcake trend back on track with their moist and fluffy works of cakelet perfection... mmm must try the new salty caramel flavor...

Anyways, when I received the Hummingbird Bakery Cookbook, with a quote from Gwyneth Paltrow on the front touting their cupcakes as "legendary" and claiming her special occasions are "always chock full of Hummingbird goodies," I was immediately skeptical. How do I know Gwyneth Paltrow is a bona fide foodie with trustworthy taste in cupcakes? And how can Hummingbird's cupcakes be "legendary" when the bakery's owner admits that "cupcakes seem to be unknown in London" (Hummingbird opened in London in '04)? Fishy! Or maybe I'm just hyper-logical... law school will do that to you.

No offense to the Brits out there, but as far as I know, the UK isn't exactly renowned for its culinary prowess. If you want a sticky or steamed pudding, sure, but can a British bakery turn out a moist cake without covering it with custard, dousing it with sugar-syrup, or baking it in a steam bath? Why, yes, in fact it can.

Despite my misgivings, I was seduced by the mouth-watering photographs in the Hummingbird Bakery Cookbook, and embarked on the Blueberry Cake, pictured with frosting but claiming to be "moist enough to be served without the frosting, if you prefer." I do not prefer frostingless cake, but I demand moist cake! And so I commenced baking. The recipe proceeded a bit oddly, and I've altered the steps for a smoother baking process, but nonethless my cake baked up beautifully- heavy, fragrant, and practically oozing moisture. The frosting recipe likewise proceeded in a strange and backwards manner (Oh those Brits!), but produced a cream cheese frosting so light and fluffy that people proclaimed that it must be made of marshmallows! Not so! The towering, blueberry-bespeckled confection was a sight to behold... But I was unprepared for the first bite...

Perhaps in the UK, people don't consume pounds of sugar every day, and so are accustomed to mild cake. Still slightly warm from the oven, with a crumbly yet moist crumb, the cake at first seemed like a success. As I forked it into my mouth, however, I couldn't help but furrow my brow... it was...somewhat bland, and had an odd baking-powder bitterness like an undercooked pancake. The frosting was spectacular, but I was horrified to serve bland cake. I held my breath and hoped the clouds of frosting would woo my guests into overlooking the cake's pancakish tastelessness. No one complained, but I took the Hummingbird Bakery Cookbook and banished it to the back of my bookshelf with a disgruntled shove. But the story doesn't end there...

Although I had vowed not to eat another bite of the disappointing dessert, I succumbed to the sight if its silky frosting and toothsome interior the next morning... and was amazed!!! Overnight, the baking-soda bitterness had dissipated, the cake had softened, and its mild, muffiny flavor paired perfectly with the oh-so-sweet frosting. It was like the cake-fairy had come in the night and magically transformed the ugly cakling into the graceful swan of sweets! I've devoured about half of the cake on my own since that moment, and I'm already planning my next baking adventure from the Hummingbird Bakery Cookbook.

While I definitely warmed up to this recipe, I must note that you should be prepared for its unusually mild, almost elegant, not-so-sweet flavor. It's reminiscent of cakes I imagine someone's grandmother might have baked (hence the "old-fashioned" moniker). I recommend baking it the night before you plan to serve it, because the flavor undeniably improved overnight.


Cake Ingredients
3 sticks unsalted butter, room temperature
1 3/4 c. sugar
6 eggs
1t. vanilla
3 1/2 c. flour
2T plus 2t. baking powder (make sure it hasn't expired!)
1c. sour cream
3T. whole milk
2 pints fresh blueberries (some will be used for decorating)

Frosting Ingredients
4 2/3 c. powdered sugar
1 stick unsalted butter, softened
8oz cold cream cheese

Prepare the cake:

Preheat the oven to 325. Butter a 10-in ring mold (or angel-food cake pan if you don't have a ring-mold... who has a ring mold??) and lightly dust it with flour. Cream the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well and scraping down the sides of the bowl after each addition. Beat in the vanilla. In a separate bowl, combine the flour and baking powder. Beat in the flour mixture in 3 additions, alternating with the sour cream (starting and ending with the flour mixture). Stir in 1 1/2 pints of blueberries (reserving the other half-pint for decoration). Pour the batter into the prepared pan, and bake until golden brown. The recipe claimed this would take 40 minutes, but my brand-new, perfectly calibrated oven took an hour to bake this puppy up. Check the cake after 40 minutes, but if it's barely browning, and a knife inserted comes out gooey, put it back in and check every 10 minutes until the knife comes out clean and the cake is golden. Once you're satisfied with the cake's doneness, allow it to cool in the pan for about 15 minutes before turning it out to finish cooling completely on your wire rack, or cake stand. When you're nearly ready to frost the cooled cake, make the frosting.

Note: I edited both the cake and frosting steps for a smoother baking process.

Beat the softened butter and cold cream cheese until fluffy and well-mixed. With the mixer on low, beat in the powder sugar in four additions (you could add it all at once, but a billowing cloud of powdered sugar will surely coat you and your kitchen in a fine layer of sugar-dust). When all of the ingredients have been incorporated, turn the mixer to medium-high and continue beating the frosting until fluffified, at least five minutes (this is where having a stand-mixer comes in handy). According to the book, you should not overbeat the frosting or it will begin to weep, but it should be fine if you stick to the five-minute rule.

