3 March 2009 
I knew from the six-inch label riddled with artificial ingredients that this was a bad idea. It was anyone’s guess that muddled amongst the additives and preservatives was an egg or two, even if from an extremely non-organic hen. Still, my daughter’s 10-year old birthday celebration eagerly awaited and according to her it could not be commemorated without our local grocery’s mammoth sheet cake spray painted with tiny glorious images of Zach Efron and his High School Musical entourage.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to bake you a cake?” I begged, knowing, in the back of my head that I must be supportive of whatever her wants and needs are and be flexible at this significant time, because after all it was her birthday.
I watched her lanky body standing next to me and duly noted that she was on the cusp of adolescence, which promised an assortment of rebellion: it could be pierced body parts, orange hair or late night stays in strange places and thus, now would be a good time to practice that much supportive I’m-there-for-you-you-can-always-talk-to-me mom vibe because it was a quick hop from cake choices to hoodlum hood if I played my cards wrong. So yes, knowing, on a theoretical sense how much was at stake here, I forced my best smile and tried, really tried, to embrace the idea of this impostor cake basking in my daughter’s merriment but I was betrayed by my mind which spun with names of all the chemicals such a cake assaulted the sacred world of baked goods with and my smile just wouldn’t stick.
I looked at my daughter and already she had grown. It would only be a year or two before the curves would start to pop out, then the dark eyeliner, then…
“Any cake you want, I promise!” I barked out suddenly very afraid.
Of course, I was referring to my generous offer to bake her any type of cake she wanted but being the good lawyer-in-waiting that she is, she saw the loophole and pounced on it:
“Any cake? Well I want this High School Musical Cake with two layers of chocolate and chocolate pudding filling in between.”
“Okay” I sulked, feeling failure for selling out to over-processed goop in the name of pre-adolescent concord. I might have just saved her from a treacherous trail to juvi, but still, my heart sank. Transferring minimal baking ethics that require not ingesting anything whose label I can’t understand was part of my Basic Culinary Legacy Plan and I had fallen short fast.
Her eyes lit up with excitement (or was that just victory, I couldn’t tell) as she eagerly rattled off to the baker all the prerequisites for her artificial birthday cake, which, I noted, included generous strokes of neon yellow and orange. And even though she stood on the brink of authorized rebellion, she sensed my angst and curled her arm around my waist, whispering in her most reassuring tone, “It’s okay mom, it will be good,” to which I could only respond with another feigned attempt of an equally artificial smile.
Her birthday came and with it all the excitement of her party and its festivities. Throughout it all, the cake sat waiting to be enjoyed, watching the birthday girl savor her day and hoping a cue to cut its chemical contents would soon be called. As the mom, I knew it was my duty to throw the cake upon her with utmost glee and celebration. But I simply couldn’t, feeling too excited that she had actually forgotten it to stop and give her her moment with her preservative cake.
‘I’ll leave it up to her’, I quietly reasoned with myself, knowing it was unrealistic and unfair to place such weight on an overscheduled party girl. And so, socializing led to hairstyling led to playing led to dancing led to dinner out led to more dancing led to a long movie with popcorn and sleeping bags and snoring girls and absolutely no cake.
The next day after her slumber party finished off and the last of her friends left, she wandered up to her forgotten sugar teenage idol and half-heartedly said, “Mom, we forgot to eat this.”
“I know”, I said, this time sporting a true grin, the product of both relief and sheer happiness.
“All the same” she continued, watching me closely, “It’s probably old by now” she stated, knowing that with all the questionable ingredients in there it could last until she turned 22.
“I’m more in the mood for one of your things, anyhow”, she offered, giving me the appropriate time to let those words sink in, which I did slowly, savoring each one with the giddiness of first time love.
“Really?” I asked, unable to contain my excitement.
“Something really great. Something to celebrate being ten. A chocolate pie, maybe. ”
No sooner had she said that I was bouncing around grating bittersweet chocolate and rolling out the dough, whistling all the while.
I caught sight of her in the corner of the kitchen. She watched me and smiled, savoring her own private victory and sharing in mine.
Chocolate Pie
For crust: (The Silver Palate Cookbook)
- 2 ½ cups all-purpose flour
- 2 teaspoons granulated sugar
- 1 teaspoon salt
- 8 tablespoons (1 stick) sweet butter, chilled
- 6 tablespoons vegetable shortening, chilled
- 5 to 6 tablespoons iced water, as needed
Sift flour, sugar and salt into a mixing bowl. Add chilled butter and shortening. Working quickly and using your fingertips or a pastry blender, rub or cut fat into dry ingredients until the mixture resembles coarse meal.
Sprinkle on ice water, 2 to 3 tablespoons at a time, and toss with a fork. Turn dough out onto your work surface and using the heel of your hand, smear dough away from you, about ¼ cup at a time. Scrape it up into a ball and wrap in wax paper. Chill in refrigerator for 2 hours.
For prebaking, line dough in the pie plate with foil and fill with bean or rice. Bake in a 425-degree oven for 8 minutes, then remove beans and lining. Prick bottom of dough with a fork and return pie plate to oven for 10 to 13 minutes longer, or until crust is golden brown. Cool. Makes two 9” crusts
For filling:
- 2/3 cup sugar
- ¼ cup cornstarch
- 4 large egg yolks
- 3 cups whole milk
- 5 oz. fine-quality bittersweet chocolate (not unsweetened), melted
- 2 oz. unsweetened chocolate, melted
- 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
- 1 teaspoon vanilla
For topping:
- ¾ cup chilled heavy cream
- 1 tablespoon sugar
Make filling:
Whisk together sugar, cornstarch, salt, and yolks in a 3-quart heavy saucepan until combined well, then add milk in a stream, whisking. Bring to a boil over moderate heat, whisking, then reduce heat and simmer, whisking, 1 minute (filling will be thick).
Force filling through a fine-mesh sieve into a bowl, then whisk in chocolates, butter, and vanilla. Cover surface of filling with a buttered round of wax paper and cool completely, about 2 hours.
Spoon filling into crust and chill pie, loosely covered, at least 6 hours.
Make topping:
Just before serving, beat cream with sugar in a bowl using an electric mixer until it just holds stiff peaks then spoon on top of pie.
Pie can be chilled up to 1 day Serves 8 - 10
