Baking for an audience. (Or, I'm no Sara Moulton, despite the shared first name.)

So the day finally occurred. The Day.

The day where I would be baking in front of people not related to or dating me. A still forgiving crowd, albeit less obligated to be.

Hoo boy.

I pondered and thought, and decided to make a recipe which had served me well in the past. I even brought the dry ingredients (I was to bake in my friend's house, no less) in a plastic bag, so prepared was I. I felt confident, and a tad bit sassy, carting in my cocoa and flour and homemade vanilla (more on that on a later date).

I mixed together the ingredients, "borrowed" eggs and oil from my friend, and put the cakes in the oven. They baked. I made witty banter with my friends. I took them out of the oven. The banter continued as the cakes cooled. We ate dinner.

After dinner, the cakes still had not cooled to my liking. I thought (no, Sara, haven't you learned that thinking is BAD) that maybe they would cool down faster out of the pans.

I took one pan and hovered it over a plate, my friend peeking below.

I then heard the sound of disappointment. Ohhhh.

Where's the other half?

Found it.

(I'll clarify now that my cakes were not blue, the lighting made it seem that way. They were just brown. And misshapen.)

Seems as though the cakes were more than very reluctant to leave the pans in their warm states. Really, who could blame them. It was nice and cozy in there. And they were about to be wrangled by yours truly into some sort of socially acceptable form (not really).

Despite the really awful looking cakes ("I'm sure they still taste good!" she was chiming in with at this point), I forged ahead. What other choice did I have? (Note to self: learn to make parfait or another broken-cake-friendly dessert.)

Already beginning to cave in on itself.

The plan was to cover the cake in ganache. While does cover flaws on a cake, it doesn't hide them. You know a problem is still there, but it does have the added bonus of a tasty layer on top.

Not bad, not bad...

Not good, not good...

At this point, Adam had the misfortune to wander in and ask,

(and we all know what he's about to ask)

"How's it going?"

I gave him my best "doom and destruction and horror and "Oh the humanity"" look, to which he replied (after hustling over to make sure I still had my limbs after my expression), "Oh, it looks fine."

Here, it just looks kinda like a mess. But not a sinking mess with a crumbling foundation. It's all about perspective, really.

After slicing the cake. No, the inside is not undercooked. It's just missing an essential ingredient we like to call cake.


When sliced, it sort of kind of maybe resembles a respectable cake. Kind of. Maybe.

Despite its cringe-worthy appearance, yes, again, the cake did not fail me. Really, how could you go wrong with chocolate and raspberry (the middle layer) and more chocolate. I know! Don't let the cakes cool entirely before slapping them together! That'll work out brilliantly!

Ahem.

So yes, the moral of the story is to be friends with kind and forgiving people (ones who enjoy cake are a nice bonus). Also to let your cakes cool before taking them out of the pan. But more about the friends (such as mine, who barely acknowledged that the cake was self-demolishing before their eyes, and only made mention of it to remark on its deliciousness).