Red Velvet Cake
A lesson in humility
Today, we had two big tasks to accomplish in the kitchen.
We were to bake two yellow American cakes, cool them, and wrap them for use tomorrow, along with a batch of American buttercream.1
We were also responsible for baking two red velvet cakes, whipping up a batch of cream cheese icing, and assembling a tiered cake that we would present and be evaluated on today.
I decided to start with my yellow cakes and American buttercream. Since we had made these items before (see Let’s Ice a Cake), I felt more confident in them and wanted the opportunity to perfect my approach with them. How much can you really “perfect” a basic cake? Indulge me a moment:2
Yellow cake
Before I began, I scaled all of my ingredients down to the precise 1/10th of a gram, using a scale I had brought from home for this purpose. I paid special attention to the creaming of the butter and sugar for the yellow cakes, noting the exact time when the mixture changed from yellow to a fluffier off-white, indicating it was time to proceed to the next step. As I cracked my eggs, I weighed each one, noting any slight deviations from the 50g expected weight (30g of white and 20g of yolk) that I would need to correct for. When my total weight was 12g short of expected, I separated, craked, and whisked an additional egg and poured precisely 12g of the whisked egg into my mixture to top up the difference. Naturally, I checked my whole eggs for shells first, removing a sandgrain-sized piece of shell that somehow previously escaped my notice.
I sifted my flours thoroughly, discarding the small chunks of flour caught by the sieve rather than forcing them through the wire mesh. I added my liquids patiently, slowly pouring them into the ever-so-small gap between the rapidly rotating mixer paddle and the edge of the mixing bowl to ensure they did not splatter. At each stage, I thoroughly scraped down the edges of the mixing bowl and turned over the batter at the very bottom of the bowl, where a small amount of unmixed ingredients tend to collect in the 3mm deep indentation.
I measured and cut my parchment circles for the bottoms of my cake pans not once, not twice, but three times, carefully removing just a little more parchment each time until they precisely filled the entire bottom of the buttered (and floured!) cake pans.3 I weighed the entire batter and carefully poured exactly half (down to the 1/10th of a gram!) into each cake pan, taking care to avoid even the smallest drop of stray batter that might burn along the edge of the pan. I smoothed the surface of each cake with an offset spatula to ensure a perfectly even surface before gently knocking the bottom of each pan to encourage any stray air bubbles to dissapate.
These cakes were then placed in the precise middle of my favorite oven4, exactly ⅓ of the way from the bottom, where I knew the temperature regulation was ideal. Since I had previously recorded the bake time, I knew they would take precisely 27 minutes to cook. I set a timer for 13 and ½ minutes and dutifully rotated them exactly 180˚, so they would cook evenly under the strong blast of convection air that circulated in the oven. Naturally, this process of opening, rotating, and closing had to be completed in less than 5 seconds to ensure that the oven temperature did not drop too precipituously, which would cause the cakes to irrevoacly crash.
Upon removal from the oven, the cakes were elevated on a wire cooling rack and placed near the bottom on a speed rack to begin cooling5. Exactly 15 minutes later, I returned and ran my small offset spatula between the cake and pan (ensuring the spatula was facing outward to avoid accidentally tearing the delicate edges of the still-warm cake) and inverted the pans onto the wire rack so that the cakes would continue cooling without building up too much moisture in the pan. I delicately peeled off the parchment circles at this stage to ensure I would not forget to do so when later assembling the cake.6
The results were excellent! My cakes were perfectly baked, a even golden brown across each of the slight domes, and the crumb was fluffy and light. I silently congratulated myself as I brought my dirty dishes to the sinks in back and lavished the same level of attention on removing every morsel of batter from each implement before laying them to dry in their optimal position on the drying rack.7
Everything else
I wish I could tell you that each item on our production list for today followed a similar process of seamless execution with perfect attention to detail. That my obsessive tendencies proved to be the perfect match for the artistry of pastry and earned me high praise, excellent results, and worldwide acclaim. That the key to truly “perfect” operation in the kitchen is simply slowing down and paying intense, searing observation to each step in the baking process.
Instead, I will relate the conversation I shared with Chef today after presenting this monstrosity for evaluation:
Me: [Waiting, visibly uncomfortable]
Chef: What happened?
Me: I ran out of time, chef. I really wanted to execute well today, and I spent too much time on my yellow cakes. I did however…
Chef: [Interrupts] I do not see any yellow cakes on your table
Me: Well, no. They’re in the fridge for tomorrow and…
Chef: So you had one cake to make for today, and you didn’t finish?
Me: [Pauses. Gulps.] I didn’t finish, no, chef.
Chef: That’s disappointing.
Me: [Feeling the whine creep into my voice] I got close, Chef! I had to rewhip my buttercream and lost 10 minutes, but if I had that time, I would have finished!
Chef: Everyone else finished their cake.
Me: [Looks around, sees that everyone else’s red velvet cake is finished. Feels a wrenching pit in my stomach form]. Yes, chef.
Chef: At this point in the course, I expect you to be able to make at least one thing in four hours.
Me: [Considers protesting, stops.] Yes, chef.
Chef: This cake is unfinished and messy. I won’t bother tasting it.
Me: Yes, chef.
Chef: I expect more from you, Alex
Me: I can do better, chef.
Chef: I know you can. I need you to show me you can.
Me: Yes, chef.
American buttercream can be made in advance and stored for up to a week in the refrigerator. This is true for all buttercreams, with the exception of French, which is a delicate, fragile crybaby that doesn’t like to be left alone in a dark refrigerator.
Or don’t! Feel free to skip straight to the “Everything else” section.
If you parchment circles extend slightly up the sides of the pan, it had a tendency to tear small pieces of the cake from the bottom edge when it is removed after baking
Every student in the class has their favorite oven, mixer, and burner. Many also have a preferred pot, spatula, set of mixing bowls, and method of carrying our allotted two kitchen towels on their person so as to ensure they are not “accidentally” picked up and used by someone else. We form these opinions largely unconciously, but god help you if you accidentally take someone’s prized piece of kitchen equipment – the retribution will be swift and unforgiving.
Items near the top of the speed rack tend to collect the rising heat from other hot trays that are placed on the rails below.
I’m embarrased to admit that this has happened to me multiple times. Biting down onto a piece of parchment paper is a perfect way to ruin an otherwise delightful piece of cake.
I’m less confident that the other students share my obsession with optimal drying rack placement, but I can assure you that each bowl, tray, implement, and dish has a precise spot in which it will most effectively drip dry after being dunked (for 6 seconds or more) in scalding sanitizing solution. The optimal position also maximizes the number of items that will fit in a given configuration without interfering with the drying process (obviously).