Slather the big 'ole cake with gobs of frosting, covering the top, sides, and center with as many thick, rich layers as it can hold. Dot the top with the remaining half-pint of blueberries, and to really gild the lily, garnish the cake with a final sprinkle of powdered sugar. SERVE THE NEXT DAY for maximum deliciousness! Unless you don't mind the flavor of baking powder...

Poppyseed Lemonade Cupcakes

Raise your hand if you suffered through a very long, very painful, calorie-busting hour of "Skinny Jeans" and then promptly donned sweatpants and consumed twice as many calories in cupcake batter and cream cheese frosting as you burned doing squats to Poker Face.  Proof that exercise actually causes weight gain!  Luckily, I think the hedonistic pleasure of stuffing these scrumptious cupcakes into my cheeks more than compensated for my wasted workout.

I normally consider baking from a box to be a form of cheating, but I like to bend the rules when it comes to cake mixes because they make damn good cakes.  And if I doctor the mix, it basically counts as a scratch cake!

These cupcakes were especially satisfying because I made them entirely out of ingredients I had on hand.  An old bag of poppy seeds, the sad little half-package of cream cheese in the fridge, and a redolent lemon that had tumbled into the grass from its perch on the lemon bush combined with pantry staples and a cake mix to make a batch of fluffy, citrusy, springtime treats.  These would be really cute if you topped them with sugared lavender or rose petals, but even I'm not crazy enough to have those on hand! Although, I do have roses in my garden, and the recipe for sugared blossoms committed to memory... but I wanted instant, workout-negating, my-ass-will-hurt-for-the-next-three-days-so-I-deserve-it, gratification.  That's why I love cake mixes!  So easy, so yummy, so EVIL...



Cupcake Ingredients
1 butter recipe golden cake mix (butter recipe is always better because butter is always better)
The things the cake mix tells you to use (probably a stick of butter and two or three eggs - check the box)
1 LARGE lemon (mine was the size of a softball, no joke)
2t. poppy seeds, plus extra for decorating

Frosting Ingredients
4oz cream cheese
1 stick of butter, softened
3c. powdered sugar
1t. vanilla

To make the cupcakes, follow the cake mix directions for preheating the oven, and prepare your muffin tins by either lightly buttering each muffin-well, or filling the tins with cupcake wrappers.  Obviously in my lazy state I went with the latter.  Zest and juice the lemon.  Check to see how much water your cake mix requires.  Pour the lemon juice into a liquid measuring cup, and then add water until you have the amount of liquid specified by the cake mix directions.  In a medium bowl, combine the lemon-water with the cake mix, the other ingredients called for by the mix (e.g., butter and eggs), and the zest of the lemon.  Add the poppy seeds and beat on low speed until thoroughly mixed.  Pour the batter into the prepared pans and bake for the time specified on the cake mix box (aaah this recipe is such a cop-out... but it's goooood).  The cake is done cooking when a toothpick inserted into the center of a cupcake comes out clean.

While the cupcakes bake, make the frosting.  Beat the cream cheese and butter together until light and fluffy.  Add the powdered sugar half a cup at a time (adding it little by little will prevent a cloud of powdered sugar dust from erupting over your kitchen), mixing slowly and thoroughly after each addition.  Mix in the vanilla.

When the cupcakes have cooled completely, frost with the cream cheese frosting, and sprinkle with poppy seeds (or sugar encrusted rose petals...).  Eat cupcakes as needed with a glass of milk to mitigate muscle pain caused by Skinny Jeans workouts.  Doctor's orders.

Not much of a sweet tooth?  Check out Evil Batch's new savory-sister blog, Wicked Lickens, jointly edited by me and my beau.  First up, bacon-salmon sandwiches!

Graham Cracker Buttermilk Bundt

You never know when baking inspiration will strike.  Studying has recently stymied my usual obsessive recipe reading, and I thought my baking dry spell would continue through finals, but lo and behold, this recipe snuck through my distraction radar!

In a moment of weird and impromptu food creativity, I had decided to try graham crackers with brie and jam instead of regular crackers (very good - you should try it).  As I inspected my age-old graham cracker box for an expiration date (three weeks ago, but I figured they were fine since they were still sealed...), I noticed the box featured a recipe for something other than graham cracker crust. Interesting!  Apparently you can make bundt cake from graham cracker crumbs!  I had to try it.

I'm normally skeptical of bundt cakes because they tend to turn out dry, but I noted that this recipe called for drenching the entire warm, spice-laden, walnut-studded cake with a hot sauce composed of butter and sugary buttermilk.  Can't go wrong there!  Solution to dry cake? Poke it full of holes and pour in tasty liquid.  Worked like a charm!  Hello warm, moist dessert.  I recommend reserving some of the hot sauce to pour over individual slices.  Whipped cream wouldn't hurt either.

Graham Cracker Buttermilk Bundt Cake

Cake Ingredients:

1/2 c. vegetable oil
1 stick butter, melted (1/2 c.)
1 1/2 c. sugar
3 eggs
1t. vanilla extract
2 c. all-purpose flour
1 c. (14 squares) graham cracker crumbs
1/2 t. salt
1 t. baking porwder
1 t. baking soda
1 t. cinnamon
1 t. allspice
1 t. nutmeg
1 c. buttermilk
1 c. chopped walnuts

Buttery Buttermilk Sauce ingredients:
1 c. sugar
1/2 c. buttermilk
2 t. vanilla
1/3 c. melted butter

Preheat the oven to 300.  In a large bowl, blend the melted butter, oil, and sugar thoroughly, and add the eggs and vanilla.  Mix well.  In a separate bowl (or in your Cuisinart if you're going to pulverize the crumbs in there anyways), stir together the graham cracker crumbs, flour, baking soda, salt, baking powder, and spices.  Add the flour mixture to the egg mixture in three additions, alternating with the buttermilk (start and end with the flour mixture - i.e. flour, buttermilk, flour, buttermilk, flour).  Stir in the chopped walnuts.  Pour the batter into a well-greased (grease that sucker REALLY well - my cake got stuck to the pan and I had to repatch it after inverting) bundt pan.  Bake 1hr., or until a knife inserted into the cake comes out clean.  Cool the cake in the pan for 15 minutes (make the sauce while the cake cools), then invert onto a plate.

