Chocolate Pavarotti with Wicked Good Ganache (Valentine's Day)

February 16, 2015

Since we did beta testing for The Baking Bible, this Pavarotti cake has been one of three easy, go-to cakes that I rely on for when I need a quick dessert.  This cake is not technically a Quick & Easy, but in reality, it's both.  And, as I discovered this time, if the cake breaks in half (as it did when I was flipping it between cooling racks), there's no harm done:  you just put the cake parts together as best you can and cover them with ganache.  Not only can you not detect it when you're looking at the frosted cake (unless you're looking for it), but you can't even detect it when you're serving it.  Especially if you do your best to cut the slices from the more or less intact pieces.

Maybe it's not technically Quick and Easy because you have to melt some white chocolate to mix in the batter?  Its purpose is "higher rise and moister, melt-in-the-mouth texture."  It delivers what it promises.  And it's not a difficult step.

Nice, rich, delicious-looking chocolate batter, yes?

I suppose I might as well show you the damage:  the cake's in two large pieces, the smaller one intact, but the larger one damaged, with big gouges in several places.  I was able to fit the two big pieces together pretty neatly, despite the large crack, which was just filled in with some extra ganache.  Woody said putting ganache on a cake was like working with cement.  This seemed more like grouting tile.  Neither of these chores is something I normally do.

Now about the wicked good ganache.  Aside from its spackling qualities, it's also delicious.  However, I live in Minnesota, a place that is widely known for its inhabitants' aversion to spice.  Especially to spice that might be considered "hot."  So when Rose gives a range of cayenne from 1/4 teaspoon to 3/4 teaspoons, I think about my audience, and I use 1/8 teaspoon.  I made my grandson cry.  He tucked into the chocolate and then started yelling, "too hot, too hot!  I need milkie!"  But once he understood that the big burn came from the frosting and not the cake, he happily ate the cake.  His mother said, "I think cayenne in frosting is just weird.  I'll have some cake without the ganache."

But the women for whom I actually baked the cake--Minnesotans all--not only ate it without complaining about the spiciness or demanding a glass of milk--they actually asked for the recipe.