Wednesday, September 26, 2012

The End


This entry is long overdue.  I made the last cake amidst a flurry of visitors, packing, and last minute experiments before heading off to Europe for a conference and some intense sight seeing.  There was no time for blogging.  Admittedly, I was probably putting off writing this entry a bit, because the completion of this entry is truly the end of this project.  And that makes me sadder than I thought it would.

Coincidentally, this cake also made me sadder than I thought it would.  Entitled “Towering Hope Chocolate Walnut Torte,” it was comprised of eggs, eggs, a touch of chocolate, a sprinkling of walnuts, and eggs.  I was slightly irked that I was forced to finally invest in a legitimate angel food cake pan, but with a short ingredient list and a name containing the word “hope,” it seemed a sure thing that the cake would be a simple ending to the cake adventure.

But endings are never simple.  The essential instructions were to beat egg yolks, beat egg whites, mix together with some other stuff, bake.  Of course, in the process of separating the one dozen eggs, yolk number 11 fell into the whites.  Thankfully, it came out easily and intact with a slotted spoon.  Or so I thought.  I knew something was wrong when the KitchenAid had been working on the whites for 15 minutes and failed to yield a “soft shape.”  I had to turn off the KitchenAid and switch to a hand mixer, and then go back to the KitchenAid, so that nothing overheated.  But at long last, I did get what I thought were fluffy, firm egg whites, so I mixed everything together and put it in the pan.


The baking process was another indication of a problem.  According to the instructions, “during the baking, the top of the cake will rise in a dome shape, but it will become almost level with the top of the pan when it is done.”  My cake, while it smelled enticingly chocolaty, never rose.  When I took it out and flipped it upside down to cool, it fell out of the pan, and instead of a light, airy cake, I had a heavy, dense mess.  There must have been some contaminating yolk in the whites, or my beaters weren’t as clean as I thought, or I should have used a metal bowl for the whites instead of  glass, or in the lengthy process of beating the whites, the yolks may have deflated.  There could have been any number of problems.  I have had some close calls, and some not-quite-rights, but never once during this process have I had a complete failure.  It was a devastating experience, especially since it was supposed to be the end, a time of reflection and hope.  But I was hopeless and cakeless, and the only reflection was the irrational metaphors my melancholy mind created to equate the failed cake with my current life situation.

Even worse, I had invited people over for a final cake gathering, and would have to disappoint them.  My guests, however, were not deterred by my sad news and insisted we still try it.  So we made homemade ice cream, a process that led to much laughter and many bruises, and ate Flat Failure Chocolate Walnut Torte with vanilla ice cream.  It actually tasted fine, but I vowed to conquer the cake the following week.

So I bought another dozen eggs and tried again.  This time, I worked as quickly a possible to ensure there was no time for either mix to lose the air whipped in.  My egg whites beat perfectly.  The cake rose and stayed in the pan when I flipped it over.  And the end result was a light, airy, chocolaty, nutty cake.  It was aesthetically pleasing, quite delicious, and there was plenty to share.  And that is how this cake adventure ends.

At the end of her project, Dr. R reflects on a few questions about the changes over the past year, and I thought I might consider them as well.  First, is the world less safe than when I started?  In her Year of Cake, Dr. R witnessed Hurricane Katrina, an oil spill, and bombing in Israel.  As for me, I’ve seen an endless of number of economic crises and violent shootings, and watched the debates over gay marriage and women’s health issues tip toward the boiling point.  In this election year, campaign battles are being undertaken through social media, which in turn has been taken over by anger and ignorance, and I am terrified of what this election could bring.  But I’ve also witness the discovery of the Higgs boson particle, and the world experienced a brief period of unification in the 2012 Olympics, signs that this crazy world still has room for progress and hope.

Am I happier or better for eating cake every week?  Dr. R says yes, and I have to agree.  Maybe a few pounds heavier, but I think it’s worth it.  On this journey, I discovered the power of cake: to bring people together, to light up someone’s face, to bring a bit of sweetness to a bitter day.  I think cake is called for far more frequently than we indulge in it, and while it’s nice to know I am not required to bake every weekend, I foresee the continuation of cake days (or pie or cookies or brownies) whenever there is time or a need for a sweet treat.  Sunday morning, in fact, I was up early making the strawberry pie I promised Maureen, and we had Pie & Bones night that evening.  There’s just something comforting about ending a weekend with baked goods and good friends.

Dr. R also reflects on the changes in her family, good and bad.  Tragically, her oldest daughter was diagnosed with MS at the end of her year, which is why the proceeds of this book go to MS research.  I remember this happening, how sad she was, and how strong.  Scientists approach scary issues by learning everything there is to know, because if you understand it, it’s not so scary.  Dr. R read everything she possibly could about MS and ongoing research, and even e-mailed scientists working on the disease, all of who responded.  There was, of course, happy news for her family too.  Maybe that’s why she chose this cake: to represent the hope they needed to get through the bad, and the hope their blessings gave them.

As for my family: My sister is settled into graduate school living through all of the trials and tribulations graduate school brings.  My mom got a promotion, complete with a raise, at work, and has a more colorful social life than my sister and I combined.  My grandmother moved out of the house she’s lived in since as long as I can remember, the house my mom grew up in.  And me?  I got the green light to graduate in the spring, which brings on an overwhelming amount of work, planning final experiments, writing a dissertation, applying for postdoctoral positions, planning a move.  I just received my first invitation to interview for a position in a lab at NYU, which has sent me into full panic mode.  Am I ready?  Am I smart enough?  Is this really what I want to do?  It seems kind of unreal… I feel neither old enough or mature enough to be interviewing for real jobs.

I’m also planning the trip I will take to solidify the transition between the end of graduate school and the beginning of the next stage of life: El Camino de Santiago, a 500 mile pilgrimage across Spain.  I think it will provide a necessary mental break from science and a chance to reconnect with life, with myself.  In the past year, I’ve noticed that people spend far too much time trying to prolong and perfect life and not enough time living it.  I think that, every once in awhile, it’s ok to drink a bit too much of a really good red wine, just because it’s really good.  It’s ok to splurge on that fabulous pair of shoes.  It’s ok to savor every sip of a giant pumpkin spice latte in the crisp fall air for those precious few steps between the car and a long work day.  It’s ok to lick the raw cookie dough (or cake batter) off the spoon and giggle with your mom, your grandma, your daughter, or your roommate while the kitchen fills with the sweet scent of homemade baked goods.  To skip a workout to catch up with friends you haven’t seen in weeks.  To lose a night of sleep to a marathon of your favorite show, or a marathon phone conversation with your best friend.  To skip brushing your teeth before bed because your partner has already fallen asleep curled up next to you and you just want to absorb every peaceful moment.  To eat a giant piece of cake, even though it’s full of – dare I say it – carbs, for absolutely no good reason.  These are the experiences that make up the true substance of life, and I pray I never become one of those people so obsessed with “success,” “health,” and doing everything by the book that I let these moments pass me by.

So that’s it.  An entire year of cake.  I can’t think of a better ending than the one used by Dr. R., so I’ll leave you with the final words of The Cake Chronicles: “And remember that when life gets you down, there is always a slice of hope close by, whether it be angel, pound, chocolate, or chiffon.”