To make the sauce, combine sauce ingredients in a saucepan and boil for one minute.  Reserve about 1/3 c. of the glaze for spooning over individual slices. Use a skewer to poke holes all over the cake (Everywhere! Really go crazy.  More holes = more sauce-cake contact = more moistness!), and then spoon the hot sauce over the warm cake.  Spoon the "run-off" back onto the cake to ensure thorough moistening.  Do not let one drop escape!

Serve the cake with the extra sauce, and freshly whipped, sweetened whipping cream.

Stolen Secret Cheesecake

Loosen up those morals! All is fair in love, war, and baking.  Besides, I didn't actually steal the recipe, I just copied it down on the sly... it did not involve snooping around through my roommate's room or thinking of excuses to go upstairs and "say hi" in an effort to ascertain the location of the coveted recipe...  Who actually has a secret recipe anyways??? The whole point of baking is sharing!

This is definitely one of the best classic cheesecake recipes I've come across (although I'm not sure what the big deal was, since it seems like a fairly ordinary recipe on its face), and it's pretty much foolproof.  Trust me, if my crazy ex-roommate could make it, you can.  He cooked some of the worst food I've ever had the misfortune to taste.  For example, his gag-worthy rendition of pasta shells with cheese reminded me of festering pimples.  I'm serious!  The first bite seemed to pop in my mouth, and lukewarm, grainy cheese oozed from the rubbery shell.  I excused myself discretely to spit it out.  He also kept a vat of "recycled," a.k.a. never-replaced-ever, cooking oil on the kitchen counter at all times, and burned everything from shrimp to banana fritters in it!  I'm sure it must have been some kind of fire hazard.  I would definitely nominate him for that "Worst Cooks in America" show.  Despite his dubious cooking skills, he thought he was an amazing, chef extraordinaire, and was constantly bragging about his innovative recipes and culinary prowess.  He was a "talker."  My other roommates and I would get stuck listening to him rant for hours, powerless to so much as hint that we (urgently) needed to be somewhere (anywhere!) else.  So when he bragged to me about his super-secret, best-in-the-world cheesecake recipe, I was nonplussed.

Finally, after months of listening to him boast about the mythical cheesecake, I entered our kitchen one day to find him madly mixing an array of cheesecakey ingredients.  I approached and asked what he was making, and he immediately snatched his dirty little index card up off the counter, lest I catch a glimpse of his precious secret recipe, and leered at me.  "I'm making my secret cheesecake," he said, his nasal tone tinged with pride.  "Oh, great." I replied, "You'll have to let me try some."  He turned his back to me, shielding his batter.  "Hmph, it has to age two days." he muttered.  What?? Age?? It's cheesecake not cheese!  I thought.  But I ignored him and excused myself before I got trapped.

Sure enough, the mysterious cheesecake sat wrapped in the back of our fridge for two whole days.  It looked magnificent beneath it's glossy plastic-wrapping, and I despite myself, I became wildly curious.  At the end of the second day, I waited with bated breath (for once) for my roommate to come home and allow me to sample the fabled cake.  He so very-kindly obliged me a hair-sized slice, but every wispy bite was flawlessly creamy, dreamily rich, and oh-so-over-the-top.  I had to have that recipe!  And now, I do.  And I would like to share it with you.

Enjoy!!!!

I added a traditional graham cracker crust because the secret recipe just called for "any crust."

Graham Cracker Crust
1.5 c. crushed graham crackers
1/4 c. sugar
1/2 t. cinnamon
1/4 c. melted, unsalted butter

Preheat the oven to 400.  Butter a 9-in spring-form pan (you can use any size, but the cooking time may vary and you might have extra batter if you go smaller).  In a medium bowl, combine the graham cracker crumbs, sugar, cinnamon, and melted butter until combined and evenly moistened.  Pour the mixture into the spring-form pan, and press it along the bottom and up the sides of the pan.  Bake about 10 minutes.  Reduce the temperature to 350 (cheesecake is forgiving at lower temperatures - I cooked mine at 300 by mistake with no adverse results - but don't accidentally cook it on 400 or it will be dry and very, very disappointing).  Let the crust cool and prepare the cheesecake.

Secret Cheesecake
4 pkgs (the ones that look like bricks) cream cheese
pinch of salt
5 eggs
1 c. + 2T. sugar
3/4 c. sour cream
2T. vanilla

Topping
1 pint sour cream
1/2 c. sugar
1t. vanilla

Make sure the oven is set to 350.  Beat the cream cheese and salt until fluffy.  Add three of the eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition.  Beat in the 1c. + 2T of sugar.  Add the other two eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition.  Finally, add the 3/4 c. sour cream and 2T. vanilla and mix well.  Pour the batter into the prepared crust and bake 45 - 60 min.  The cheesecake should be set at the edges but still jiggly through the middle.  Check it at 45 minutes, and if it looks really watery still, put it back in and keep checking every 10 minutes until you are satisfied. 

