I make no apology for not making my usual Thursday evening post in which I inform all 5 of my followers as to what I will be attempting to bake the following Sunday. Bitches be busy like damn.
Anyhow, yesterday I attempted the Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte – Black Forest Gateau. Originating in Spain*, confectioner Josef Keller claimed to have invented it in 1915 (according to wikipedia, fuck knows if it’s actually true. Probs not.) I have decided at the end of every month, I will be making something from a foreign country, hence this dark German delight. Personally, I fucking hate cherries so far less of the cake actually made it into my mouth, unlike last week.
One side of this showdown is the baddest bitch in the UK, weighing in at 80lb, you do not want to mess with her – Mary ‘mothafucka’ Berry, using this recipe.
Mary Berry is taking on a recipe from a website called goodtoknow.co.uk. I thought that this week I wouldn’t use a youtube video, as the last time I did that I was faced with the horror of Titli. Here she is, if you don’t remember her:
In any case, let’s do it.
*If you believed that, even for a second, you need to board a plane headed for the sun.
A picture of the ingredients needed:
Mary ‘Mothafucka’ Berry
I started with Mary Berry’s recipe because quite frankly she deserves the fucking respect of being picked first. I got all my ingredients together before I started, as I am quickly become a culinary genius. I thought it all looked pretty basic, but I dare not say such a thing out loud, for fear of the wrath of the Berry.
The first order of business was to mix the sugar and eggs together until light and fluffy (which is how Mary Berry appears on the outside, but you don’t know the fiery pits of rage that burn within her. This mix didn’t just become light a fluffy, but it tripled in size as well. The recipe told me to mix until a ‘trail’ is left when you pull out the whisk…but what the actual fuck does that mean, Berry? A trail??? Upon googling, it seemed that I was looking for something called the ‘ribbon stage’. Which I thought looked relatively close to what I had in front of me. I mean, what could go wrong with beating eggs? (If you don’t know, scroll back and find my lemon meringue pie post.) After whisking the egg/sugar mix, I had to fold in the flour and cacao powder – a delicate business. You can’t just stir this mix, or Mary Berry will unleash 7 different types of torture upon you for not having more respect. So, I carefully folded in the powders…and christ, it was more effort than I initially expected. Every time I flipped the mixture over itself, a new pocket of fucking flour would open up. This process went on for at least 5 minutes, and I could feel the urge to fling the mix across the kitchen and onto the cat. However, the cat that feels the need to take residence in our home isn’t actually ours, and I feel the owners would not have appreciated a sticky cat with PTSD returning to them. I gritted my teeth and got on with it. Eyeing up the cat all the while.
Once that was mixed, I poured them into the cake molds. Now, if you read last weeks post, you will know that I am not the most proficient at getting cakes back out of a mould once they’re cooked; and despite lathering the moulds with butter like I would massage vanilla oil into Justin Timberlake, the fucking things still fell apart. Mary Berry told me to not only butter these moulds, but to also line the base with baking paper, and this bitch knows what she’s about so I followed her instruction. Into the incinerator (again, read previous posts) they went for 25mins. Things were actually going pretty well, so the cat relaxed a bit. In the mean time, I cracked on with the cherry filling.
As mentioned, I despise cherries with every inch of my being. I’m not just being picky, it’s not the fact that it’s a fruit…I just hate the taste. Cherry drops make me want to vomit. I’d rather drink my own piss than take a sip of Cherry Coke. I’ll even pass up a cupcake if there is a cherry on top. So this process did make my hairs stand on end and my stomach churn a bit. Some say I’m being dramatic. I say go fuck yourself. Cherries are the work of the Devil.
I had to roughly chop the tinned cherries into quarters….not the easiest task. Those little red bastards were slippery, and every time I cut into them, juice squirted out in the same manner as an arterial bleed. Gagging, I managed to finish chopping them. I reserved the juice from the tins, so whilst chopping the cherries, I was heating the juice and the cornflour in a pan until thickened. And boy did that shit thicken. Without much warning. After salvaging what wasn’t burnt to the bottom of my pan, I added the chopped cherries and flung the bowl into the fridge to thicken. Thank fuck for that.
After this, I took the cakes out and placed them on the side to cool. I was shocked that the incinerator hadn’t burned these cakes to a crisp (however I did reduce the temperature by 10 degrees)I left the kitchen in search of a bottle of rosé.
After contemplating what life was like before I started this blog and actually had some time to relax on a Sunday, I returned to the kitchen to turn the cakes out. This was the moment of truth- does Mary Berry hold the secret to removing cakes from their moulds without them disintegrating? Does that one piece of baking paper make a difference??
FUCK YES IT DID
Look at that. PERFECTION. Mary Berry, you are a god. Never have I ever turned out a cake that well.
Whilst they were cooling some more, I melted the chocolate and dried off the fresh cherries. I dipped 12 into the white and 12 into the dark, then put them in the fridge to harden. This was not the neatest of dunking but I have no love for cherries, so I couldn’t care less. I also started to whip the cream. Sainsbury’s had absolutely ZERO pots of whipping cream left, and I refuse to believe that every last person in Wantage needed whipped cream of a Sunday. Get your fucking act together, Sainsbury’s. Instead, I used double cream, but that is what Mary Berry called for anyway. The only deviation is that I added some skimmed milk powder to stabilize the cream, so it wouldn’t melt off the cake. I did think that perhaps I had whipped it too much, but I’d still lick it off of Colin Firth’s lips so whatever. And then the unthinkable happened. I read my next instruction: Cut each cake into two layers. NO. I really should read these fucking recipes before actually attempting them. If there is one thing that I will never master, it is cutting cakes into layers. I picked up the knife. The cat froze on the spot. I took a deep breath in, and I sliced. And god damn, Mary would be proud. I cut that bitch like she insulted my Mother. I truly am the embodiment of all that is good in the world. You can see a singed edge on the top layer, but that’s nothing I can’t hide with cream.
