I have seen a grown man lick a slice of cake so that no one else will be tempted to steal it. “Don’t let anyone touch my cake while I’m out,” he says. “Tell them I’ve licked it. See?” He presses his tongue against the creamy topping, like an octopus’ tentacle claiming it’s prize, then out the door he dashes. I work with crazy people.

But the lure of cake does that to most of us. Especially chocolate cake.. which I’ve just realised that I haven’t made in awhile. One of the most comforting chocolate treats is a chocolate-loaded flourless cake by Jill Dupleix, who in turn had enhanced an Elizabeth David recipe. The chocolate I usually use is Callebaut, occasionally Valrhona (when I feel like splashing out), but sometimes also Lindt 70%, which is readily available at the local supermarket and is my great standby when I’ve run out of the other stuff. So usually any of my recipes should read : First, grab your handbag and dash to the shops for some Lindt because you’ve forgotten that there aren’t any more Callebaut buttons in the house.

Today I thought I would try something different. This cake is a combination of old and new : an old favourite chocolate cake recipe by Rose Levy Beranbaum, filled with a salted caramel recipe from a newly acquired book that my brother gave me for Christmas.

Rose’s cake is called Chocolate Domingo, named after Placido Domingo. It is an incredibly moist, chocolatey and fudgey cake, that really is very satisfying eaten unadorned. But in the spirit of trying something different, I decided to cut it into individual portions, slather the innards with salty caramel, and top the cakes with a shiny glaze.

To paraphrase Adam Ford, I kiss this cake and make it mine.

Rose Levy Beranbaum’s Chocolate Domingo Cake :

42g Dutch cocoa powder
160g sour cream
2 eggs
1 1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
156g sifted cake flour
200g castor sugar
1/4 teaspoon bicarbonate of soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
200g unsalted butter, softened

Preheat the oven to 180’C.

In a medium bowl whisk together the cocoa, sour cream, eggs and vanilla until smooth.

In a large mixing bowl combine all the remaining dry ingredients and mix on low speed for 30 seconds to blend. Add the butter and half the cocoa mixture. Mix on low speed until the dry ingredients are moistened. Increase to medium speed and beat for 1 1/2 minutes to aerate and develop the cake’s structure. Scrape down the sides. Gradually add the remaining cocoa mixture in two batches, beating for 20 seconds after each addition to incorporate the ingredients and strengthen the structure. Scrape down the sides.

Scrape the batter into the prepared tin (23cm diameter greased and lined springform tin) and smooth the surface with a spatula. The tin will be about half full. Bake for 30 to 40 minutes or until a tester inserted near the centre comes out clean and the cake springs back when pressed lightly in the centre.

Let the cake cool in the tin on a rack for 10 minutes. Loosen the sides with a small metal spatula and invert onto a greased wire rack. Reinvert so that the top is up and cool completely before wrapping airtight.

(More chocolate treats over at SHF #27, hosted by David Lebovitz.)

Last Sunday, B and I came home with a new tomato plant and some Pennyroyal (good for repelling fleas and ants, apparently). The car got cleaned, the plants potted, balcony swept, and as we sat there, feet perched against the railings, there were two options to consider : 1) Drive to Castle Hill or the city, where advanced screenings of Pan’s Labyrinth were showing, or 2) Continue lazing for the rest of the day, booze in hand.

Naturally, we ended up with the latter option. You only get one Sunday a week, so you should be entitled to be as lazy as you want to, and besides,.. the Guillermo del Toro movie would be screening in more cinemas within a few days anyway. So, with glasses of Moscato in hand, we sat there as the sun began to set, nibbling on sandwiches. Someone was on the stereo.. maybe Lambchop, maybe Thom Yorke.

Then a couple of rainbow lorikeets gatecrashed our party (didn’t offer them any booze because you know what THEY are like once they’ve had one too many). They ended up with a more bird-friendly snack, but did initially eye-off our plates of vegetable spring rolls with a soy dipping sauce, and crab and caviar finger sandwiches. These sandwiches were a particular revelation : sweet succulent crabmeat bound with mayonnaise, salty caviar (lumpfish roe, not the real thing, I’m afraid) and crisp, shredded iceberg lettuce. On white bread, of course. Just the thing to take to Blog Party #18’s Black & White theme.

More Sundays like this and I fear I may never leave my balcony!

One of the many cooking related presents I received for Christmas, was a beautiful Ferrari-red Le Creuset pot – something I had coveted for a long time, but never got round to getting for myself. It was gorgeous, and I wanted to use it straight away, but there’s something about the two words, “Summer” and “Braising”, that just don’t seem to gel together. It’s as if Yogi Bear held up the pot against the searing heat of Summer and scratching his head, said, “Hmm.. something wrong here!”

Lucky for me, no one ever listens to Yogi, not even Boo Boo. The original idea for a simple Saturday meal was to braise some octopus, then maybe grill it on the BBQ or have it cold (between two buns? Or does that sound too salacious? And what of the chorizo?). The addition of chorizo stems from my love of said sausage and my willingness to add it to almost anything possible. That, and possibly subconscious messages yelling at me from when I saw it mentioned on Spitoon, which caused me to pick up some chorizo when I was shopping for ingredients.

The best ways to cook octopus are, either really fast over high heat so that the meat doesn’t have time to toughen, or slowly over low heat, which breaks down and tenderises the octopus. Just as a matter of personal preference, I favour the second method. Nothing like little baby octopi paddling around in a rich tomatoey sauce.

This recipe is an adaptation of one that features in From the Boathouse, a collection of recipes from The Boathouse on Blackwattle Bay, when Yvan Meunier was head chef. The sprinkling of gremolata (they use “dried gremolata” in the book) is a great idea because the combination of herbs and zesty lemon really enlivens and puts more of a Summer stamp on the dish.

Braised Baby Octopus with Chorizo and Gremolata:

1 kg baby octopus, cleaned
100ml olive oil
2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
1 spanish onion or 4-5 eschallots (aka shallot or french shallot), diced
generous pinch of dried chilli flakes
1 small chorizo, thickly sliced
1 tin tomatoes (440g)
slurp of Forum Cabernet Sauvignon vinegar

Gremolata:

2 tablespoons chopped parsley
zest of 2 lemons, chopped
1 small clove garlic, finely chopped

For the gremolata, combine the chopped parsley, zests and garlic.

Heat the olive oil in your brand spanking new Le Creuset pot. Lightly fry the garlic, onion and chilli to soften. Add the octopus, tomato, chorizo and vinegar. At this stage, it will look like it might be too dry to be a stew, but as the octopus cooks, it will release some more liquid. Bring to boil then turn down the heat and simmer very gently for 30-40 minutes until the octopus is tender. Adjust the seasoning.

The octopus can now be served straight away, piping hot, or at room temperature, or even cold, with a glass of beer. Today we had it warm, with some steamed potatoes, scattered black olives, and topped with a dollop of aioli and the gremolata.

For more ideas to stew over, check out this new event being hosted over at Spitoon.