While the cheesecake bakes, stir together the topping ingredients.  As soon as the cheesecake is set to your satisfaction, take it out of the oven and immediately pour the topping into the pan, over the cheesecake.  Spread the topping evenly, and return the cheesecake to the oven for an additional 5 minutes.  Remove the cheesecake from the oven, and let it cool completely on the counter-top.

Here is the weird part.  When the cheesecake has cooled completely, wrap it in plastic or cover with tinfoil (mostly to protect it from funky fridge smells) and stick it in your fridge.  Leave it there for two days.  I know this will take willpower, but do it.  This must be the secret part of the recipe because I've never heard of this step before.  The longest I ever chilled my cheesecakes was overnight, and usually I can't beat my family away with my spoon for even that long!  But who am I to challenge the mysterious secret recipe?  I left this one for two days, as instructed, and it turned out fabulous.  If impatience gets the better of you, let me know how you fare!


Dedicated to my fellow Food Whores, and partners in crime.  You know who you are.

Chocolate Chocolate Mayonnaise Cake

Wipe that grimace of disgust off your face!  Would I really be posting this recipe if it was gross?  I assure you I am 100% anti-mayonnaise.  I think it is the most disgusting supposedly edible substance you could ever put in your mouth.  I can't even stand to be near a jar unless it is completely sealed, with no crusty or quivering mayo creeping over the edges (ugggh shiver of disgust).  I practically had to don a biohazard suit to prepare this recipe, but I was determined to conquer the mayo cake!

If I hate mayonnaise so much, you ask, why did I feel compelled to spend hours ruining a cake with it? (Not so fast, the cake is damn good).  Pure, morbid curiosity.  I've never been able to resist the urge to teeter out onto the culinary limb.  Normal is boring, as I always say!  This recipe really isn't all that "out-there," though.  Unsubstantiated sources tell me that this cake is some kind of Southern favorite (Southerners, correct me if I'm wrong).  Others claim it is a throwback to the depression era (when people couldn't afford butter, but had plenty of sugar, chocolate, and eggs?  Hm, sounds fishy...).  Whatever the origins of mayo-cake may be, the Internet is rife with recipes for it.  Several recipes even call for a chocolate-mayo frosting, but I drew the line there.  While I managed to wrap my mind around the idea of mayo in a cake (it's just oil and eggs, juuuussst oil and eggs.  Every cake has a variation of oil and eggs!  Plus, the oven cooks it alllll away) thinking about globs of raw mayo, wiggling and jiggling on top of the cake, gave me the willies.  Oh god, that is just revolting.  I'm going to gag.  Let's change the subject - back to delicious cake!

 

Chocolate and mayo... match made in Heaven?

The worst thing about making this cake was that I repeatedly had to remind myself NOT to lick the batter off the spoon.  HORROR!  I cannot begin to tell you how grossed out I would be if I ate raw mayo mixed with chocolate and sugar.  Barf.  That being said, a good cook tastes her food along the way to learn about the flavors that make up the final product, so I will admit that I took a tentative, minuscule lick (more of a poke with the tip of my tongue, really) off the end of my spatula after I'd poured the batter into the pans.  And it wasn't horrible!  It tasted like regular chocolate cake batter, and the batter actually looked really appetizing.  It was smooth and glossy, and deeply chocolaty.  MMMM I wish it hadn't had mayonnaise in it so I could've licked the bowl!!!!  Even though the batter tasted fine, I wasn't willing to risk accidental consumption of unmodified mayo.  I'm was sure that a sinister, unmixed mayo-blob lurked somewhere in the dark folds of the batter, waiting to ambush my tongue.  Shudder!!!  Besides, I knew I would consume enough frosting and ganache to make up for lost batter.  It took every iota of my willpower to avoid gobbling up the frosting like chocolate pudding. 

Don't be fooled by the gloppy, attack-of-the-blob appearance of the partially completed cake.  The gloppy, globby mess gets more recognizable with every step of the recipe, and then... viola!  The sleek slice.  The masterpiece!  The ugly mayo duckling becomes a delicious chocolate swan.  Of course, I had to trick my sister and roommate into eating this devilish dessert ("What?  No, I have no idea who put an empty bottle of mayonnaise in the trash with the empty box of sugar, chocolate chip package, and butter wrappers.  How peculiar..."), and I'm strategically posting this AFTER they've succumbed, muah haha!  And succumb they did.  They salivated and watched eagerly as I cut the cake's chocolate cloak.  They oohed and ahhhed at the superior moist interior, the glossy frosting, and the gown of ganache.  They fell upon their unctuous confections and the room lapsed into silence, punctuated only by an occasional, blissful, "mmmmmmmm."  No other "M" word was mentioned.

Bottom line: the cake was a happy accident, and I will definitely make it again.  In fact, it was one of the best chocolate cakes I've made!  The sea-salt sweetness of the butter frosting is a perfect counterpoint to the bittersweet ganache, and that moist, dark mayo-cake holds its own.  I know which recipe I'm making next time someone wants chocolate cake! (You just made a mental note to yourself not to ask me for chocolate cake, didn't you?  Mistake!!! It's sooo delicious I promise).

