Kladdkaka du dimanche

[Swedish chocolate cake, of the Sunday kind] Everytime I come around here, a whole season has gone by. There was summer and its endless hours in the kitchen that I now call home. But before we knew it, the time for semester [holidays] came. And went. Two weeks in our stuga [cabin] in the middle of the woods; and I still stand by my words ...

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Oops # 5 – Un gâteau cassé et une glace au cake crumb

[A broken cake, and a cake crumb ice-cream] I am not patient. Or scared to burn my fingers. So this was bound to happen one day or another. Yes, let this cake be a reminder that impatience and hot cakes don’t compute. While I may never learn; I’ll have some cake crumb vanilla ice-cream in my freezer, for when the “good cake-half” will have been ...

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Une histoire de tarte au chocolat et oranges sanguines

[A story of chocolate tart and blood oranges] The story of this chocolate tart is a simple one. It all started when a friend asked me to show him how to make one. So we mixed butter and sugar. Added eggs and flour and cocoa powder. And of course salt, because a chocolate tart can never be perfect without salt. We lined an entremet ring ...

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The sound of the forest – Gluten-free chocolate fondant cake

I wish you were here with me. Sat on the patio. There is a wooden table which I’ve slowly taken over: notes, drawings of mushrooms, a mug holding watercolour brushes, a mismatch of cameras, and a cup of coffee hotter than what I would normally fancy. From where I sit, I can see the logs Karl brought from the little shelter down in the garden ...

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Oops #4 – Le cake au chocolat

I’ve been going through my pictures. There is this chocolate loaf cake. And really, it’s been haunting me. I made it at my grand-mère‘s house. Back on the twenty-third of march 2008, at 12:38, or so says the EXIF data. Now if only it would tell me which recipe I used. Because no matter how good my memory for the kind of things that involve ...

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The end – Coffee and chocolate self-saucing cake

The end. Of this, that is. I was writing when the timer went off. Upstairs, sitting cross-legged in front of my laptop. It wasn’t as cold as the outdoors would suggest. Perhaps, from the oven. Or the sweater he must have draped over me while I was reading words that once were thoughts. A cake getting plump, the syrup bubbling over. A distant bip. The ...

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Fields of frost – Éclairs au chocolat, presque comme chez Fauchon

[Chocolate eclairs, almost like Fauchon’s] When trees are shaped like hearts; and breakfast means just-brewed coffee slash bike ride slash jonchée eaten as soon as I’ve taken my gum boots off. And we run barefoot in fields of frost. And the grass glows to the moonlight in a way only gems can. With la grande ourse [the great bear] and a feral cat as our ...

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PS. I felt like cake; made one and ate a slice.

A friend, of the dear-to-my-heart kind, made this cake today. A few thousands of kilometres away. And I did too. In ten minutes, from cupboards to oven*. It was eaten on the couch. To the sound of summertime sadness**. And raindrops started hitting the kitchen window. And that cup of coffee was slightly too hot to be drank. And, really, I was just missing one ...

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