I’m having a mini melt down over here. You want to know why? It has to do with baking. My one stress release is stressing me the heck out.
I consider myself a pretty good baker. Not Bakerella good, or even good enough to start my own blog for that matter, but I’m decent. My family and friends all adore my baking, which gives me loads of confidence. Right now though, I’m seriously lacking it.
I’m trying to build up a collection of recipes for staples like chocolate cake, banana bread, chocolate chip cookies. You know, simple things. Except chocolate cake is giving me grief. I don’t want anything fancy, just a go-to recipe for when someone requests a chocolate cake from me. I’ve tried several different recipes, and when I thought that maybe I had found the one I loved, I decided I could do better. I tried a new recipe tonight, and it’s currently cooling on my counter…but I can already tell I’m not happy with it. I want a cake that will produce two good size layers. I somehow overlooked the fact that the ingredients for the new cake would produce two tiny layers that I really should have just kept as one. It’s 11pm, and I don’t really think I have the time to find another recipe and bake a new cake.
I decided to stick with it and start making my chocolate ganache. I pull out the scale to weigh my chocolate and the scale doesn’t even turn on. (Picture me saying this through gritted teeth, I’m pretty frustrated right now.) Something sounds loose in the scale, so I grab a screwdriver and take it apart. I have no idea what the heck I’m supposed to do with the loose part, so I just leave it in there and put it all back together. Guess what? Scale started working again. The ganache is currently chilling out in the fridge (I want to use it as a frosting), and I’m currently trying to chill out myself. This cake is supposed to be my gift to my mom tomorrow for her birthday dinner…but it’s turning into one big disaster. I just wish someone would hand me a recipe book filled with all the answers I need. Maybe I just need to stop being a perfectionist. Or maybe my mom should have requested a dang cheesecake.