For the cake:
2 c. all purpose flour
3/4 c. unsweetened cocoa powder
1 1/4 t. baking soda
1/4 t. baking powder
1 1/3 c. sugar
1/3 c. dark brown sugar, packed
3 eggs
1 t. vanilla
1 cup of wiggling jiggling disgusting mayonnaise
1 1/4 c. water
1 T. brandy

Preheat the oven to 350.  Butter two 8 in pans (or two 9-in pans) and dust with flour.  In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, cocoa, baking soda, and baking powder.  In a large bowl, beat the white and brown sugars together with the eggs and vanilla until light and fluffy.  Add the whole cup of mayo, and beat until incorporated.  In a small bowl, stir together the water and brandy.  Alternate adding the flour-mixture and the water-mixture to the egg batter, starting and ending with the flour-mixture.  Pour batter into pans and bake 30-35 min, or until a knife inserted into the center of the cake comes out clean.  Allow the cake to cool 10 minutes, remove from pans, and cool completely.

While the cake cools, make the ganache.

Ganache
1 1/4 c. heavy whipping cream
12 oz bittersweet chocolate chips

Combine the chocolate and the cream in a saucepan.  Stir continuously over low heat until melted and glossy.  Set aside to cool, and start the butter frosting.


Butter Frosting
2 sticks unsalted butter, softened
Sea salt or other coarse salt (I had a sea salt grinder, and used a turn's worth of salt)
2 c. powdered sugar
8 oz semi-sweet chocolate chips

Melt the chocolate chips in the microwave (or place in a metal bowl set over a pan of simmering water if you lead an inconveniently microwaveless life like me).  Allow the chocolate to cool to room temperature before continuing.  Whip the butter, salt, and powdered sugar together with an electric mixer until light and fluffy.  Add the cooled chocolate and whip until incorporated.

Get ready to assemble!  We're going to be pouring chocolate over the cake. This can be kind of tricky if you don't have the right tools, but soldier on with your make-shift setup and you'll be fine.  If you have one, place a metal cooling rack inside a cookie sheet with raised sides.  If you have neither, try to find something else that will prevent your table from getting covered in chocolate.  I covered the bottom of a brownie pan with tinfoil, and then put a tinfoil "wall" all around the pan to catch the chocolate ooze.  Put one cake round on your cooling rack/brownie pan setup.  Frost the top and the sides of the cake round with butter frosting.  Top with the other cake round, and use the rest of the butter frosting to cover the cake.  Put the cake in the fridge for 20 minutes to let the frosting set.

Remove the cake from the fridge.  Stir the ganache to break up any skin that has formed, and heat briefly if necessary.  The ganache should be at room temperature, and should have the consistency of loose pudding.  Pour about half of the ganache over the cake, letting it ooze over the top and down the sides.  Use a spatula to guide the ganache over as much of the cake as possible.  Slowly pour the remaining ganache over the cake, again letting it ooze its way down the sides.  Gently smooth the top with your spatula to coax the ganache to drip and drizzle in attractive drops down the sides of the cake.  Set the whole shebang in the fridge and let it set for 20 minutes more.  Remove from the fridge and use the biggest metal spatula you can find to lift the cake off of the cooling rack/brownie pan, and set it on a plate.  Decorate with something pretty (all they had at Whole Foods was a bag of sub-par caramel hearts.  Next time I'm getting Lindt truffles and cutting them in half, and putting truffle halves around the border).  Mmmmmmmayonnaise!!!

Lemony Pound Cake Doom

Cake is a dangerous thing.  This cake is pure evil.  Like an ancient Latin manuscript that invokes demons when unearthed, my friend and I came upon this recipe buried amidst equally intriguing blogged recipes.  It once occupied an honored place amongst the glossy pages of Rose's Heavenly Cakes, but this fallen angel has been warped and adapted into the cake Siren.  Warm from the oven, golden and piquant, soft, and irresistibly moist... you will be doomed.

My equally food-obsessed friend and I concocted this recipe in conjunction with a recipe for lemon meringue pie, and the evilness of the cake recipe asserted itself even before we began baking!  Some malevolent hand guided us to pick a horrible pie recipe involving corn starch (as a bona fide foodie, I am ashamed to admit I made a custard pie containing cornstarch), and NO SUGAR.  Somehow, probably because we were distracted by the evil pound cake recipe, we failed to notice that the pie filling contained not one iota of sugar.  We baked the entire pie, and only noticed when we sampled our creation that something had gone horribly wrong.  It might've made a nice sauce for a chicken dinner, but under a mound of meringue it was just plain gross.  The lemon pound cake obviously stole the show.  If cakes could cackle, ours would have.
 

Naked Lemons

Cake Ingredients

2 eggs
1 egg yolk
3/4 c. sour cream, plus one T. sour cream
2t. vanilla
2 1/2 c. all-purpose flour
1 1/4 c. sugar
1 1/2 t. baking powder
1/2 t. baking soda
1/2 t. salt
2 T. lemon zest
14 T. unsalted butter, softened

Lemon Topping

1/2 c. sugar
6 T. lemon juice

Butter and lightly flour 10 c. tube or bundt pan.  Preheat the oven to 350.  In a medium bowl, whisk the eggs, egg yolk, 1/4 c. of the sour cream, and the vanilla.  In a separate, larger bowl, combine the flour, sugar, baking soda, baking powder, salt, and lemon zest.  Add the butter and remaining sour cream, mixing on low speed until just moistened.  Increase speed to medium and beat until the mixture lightens in color and becomes fluffier.  Scrape down the sides of the bowl.  Reduce mixing speed to low, and add half of the egg mixture, beating until incorporated.  Add the rest of the egg mixture, and beat on low until incorporated.  Spread the batter evenly into the pan, and bake for 45-55 min.  The cake is done when a knife inserted in it's center comes out clean.  Meanwhile, make the lemon topping:

In a small saucepan, mix the lemon juice and sugar over medium heat until the sugar has dissolved.  Do not allow the mixture to boil.  When the cake comes out of the oven, skewer it or stab it all over with a knife (sounds so evil!) and drizzle with half of the lemon topping (ouch! lemon on stab wounds!).  Unmold the cake (using a springform mold came in handy- no need to wait for it to cool!) and drizzle with the remaining syrup.  Torture yourself by waiting until the cake is cool enough to handle, or devour the steaming cake immediately and sacrifice your tongue and lips for its melting texture.

