That evening, when I cut slices for my husband and me, the cake was so fresh it was still warm, but just barely. I took one bite, and moaned. Another bite, and then in a hushed voice, sticky with fudgy chocolate, I said, “This is the best chocolate cake of my entire life.”
It was so soft, so incredibly tender, and so entirely and completely and irrevocably chocolate-y — the chocolatey-est of chocolate chocolate cakes.
Another bite, and I took my glasses off and hurled them across the room.
My husband gaped.
So then I had to explain to him about the trend where people eat something good and then throw their glasses. (I think it started here, but I only became aware of it when I started getting comments on my YouTube channel, such as: “Thought you were going to throw your glasses against the wall there for a second.”)
After I got done crawling around on the floor in search of my glasses, I sat back down and finished the piece. The tender crumb and fudgy velvety frosting was better than any cake I’d ever eaten, but, despite my glass-throwing, it wasn’t perfect. Specifically, it was much too salty.
This was my fault. The frosting recipe called for unsalted butter and then a teaspoon of salt, but I’d used salted butter and the full amount of salt, oops. So I made notes for next time.
Sunday afternoon, in the middle of the Giant Snowstorm That Wasn’t, I made the cake again, this time with my adaptations.
It’s perfection. I double dog dare you to contradict me.
(Mother, I know you are skeptical of my newfound chocolate cake crush, and I know you are deeply attached to your favorite chocolate cake [which is very, very good], and I know I gave you a taste of the dried-out-and-too-salty first version so I can’t really blame you for having doubts, but I do think you oughta at least try this one so you can understand what I mean when I say it’s more tender-dense — because it is.)
P.S. Just make sure you take off your glasses before forking that first piece into your mouth.
The Best Chocolate Cake of My Entire Life Adapted from Samin Nosrat’s new cookbook, Good Things
Samin claims this is a one-bowl cake. It is not. Many dishes got soiled in the making of this cake but: no regrets. However, this entire recipe is measured in grams (minus the teaspoons), so no measuring cups are needed, simplifying things dramatically.
Samin says to use Dutch process cocoa powder. I used what I had in my cupboard.
The frosting is wildly delicious. It’s official name (if searching for it in the recipe index) is Sour Cream Fudge Frosting.
This cake is best eaten as soon as it cools, or within 24 hours. If you can’t manage that, then freeze the cake layers. OR! Horizontally halve the layers to more evenly distribute the luscious frosting. Thisaway, if the cake gets a little dry, it’ll never even cross your mind.
for the cake: 236 grams flour 75 grams cocoa powder 1 teaspoon baking powder 1 teaspoon baking soda 1¾ teaspoon salt 150 grams brown sugar 150 grams white sugar 2 eggs 180 grams sour cream 110 grams oil 2 teaspoons vanilla 240 grams hot coffee
Sift the first 4 ingredients. Add the sugars and salt and stir.
In a separate bowl (see? I told you!), whisk together the eggs, sour cream, oil, and vanilla.
Add the sour cream mix to the dry ingredients and whisk just a little. Add the hot coffee and whisk vigorously until super velvety.
Divide the batter between 2 greased and parchment-lined cake pans — about 625 grams batter per pan.
Bake at 350 for 25-ish minutes. Cool in the pans for 10 minutes before running a knife around the edges and inverting onto a cooling rack. Cool completely and then ice.
for the frosting If using unsalted butter, increase the salt to ¾ teaspoon — and then add more as needed, to taste.
Melt the butter and chocolate chips in a double boiler. Cool to room temp.
Sift the powdered sugar and cocoa into a bowl. Add the salt and then whisk in the melted chocolate and butter. Whisk in the sour cream and vanilla. It will look like ganache at first, but within minutes, it will set up into a spreadable frosting.
Lately, I’ve been picturing life as an hourglass, with middle age as the skinny part. (And yes, I get the irony of being a menopausal woman in the skinny section of life.)
While I was raising kids, each kid served as a contact point with the broader world. Four kids, four connection points, via their activities, relationships, work, emotions. My life was fat with connection and activity. There was a lot to manage, and I spent much of that period of life craving solitude and quiet. (Case in point: see the quote under my name at the top of this blog page.) But then the kids peeled off one by one, and my world diminished accordingly. Now I am my own main connection point to the broader world — and if I don’t make the connection, it doesn’t happen.
The irony here is that parenting often feels like an isolating experience, especially at the start, but then when it’s over, it’s isolating once again, but this time by the absence of parenting. It’s disorienting.
And while we’re pointing out ironies, here’s another. Now that I have all the freedom in the world to dedicate to my art, I feel trapped.
Back to what I said about being in the skinny part of the hourglass. I have a theory. Based on the people ten, twenty, even thirty years ahead of me, I do believe my connection points will expand again — if I play it right.
Take my parents, for instance. For a number of years after my brothers and I left home, my parents’ world grew quiet. They lived their lives and we lived ours. (I don’t know if that’s how it felt to them, but that’s how it seems to me, looking back.)
Woodsplitting December 2025: my parents’ place. (photo credit: my nephew and younger son — they stole my phone)
Fast forward 25 years, and now they’re in the midst of the hubbub: community involvements, artistic endeavors, grandchildren, making and creating and building and doing. Looking at all their points of connection, at all the people who need them, it’s kinda overwhelming.
Also, it’s exactly the full sort of life I want to build next.
So here’s what I expect. The kids will continue to find their way apart from me — they’ll form relationships, find meaningful work, put down roots, and make new humans — and I will do the same. (Minus making new humans. Been there, done that.)
In many ways, it’s like I’m starting over again, though this time with a house and history. If I’m lucky, one day I’ll look up and realize that I am, yet again, in the fat part of the hourglass.
Handmade favor from this weekend’s mother’s blessing: babe’s a-coming!
In the meantime, here I sit in the skinny phase. It feels predictably narrow and constricting. Boring. A bit bewildering and lonely. I’m stuck with myself, bouncing off the walls, doing my work, feeling trapped by my freedom, rolling my eyes at myself.
But I won’t be in The Skinny forever. This squeeze is normal. I’m just passing through, and then eventually I’ll pass over and that will be that.
