These past weeks of quarantine have triggered a real stripping down of life. A good analogy is my physical belongings: we left our apartment in New York City just as the virus started to really take hold. I didn’t know—or even stop to think—about when we’d be back. The question of “will we be back?” didn’t enter my mind at all, and it would have seemed laughable if it had. But here we are—two months later—with an ever-increasing likelihood that we won’t return.
So I left in a rush, packing as if for a week-long vacation. Actually, strike that. Considering the bizarre blanket of anxiety weighing on me when we left, I packed as if I was an extra in that scene in The Sound of Music when the von Trapp family flees Salzburg in the middle of the night, minus the outfits made out of curtains and the dreamy Austrian naval officer. (Come to think of it, it would probably have been a more enjoyable exodus had it been set to music. Cue “the hills are aliiiiive.”)
I threw a random assortment of clothes in a backpack, then—propelled by the panic in the news media and convinced I’d never find food again—focused all my energy on packing up a completely unnecessary assortment of items in my kitchen: bags of high-gluten flour, a heavy cast iron pan, jars of pickled beets and tins of powdered saffron and salted popped water lily seeds and date syrup. The world might be ending, but by God I will have plenty of puffed quinoa dark chocolate!
I left behind most of my things. My very extensive book collection. Most of my wardrobe. The shampoo I like and my electric toothbrush and my Dutch oven. I didn't bring, obviously, the rocking chair I painstakingly chose for the nursery or the artwork I hung with such care in February. I didn’t bring framed photos or my pink J.Crew raincoat or any of a dozen pairs of stiletto heels. I abandoned lipsticks and my good thick socks and a bottle of expensive tequila.
For the first hour of the drive, I felt the pang of each of my belongings in turn. They pulled at me, heightening my anxiety to the point where I felt a cold prick of sweat under my t-shirt. It wasn’t any one thing I was worried about—it was the sense of leaving en masse all the physical things that pin me to my daily life. I would be unmoored without them, I was sure of it.
Reader, to what is no doubt your absolute lack of shock, I was fine. I forgot about all of those things. I don’t need them, and I’m probably better off without them. Or—setting self-righteousness aside—I’m still me whether I’m surrounded by material things or not. (Let’s be clear, divesting oneself of a few pink t-shirts and ballet flats does not a perfect, enlightened person make. But it does feel lighter and brighter and more empowering to realize that there’s very little you need, in the way of stuff.)
One notable exception: umbrellas. You need an umbrella! Every place I’ve ever lived has always had one or two tucked away, long-forgotten, in the corner of some closet. A new place has no umbrella. We are getting wet people.
My emotional state seems to have mirrored that of my belongings: there’s less and it’s making room for more. Does that make sense? Suddenly a lot of things that crowded my life—or seemed to matter so much—have floated away to the edges of my mind. Work, for example, or where I’m going to live, or planning for pretty much anything or reading blogs or staying in touch with what everyone is doing in food media. Those things exist, but not for right now. And so there’s space left, which means fewer things can expand to greater importance.
Your pantry should probably follow suit. Fewer things of greater importance. For instance, it’s a smart idea to always have essentials for making a killer chocolate cake. And I mean killer…deep and rich and striking to look at. I have a lot of chocolate cake recipes that I like, and quite a few that fall into the “intense” category (like this Brooklyn blackout cake or this flourless chocolate cake) but this recipe is in a class of its own.
For one, it has a lot of coffee in it. And secondly, it is a little involved to make but fully worth it, yielding a plethora of chocolate in every bite, from a gooey dark chocolate espresso filling to the moist coffee-soaked chocolate cake to the smooth and sweet chocolate frosting.
Before you wave your hands around and shout, I know this is a complicated cake! And this is a post all about simplicity! But just make it. If you’re going to be EXTRA somewhere in your life, let it be in the cake department.
Plus it’s not actually difficult—you just need a few things OF GREAT IMPORTANCE (see the above lesson!): buttermilk (which you can make with milk and vinegar if need be), sour cream (which you can substitute with Greek yogurt), cream cheese (sorry, you need that), and espresso powder (which you can omit and just stick with the brewed coffee).
Make it when you want to impress yourself. Make it when you have a few hours. Make it when it’s someone’s birthday, or a holiday, or a Tuesday night because HI there should be no schedule when it comes to pleasure.
(New life motto?)
Espresso Chocolate Layer Cake
Makes one four-layer cake
For the cake
2 cups (240g) all-purpose flour
2 cups (396g) granulated sugar
1 cup cocoa powder (use black cocoa for a darker color)
1/2 tablespoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon kosher salt
3 eggs
1/3 cup sour cream or whole-milk Greek yogurt
2/3 cup buttermilk
1 cup freshly brewed coffee
1/3 cup vegetable oil
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
For the coffee soak
2/3 cup (150g) freshly brewed coffee
6 tablespoons (75g) granulated sugar
For the filling
3 sticks (339g) butter, softened
1 cup (227g) cream cheese, softened
1 1/2 cups (126g) cocoa powder (I use black cocoa here also)
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
5 cups—or more—confectioners’ sugar*
1/4 cup milk
For the frosting
1 1/2 cups (225g) dark chocolate, chopped or chips
4 sticks (454g) butter, at room temperature
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon espresso powder
3 1/4 cups (340g) confectioners’ sugar
3/4 cup (170g) sour cream, at room temperature
To make the cake: Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and line two 9” round cake pans with parchment, then grease the parchment and sides well.
Whisk together the flour, sugar, cocoa, baking soda, baking powder, and salt in a large bowl.
In a stand mixer, beat the eggs with the sour cream (or yogurt), buttermilk, coffee, vegetable oil, and vanilla.
Add the dry ingredients and mix just until the batter is smooth. Divide the batter between the two pans and bake for 30 to 35 minutes, or until the top springs back just barely when touched.
While the cake bakes, make the coffee soak by whisking together the sugar and brewed coffee.
Remove the cakes from the oven, let cool in the pan for about 20 minutes, then turn onto a wire rack to slice and add the soak. Slice each cake in half horizontally so you have four layers and brush the coffee soak liberally over the top of each layer (on the cut side). Now, let the cakes cool completely before assembling (I like to freeze my cake layers briefly to make them easier to frost).
Make the filling: Beat together the butter and cream cheese in the bowl of a stand mixer until fluffy. Add the cocoa powder and vanilla and beat well, then add the confectioners’ sugar and milk. Continue adding more confectioners’ sugar until you reach a thick, spreadable consistency (start with 5 cups but you may need more, it really depends I find!).
Make the frosting: Melt the dark chocolate with the butter over a double boiler or in the microwave, stirring until smooth. Add the salt, vanilla, and espresso powder and stir until smooth.
Add the chocolate mixture to the bowl of a stand mixer and add 1/3 of the confectioners’ sugar, beating til smooth, then 1/3 of the sour cream, and so on, continuing until all used up.
To assemble: Spread the filling generously between each soaked layer (soaked side up). I like to use a small rubber spatula and an offset spatula for this. Spread the frosting over the entire cake. It’s helpful to chill it slightly before cutting.