Coconut Cream Meringue Cake

Ahhh the taste of success. It's really the cake that tastes so wonderful, but it's always nice to make a slam dunk after a horrible failure. Thank you Fine Cooking! Fine Cooking is officially my new favorite food magazine. Ok, that's a lie, Fine Cooking has been at the top of my list for quite awhile. They won me over with their big glossy pictures, and backed up their photo skills with superb recipes. This is one of those recipes. The picture in the magazine is a little better than mine, but I wanted to give you the "real thing," not some gussied up Styrofoam frosted with shaving cream (I'm on to you Fine Cooking! No way those gorgeous pictures are real. Next thing you know people are going to start claiming that no airbrushes ever touched those photo-captured fashion models).

This cake has the "Wow" factor in every respect: three fat layers, moist from sinful amounts of butter and sour cream, are buoyed on puddles of custard that has been stuffed with fluffy coconut and lightened with clouds of whipped cream. Then the whole shebang is smothered with enough meringue to kill a diabetic. I should know. THEN, the meringue is caramelized with the handy kitchen-torch I'm sure all of you have lying around in your kitchens. If you don't own a kitchen blow torch you should probably get one. Even if you only use it one time, to make this cake, it will be worth it (provided you don't somehow screw up the cake before you get to the torching).

In the interest of full disclosure, let me say that this is not a trivial recipe. In addition to a beautiful, miraculously good cake, I ended up with cramped hands, sore arms, seven-thousand dirty bowls, and a kitchen splattered with egg whites and whipping cream. Not to mention I felt ill after nibbling cake batter and frosting for 3 hours. But don't let me dissuade you! The cake is freakin' delicious.

One more tip: not a good idea to put a roll of paper towels behind the cake while caramelize the meringue. Aiming flame thrower at flammable objects = bad.

Cake:
2 sticks unsalted butter, softened
13.5 oz all-purpose flour (3 c. for those of you without baking scales)
4 t. baking powder
1/2 t. kosher salt
1 c. coconut milk (shake well, room temp)
1 T. vanilla
2 c. sugar
2 large eggs at room temp
6 large egg whites at room temp (don't throw away the yolks! save 3)
2/3 c. sour cream

Coconut Filling:
2 c. heavy cream
3 large egg yolks
3/4 c. sugar
2 T. flour
1 c. sweetened flaked coconut
2 T. unsalted butter
1 T. vanilla
pinch of kosher salt

Meringue:
3 c. sugar
1.5 c. egg whites (about ten large) at room temp

Make Cake:
Preheat the oven to 350. Butter three cake pans and line with parchment. Butter the parchment. In a medium bowl, mix the flour, baking powder, and salt.

In a 1 c. measure, mix the coconut milk and vanilla.

Beat the butter and sugar until light and fluffy, about 5 minutes. Scrape the bowl and add eggs one at a time, beating well after each egg. Add 1/3 of the flour mixture and beat slowly to incorporate. Add half the coconut milk and beat to incorporate. Alternate adding flour and coconut milk, beating after each addition to incorporate, and ending with the flour. Beat in the sour cream.

In a clean bowl, beat egg whites to soft peaks (lift out the beaters and the whites should droop a little off the ends). Dollop some egg whites into the batter and stir to loosen. Fold remaining whites into the batter gently. Divide batter between three pans and bake 25-30 minutes. A toothpick poked into the center should come out clean. Now, the recipe instructs you to position the pans so that two are on the top rack and one is on the lower rack, and no pan is directly over another. This sounds like a bunch of hooey to me, but do it just in case.

Make the Filling:
In a medium bowl, whisk yolks with 1.5 c. of the cream. In a medium saucepan, combine the yolk mixture with the flour and sugar. Cook over medium heat, whisking continually, until smooth. Bring the mixture to a simmer and cooking, whisking, for 8-10 minutes. The mixture should achieve a pudding-like consistency. Remove from heat and stir in the coconut, vanilla, and butter. Allow to cool to room temp. Whip the remaining half cup cream into soft peaks and fold into the cooled pudding.

Make the Meringue:
Set a metal bowl over a pan of simmering water, and whisk the egg whites with the sugar until the sugar melts completely, 3-4 min. Rub the mixture between your fingertips to ensure complete melting. Transfer the mixture to a cool bowl and beat on low speed until the mixture becomes opaque and thickens, 4 min. Raise speed to medium and beat the mixture to barely-soft peaks. Increase speed to high and whip the mixture until thick and glossy. Peaks should stand up and curl slightly when the beater is lifted. This should take another 4 min or so.

