On the spookiest day of the year, we were scheduled not for an exuberance of sugar - that happened two weeks prior - but another meaty meal for two.
Majority of the day had been spent in the kitchen, constructing yet another roll cake. I had been in constant review of similar recipes leading up the big day, yet the mere thought of rolling a warm sponge filled with cold cream was just - without any other way to declare it - unpleasant.
The trauma never truly emerges until the stage of exasperation. Making the cake (and cream) were nearly effortless, with all whisking, baking, and washing operations completed within one hour. Meticulous temperature control also enabled the chocolate decor to materialize as pictured.
The trauma never truly emerges until the stage of exasperation. Making the cake (and cream) were nearly effortless, with all whisking, baking, and washing operations completed within one hour. Meticulous temperature control also enabled the chocolate decor to materialize as pictured.
A glaze was not part of the original plan, but crept up as a potential option while in wait of the cake to set. First was a failed glaze, then a failed ganache. They were assembled with chocolate shards to form a coffee pudding, while a small portion of the ganache was drizzled over the cake in an attempt to camouflage less-than-perfect edges. In reality, the too-thin top layer contributed little beyond excess moisture.
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As for the roll itself, anxiety remains as my rolling skills only seem to diminish with each new undertaking. Roll cakes traumatize me. They taunt me and torture me with their asymmetrical cross-section and delicate exterior. I bid it farewell, until the next time it makes its way onto my request roster.
For the record, the cake tasted fantastic. Fluffy cocoa sponge contrasted nicely with an airy, flavourful coffee cream filling and crisp snaps of dark-white chocolate imprints.
For the record, the cake tasted fantastic. Fluffy cocoa sponge contrasted nicely with an airy, flavourful coffee cream filling and crisp snaps of dark-white chocolate imprints.
Half a decade later came the subsequent visit to Cagneys. It hadn't changed much, from what I could recall, and adopted the same moody blue undertones throughout the restaurant. The glass wine cellar remained affixed, positioned between the main dining room and sports bar-esque "lounge area". Perhaps the only difference was the addition of a plexiglass barrier at the hostess table and the mandatory mask mandate, a rule by which one member of the floor staff barely adhered. Proof of vaccination was not requested at our time of entry, and only glanced at in passing when we dug them from our purses.
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As our eyes swept across the floor to witness indisputable vacancy, it is likely that last-minute diners would also have been accommodated. Our booking had been arranged in advance via OpenTable; the hostess acknowledged the reservation then proceeded to guide us towards a corner of the dining room. It was a dim booth, positioned in a spot with potential to be easily forgotten amidst high traffic periods. Our waitress sensed a certain unwillingness to settle in, instantly offering an alternate seating arrangement. With consideration to tables eliminated for physical distancing, we shifted across the floor to a distinctly more compact booth, but one that permitted an unobstructed view of the chandelier and fireplace. Little had we known that the migration would be accompanied by a swap in servers.
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