I filled each layer with both the cherry slop and the half of the creamy goodness, and slapped on the remaining half to the outside of the cake….and started to realise that this cream definitely was too thick and there wasn’t as much as I needed for good coverage, but Pinterest has been telling me that ‘naked cakes’ are the next new trend in cakes. If you’re a hipster piece of shit. But yeah, there’s not a lot of difference between my cake and one of those, so I was happy I could pass it off like I intended for it to look this way.
I put it in the fridge to chill with the cherries and trees (you’ll see what I mean), and moved onto the next cake.
I could tell pretty much instantly that Mary Berry was going to make this cake her bitch. Firstly, ingredients did not include any flour, so I knew it wasn’t going to come out amazing…if at all. I persevered nonetheless, and set up the ingredients and wash my whisk (if you know what I mean). Firstly I had to separate the 6 fucking eggs (again, not something I’m wonderful at). SIX. SEEMS TO BE A TAD EXCESSIVE.
I then whisked these until they were stiff, rinsed the whisks, and beat the yolks and sugar together until they were light and fluffy. I added the cacao powder to the yolk mix, folded it in (again, another twat of a job.) I then had to fold the yolk mix into the white mix….but in the 11 seconds it took for me to rinse of my spatula, it had stiffened like a nipple in the wind. I could barely get a spoonful of this mix out, let alone incorporate it into the egg whites.
My patience wore thin, but the cat was nowhere to be seen so I had no target to aim for. Eventually, the mix conformed. And it did not look good. I threw in the chopped chocolate, but I knew this wasn’t going to turn out well, but I poured it into the well buttered cake moulds and catapulted them into the incinerator.
Whilst it was baking for it’s 18 minutes, I decorated Mary’s cake with the chocolate covered cherries and the little trees that I had to pipe. I put it all back in the fridge, chugged the other half of my bottle of rosé, did some washing up, and retrieved the cake from the oven. After they cooled, I flipped them out, and was pleasantly surprised that there was only minor damage to the edges. I left them to cool, and make another batch of whipped cream.
This recipe did not call for me to make any cherry awfulness, but rather to spread cherry jam and kirsch all over the cakes, add some tinned cherries, a layer of cream, and splat them together. No slicing cakes into layers. No chocolate coated fruit. No spreading cream over the entire fucking thing. So I was pretty happy with that.
I put did top the cake with some left over cherries from Mary’s recipe as I couldn’t fit all 24 onto it, so that spiced this basic bitch cake up a little. Back into the fridge it went so everything could firm up a little. I made our dinners (sweet chili crispy chicken, fucking delicious), and grabbed the cakes back out of the fridge…and…shit. Goodtoknow’s cake
looked as if it was sloping down as much as Theresa’s May’s election campaign did. So much so that the cherries had fallen off of it…much like tory MP’s falling from the constituency map. I figured I could hide it from Lee, who was once more, the taste tester.
As you can see from the pictures, Mary Berry’s recipe held up. And why the fuck wouldn’t it, she is the boss of the baking world. You wouldn’t run through her field of wheat, she’d stab you with a butter knife and cook your remains into a cheesecake.
Goodtoknow’s cake wasn’t great, but had the thing not collapsed on one edge, it wouldn’t have looked like the effort of a 6 year old.
You can see the chocolate mess that is the trees on the side of Mary Berry’s cake. To be honest, I only did them because I fear Mary Berry more than I fear Titli.
As far as Lee was concerned, he knew pretty much instantly which cake was which by presentation alone. He’s a clever man, he knows to insult Mary Berry is to have his balls chopped off and turned into profiteroles.
However, when it came to taste, he actually preferred the GoodToKnow cake- as the cherry taste was more strong. I imagine this was due to using good quality cherry conserve rather than homemade jam made from tinned cherry juice.
He did ask me how I managed to fuck that cake up so much. I’m beginning to think that he believes I am the problem when things go wrong, so in turn I am going to spike the next bake with paprika and possibly a dead mouse.
I took the GoodToKnow cake into work, and it was actually eaten up pretty quickly and I overheard comments on how it did taste pretty nice. I was careful not to mention to anyone eating it that I had made it, in case they only said it was nice out of politeness. All in all, it was more of a success than initially thought.
I didn’t buy a Sainsbury’s cake this time round because there weren’t any that were immediately obvious to me in the ready made cake section and I could not be fucked to travel to the refrigerated desserts. I am a busy woman, I have things to do; like painting my nails, brushing my hair, and plotting the destruction of the patriarchy.
All in all, the GoodToKnow cake was easier to make, and if I had another go at it I imagine I would do better with the presentation and hopefully avoid the collapsing.
- Difficulty: 8/10, bitch had me boiling cherry juice
- Taste: 7/10
- Presentation: 6/10
- Difficulty: 5/10
- Taste: 7/10
- Presentation: 2/10
The Final Word
Paul Hollywood will go to hell for his treason, and I hope he chokes on a baguette, the treacherous cunt.