To assemble, unmold the cakes and sandwich half the filling between two layers. Add the rest of the filling to the top layer, and place the third layer over it. Don't forget to remove the parchment. Mound the meringue on the cake. You do not need to use all of it! Dollop gobs here and there and spread it to cover the cake completely, then pile a little more in the center for good measure. You'll probably use about a third, but if you really want to you can use all of it. I just prefer to have a few crumbs of cake with my meringue.

To make the fancy little spikes on the cake, dip your fingers into the meringue and lift. Poke the cake all over until it's crazy looking.

Use a kitchen torch to brown the meringue by holding the torch a few inches from its surface and guiding the flame around the cake until it is browned to your liking.

Invite 10 people over to help you eat it because it won't keep very well! Nothing worse than slimy second-day meringue! Ok, another lie. I ate two pieces the second day. But I don't recommend refrigerating leftovers (cardinal cake sin), and since the whole thing is made of eggs I wouldn't advise keeping it too long. Shouldn't be a big problem!

Golden Prosecco Cake with Lemon Curd and Macerated Berries

Wow. Martha Stewart completely failed me this time. Yes, I am most certainly blaming this failure on her recipe, seeing as how I followed it to the letter. I should have known there was something fishy about a recipe that required whipping egg whites mixed with loads of brown sugar to stiff peaks! Ain't gonna happen. My whites remained a puddle of brown froth.

Nonetheless, I forged ahead, convinced that baking the brown slop migh somehow revive it. Nope. Martha's brown sugar angel cake looked edible when I pulled it out of the oven, however, and I began to think nothing was amiss. The lemon curd went off without a hitch, my tangerine-macerated berries glistened in their crystal bowl, and a jar of double cream waited in the fridge for dinner to end.

As the guests finished their wine, I hopped up from the table to unmold the cake. I sawed the edges loose, tipped the cake over, and patted the bottom. A damp chunk of gray cake fell out with a splat. Not good. The cake was a total, utter, disgusting mess. It looked more like a drowned squirrel caracass than angel food cake. I ventured a nibble and grimaced at the slimy, tough texture and old-sock flavor. With a furtive glance over my shoulder I whisked the disaster into the garbage, and hurried to the cupboard to look for a cake mix. Good old trusty cake mix!

Plain yellow cake, while delicious, would not exactly go with a random bowl of berries and lemon curd, so I opted to doctor the cake and make ... whatever I had ingredients to make! A half-consumed bottle of prosecco in the fridge inspired Golden Prosecco Cake With Lemon Curd and Macerated Berries. Fortunately, the cake turned out perfectly.

The butter in the recipe gives the cake a pleasant toothsome crumb, and the prosecco lends a heady fragrance. This cake has a sturdier texture than regular yellow cake, which allows it to absorb the juice from the berries and create a moist mouthful without becoming soggy. It would probably taste great with berries mixed right into the batter! That can be my next experiment. Although, I'm somewhat dissuaded from experiments after the horrible rubbery mess my last one produced.

Prosecco Cake

1 box yellow cake mix
1 pkg instant vanilla pudding
1/2 c. melted butter, cooled
1/4 c. canola oil
4 eggs
3/4 c. prosecco

Lemon Curd

6 egg yolks
1/2 c. lemon juice from 3-4 lemons
1 T. grated lemon zest
1 c. sugar
1/2 c. softened butter

Macerated Berries

1 pkg fresh raspberries
1 pkg fresh blackberries
1/2 a tangerine
3 T. sugar

Whipped Cream

3/4 c. heavy whipping cream
2-3 T. powdered sugar

Make the lemon curd:
In a small saucepan, combine the sugar, lemon juice, and egg yolks over low heat. Stir constantly until the mixture thickens to the consistency of hollandaise sauce (coats the back of the spoon). Do not allow the mixture to boil! This will result in lemon flavored scrambled eggs. Remove from heat and stir in softened butter and lemon zest until the butter melts completely. Chill until cold. If you don't like skin on your puddings, set plastic wrap on the surface of the curd before chilling.

Make the cake:
Preheat the oven to 350. Mix all the cake ingredients together, stirring for five minutes. Pour into a heavily buttered bundt pan and bake for 30-45 minuts, or until golden brown. Make the berry mixture while the cake bakes.

Wash and dry the berries. Stir the berries and sugar together, and squeeze the juice of the tangerine half over the mixture. Stir and refrigerate.

While the cake is still warm, but cool enough to handle, gently cut around the edges of the bundt pan and release the cake onto a serving plate.

Whip the cream into soft peaks, add the powdered sugar, and mix on low until incorporated.

Serve wedges of the warm prosecco cake with a scoop each of lemon curd, whipping cream, and berries. Deny existence of fallen angel cake.

Gingerbread Peach Upside-Down Cake

Usually I'm a bit of a baking snob. I prefer to make things from scratch, and I can always tell after one bite if someone's taken a shortcut and used a box for their brownies. But sometimes life calls for a baking quickie (especially when you're in law school. Damn, did I really just say "especially when"? I really can't get away from it anymore! If anyone from my section ever reads this they will understand . . . everyone else ignore the last few comments.) I have to admit, however, that I love cakes made from boxes because they are fast, fluffy, moist, and easily adaptable so even a baking snob can add a creative spin to make the cake more authentic.

My mom has been making this recipe for me and my siblings for as long as I can remember. The robust, spicy-sweet aroma of ginger and bubbling peach syrup takes me right back to my childhood. The combo of trashy ingredients (boxed gingerbread mix, and canned peaches) takes minutes to mix, and somehow produces a sophisticated dessert that will fool any foodie into thinking you baked it from scratch. A word of warning: DO NOT attempt to replace the silky dollop of sweetened, freshly whipped cream with a squirt of its canned counterpart. Impostor whipped cream will cheapen the rich, dark cake, and transform the sweetness of the caramelized topping from coy to cloying. Avoid tragedy. Whip your own cream.

