Dulcet Devotion

I recently caught up with a dear, dear, friend. You know the one. You probably have one just like them. You think of them fondly and can’t for the life of you remember why you don’t stay in touch anymore. It wasn’t because you were angry, or because you don’t care, or anything conscious that made you stop reaching out. Life just filled in more and more of the space between you until suddenly you were far, far away.

I dreamt of this friend recently and when I awoke it was as if I had mere moments to reach out before the bubble burst forever. I seized the moment, they happened to be online at the time (this is one of those times I LOVE time zones) and we talked for ages. It’s been years and big life things have happened to us both but in that moment it was just us. The way it’d always been. And it was great.

Ever since our chat I’ve been thinking about all the great things this friend brought to my life, to who I am. We’re miles apart, both literally and figuratively, and yet those things we do have in common bind us inexplicably.

This strange alchemy got me, of course, likening the chemistry and magic of relationships to the chemistry and magic of baking.

During my weekly grocery shop I bought pears (currently in season here in NZ) and while touring around the store, the obligatory chocolate stash landed right beside them in the cart.

I was immediately inspired to seek out the most fitting way of baking pears and chocolate together in a sensuous, decadent dessert to honour my delicious, food-loving friend.

Sweet, buttery and light, with a grounding of soft pear and bittersweet chocolate, this cake says it all.

Now let’s get baking.

This recipe was different from any cakes I’ve made before, with a good ten minutes spent beating the eggs into a creamy thick mass then adding minimal ingredients, both wet and dry, finally adding pears and chocolate over top.

The whipped eggs, resembling a thick, pale yellow cream, rose to the sweet occasion as the sugar was added to the mix. The addition of the flour raised the game one level more, revealing the batter’s silky, aerated stretch as it slowly, reluctantly, welcomed the nutty brown butter to its midst. It’s food alchemy at its simplest and most divine.

During baking, the scent of butter and warm coffee-dashed chocolate is intoxicating, the steam amplifying the cake’s olfactory gifts.

Fresh from the oven, the knife slides effortlessly through the cake as if it’s made of only air but doesn’t crush the delicate, resilient crumb, revealing the lightest, most buttery cake I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. With soft, fragrant pear and warm, strong, bittersweet chocolate, like the love of a good friend, you can never have too much, the soft additions settling to the bottom of the batter, bringing you back down to earth, lest you float away on a brown butter cloud.

In case you were wondering, yes, we’ve promised to catch up more often, neither of us knowing how we could have been so casual about our friendship and so wasteful of time. In the meantime, I’ve got cake.

This recipe was borrowed from Smitten Kitchen using Whittaker’s Artisan Collection Wellington Roasted Supreme Coffee dark chocolate (hubba bubba).