Easy as cake? I think not!

Let me preface this entry by saying that I know WKMTZ is designed for us to post restaurant reviews. But I'm in Davis right now and that isn't really possible, since any Davis restaurants I review are probably of no consequence to you. You may, however, some day have to suffer through my cooking.

I raised to believe that cakes should celebrate something. Yesterday I decided to celebrate my love of chocolate by baking my first cake ever-- a Grand Fudge Cake with a recipe from Ghirardelli.

Not since the ant infestation of 1999 has the Dehar family witnessed such a disaster. I made the cake competently and followed all of the directions, including the ones that seemed superfluous to me ("alternate adding the flour/sugar mixture and the milk, beginning and ending with the flour").

Not a perfectionist so much as a person with self-diagnosed obsessive-compulsive disorder, once I ran out of confectioner's sugar for the frosting I decided to start ad-libbing all sorts of recipe ingredients and amounts because in my heart I knew that Perfection, that fickle monster, had escaped my grasp. I used regular sugar instead, giving the frosting a texture that sand dunes would consider too grainy.

Things went from bad to worse when the finished cakes wouldn't come out of the pans. I let them cool for an hour, and then I stuck them in the freezer in hopes of loosening them that way (first hardening them, then scooping the damn things out). This only served to freeze the non-stick cooking spray, meaning that the cake would never come out in one piece. So I scooped out what cake I could, hoping to cover up my mistakes with the sweet-tooth's makeup, frosting.

The result was lop-sided and badly frosted with bad frosting. I could take a picture of my cake, but I think I would lose everyone's respect.

I was so embarrassed with my effort (I know I don't have to earn my family's love, but it helps when they aren't ashamed of you) that I tried to cover up the uneven frosting with shavings of Valrhona chocolate. But I was cheap and wanted the Valrhona all to myself, so I only covered the top and gave up.

Then I placed my cake underneath a stainless steel cover and sat on the couch, afraid of my creation. I think I know how Frankenstein felt.

-->Ravi

Swedish Antics

The Webster House

the best meal of my life this year (particularly in sweden but not restricted to it or the world), closely comparable but better than the expensive anniversary dinner at Il Cielo over one year ago, would be at the Webster's house.

yes, it is a family joint. (i just cringed at the word "joint") and yes it is cheap free. and yes, the chef was the father.

main point: he is a self-made gourmet chef.

i feel like i'm cheating by this non-graded, frequented by the same four family members and work colleagues&friends--but this house should be a high scale restaurant in a posh area of your favorite great city.

the atmosphere is warm, lively--old, good U2 plays in the background, Dali and Italian Renaissance Jesuses adorn the walls alongside native art and sketches of Malmo from the 1970s. the table is (elegantly) set for intimacy, laughter, and best represents the Webster's unique unconscious concept of how dining ties people together.

the first dish is saffron peasant soup--an asiatic bird not indigenous in Sweden, but introduced here some time ago. the gorgeous texture is trimmed by the dashes of an herb scattered atop--it looked like basil or koriander, but its taste held a subtler punch. this was served with thinly sliced french baguettes. this dish firmly introduces the holidays as saffron, a once rare and precious spice, is primarily used around this time of year.

the main course was seared lamb shanks--with perfect crossing grill marks (but no char residue), medium perfect rareness--and from the taste of it, rosemary seasoned. i made every bite last. it was served with a side of french green beans, cherry tomatoes, and small red potatoes quartered, baked along with red pepper slices and a loosely chopped onion.

the white wine complemented each bite--the balance of the meal was pretty damn remarkable. i was heaven. why isn't this my family?

dessert was an italian dish--i do not remember the name of, but i recall the chef saying how it was made from a special milk and--it had the consistency of the good part of tiramisu and vanilla pudding--but with shaved dark chocolate on top, and a sauteed cherry sauce on the side.

i declined the dessert liqueur but it was beautiful.

i wish i had taken pictures of this--i felt like i witnessed an artist at work, and felt all of its repercussions.

it was honestly great enough for ZG. and the kitchen was spotless--the chef, sanitary. my favorite part was the swedish efficiency, candlelight, allusion to the fact that the family does not believe in god but yes i am surrounded in the dining room by jesus stained glass-art, paintings, or murals.

The Webster House: fantastiskt. if you can come to sweden, befriend Rebecca Webster and get invited to their Sunday dinners, do it.