Gingerbread Peach Upside-Down Cake

1 box gingerbread mix (plus ingredients listed on the mix)
1 large can of peach havles in syrup
3/4 stick of butter
brown sugar (indeterminate amount. just have a bag handy)
1 c. heavy whipping cream
2T. powdered sugar

Preheat the oven to whatever temperature the gingerbread cake requires. Melt the butter in the microwave and pour it into a square baking pan (9x9 will work). Spoon enough brown sugar into the pan to absorb the butter, and pat it down into an even layer. Drain the peaches and lay the peach halves cut side up. Follow the directions on the gingerbread cake mix to make the batter, and then pour the batter over the peaches and brown sugar. Bake for however long the mix calls for on the box. The cake should have risen, and should look firm. Pull the cake out and test for doneness by sticking a knife halfway into the center. If it comes out with batter on it, return the cake to the oven for another 5-10 minutes and test it again. When the knife comes out clean, remove the cake and let it cool for a few minutes while you whip the cream.

Use electric beaters to whip the cup of whipping cream on high speed until soft peaks form. Add 2T. powdered sugar and whip on medium speed for another ten seconds. Do not overwhip or your whipped-cream will end up with a chunky, unpleasant texture and may taste more like butter than whipped-cream. The cream should have a fairly loose consistency.

To serve, cut a square of the cake out of the pan (try to get a peach half in there), and spoon the juices from the bottom of the pan over the cake. Dollop with copious amounts of freshly whipped cream. This dessert is best served hot from the oven!

Molten Chocolate Cakes

Although the novelty of these cakes has worn off after eating them a million times, the enjoyment has yet to fade! There are two methods (that I know of) to making a molten chocolate cake. The obvious way to do it would be to stick a meltable ball of something-or-other into the center of the batter prior to baking. This method has the advantage of allowing you to incorporate a molten center other than chocolate, but why would you want to do that anyways?? The method I prefer uses just six basic ingredients (not counting garnishes or sauces!), which come together without any fanfare to create one of the most delicious, deeply chocolaty desserts imaginable. I originally obtained this recipe from Nigella Lawson's "How To Be A Domestic Goddess" (fantastic book!), and have altered it a teensy bit to suite my taste (especially since, in my opinion, extra chocolate topping and ice cream are indispensable companions to this dessert). I've made it dozens of times, and it's virtually foolproof as long as you don't overcook the cakes! I wish I had a picture, but the time it would take me to grab my camera would cause the glaciers of vanilla ice cream around my cake to melt into puddles. Ok, ok, the real reason is that I'm always too distracted by dessert to remember the camera at all . . . maybe next time.

Cake Ingredients:

1/4 c. unsalted butter (plus extra for buttering)
one package bittersweet chocolate chips, or semi-sweet if you're a chocolate wuss
3/4 c. sugar
4 eggs
1/3 c. flour
pinch of salt

Topping:

Vanilla ice cream (please don't insult the dessert by using "light" ice cream)
equal parts chocolate chips, and milk (or cream if you want to go all out)

Equipment:

Parchment paper
6 ramekins, or a 6-muffin jumbo muffin tin
A cookie sheet to transfer cakes to and from the oven, and for easy removal if using a muffin tin

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Fold a piece of parchment onto itself three times, set a ramekin on top, and trace the bottom of a ramekin onto the parchment. Cut out the tracing to create 8 ramekin-sized circles (you only need six, obviously). Butter the ramekins, place a parchment circle in each, and butter the parchment circle. Set the ramekins aside.

For the cakes: Microwave the chocolate chips for 30 second intervals, stirring between intervals, until they are melted. In a separate bowl, cream the butter and sugar with an electric mixer (this can be done by hand with forks or a whisk, but it's a real pain). Add the eggs, one at a time, beating between each addition. Stir the pinch of salt into the flour, and stir the flour into the egg mixture until just combined. Blend in the cooled chocolate.

Divide the batter between the ramekins/muffin tins and place them on a cookie sheet (if using). Pop it in the oven for 10 minutes, and not a moment longer!

While the cakes cook, take the vanilla ice cream out of the freezer to soften, and make the sauce. For the sauce, microwave equal parts chocolate chips and milk on 30 second intervals, stirring between each interval until smooth. If you like a runnier sauce, add more milk.

Immediately remove the cakes from the oven. Use a sharp knife to separate the edges of the cakes from the ramekins/muffin tins. If you are using ramekins, tip the cakes out one by one onto plates, remove parchment, top with sauce and ice cream, and serve. If you are using a muffin tin, place the cookie sheet on top of the muffin tin, and using your thumbs (inside oven mitts of course) to hold the cookie sheet firmly against the muffin tin, invert the whole contraption over your head. Place it on the counter and rap the bottom of the muffin tin to make sure the cakes release. Carefully lift the tin up to reveal six perfect little cakes. Remove the parchment and proceed with saucing and serving.

Another incentive to use the chocolate sauce is that if you do overcook the cakes by accident, you'll still be able to enjoy melted chocolate. And the ice cream? Trust me, you don't want to miss out on the delightful contrast between the sweet, cold ice cream, and the rich, piping hot cakes. Phenomenal!