today

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I'm a terrific cook and baker, and sometimes I fail. I want you to know that. In the kitchen, I'm gentle with myself — the antidote for all those years working in French restaurant kitchens.

This photo was in my Instagram feed last week. I can't swipe past an almond cake. That right there is love to me.  

There was an occasion, and I made it one night after working all day and spending a few hours writing. I hit the kitchen at 9:00 p.m., which is a cool time if you don't wake up at 5:00 a.m. Conditions could have been better. 
 
It's an egg leavened cake. A delicate creature. Think soufflé. Almond flour and fine cornmeal give it structure. Honey adds sweetness. A tart lemon and rosemary syrup soaks into it after baking. It's a keeper cake. On day three, it's perfection — moist, dense, a Yo-Yo Ma of flavour. 
 
Baking international recipes calls for some MacGyver calculations. Just know that for an egg-leavened cake, if you have a different pan size, it's better to go slightly bigger. If it's smaller, the centre has trouble rising and will often sink.
 
I turned my oven on to preheat. The big mistake is it was the upper element only.
 
The cake is made without a hitch (having two bowls for my mixer is essential for beating egg whites alongside the batter).  
 
I put it in the oven and then sat down to read. Twenty minutes later, I smell something burning. I wonder who's having toast in the building. Then it dawns on me the smell is coming from my kitchen. When I open the oven door, the top is charcoal. The colour of a Basque cheesecake. I take it out, curse a little, and then in a few silly manoeuvres, cut off the top and return it — centre wobbling — to the oven. It works but is so far from perfect. 
 
In my mind, I hear Julia Child saying, "Never apologize." And I won't. Because I make nice plans, and sometimes they go sideways.
 
I will bake the cake again under better conditions (I have to for Gourmet Traveller and Emma Knowles). Because it's a beauty even with all the problems. The flavour of the honey comes forward with sitting. I used almond flour with the skin on which alters the colour of the cake.
 
This is a good recipe for American Thanksgiving. You can make it on Monday or Tuesday, and it's wonderful on Thursday evening with a big heap of thick cultured cream the colour of okra flowers, or a fat quenelle of boozy ice cream with a claret-hued slice of poached quince.
 
For those who are curious, my favourite almond cake recipe is from Joyce Goldstein. She made it when she was a celebrity chef in residence at the Stratford Chefs School. I went on to make it for bistro menus at the school during the Christmas season. There's marzipan in the batter, and that's never a bad thing.
 
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Cake is a measure of my mental health. Baking is a way I protect it. I am not alone. It's also good for friendships. Right now that's important, again on the well-being front. Connecting with others in an upside down world seems vital. 

My heart is breaking. The loss piles up in numbers that are unimaginable. A big part of our world's future. A generation or more. Rudimentary news knowledge, has me nervous. I've asked Google war-related questions in the last week. Crisis tumbles into crisis. Lies roll on to lies.

So I'm night baking. At home. Aware of my privilege. 

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There are artists who leave us before we are ready. We experience cultural loss, even though some leave us with much. I would have liked to see Matthew Perry get old. 

​And Whitney Houston. The golden imprint of her voice. Imagine being in that audience. The quiet way she starts and then looses herself to it. Her range was impeccable.

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1983