Spanish chocolate cake

Prepped and ready for up to 30 for lunch I sit at the bar watching an English premier league replay on the big screen taking in some caffeine and nicotine. A group of eight wanders past enquiring about the menu. Excited I stub out and start firing up the gas. Hmm, what’s a good amuse for these people? Meat of some sort.
An eggplant croque monsieur style thingie with jamon and manchego.
I look up from my cutting board to see them getting in their cars.

“Qué te pasa? What happened?”
The bargirl starts with a knowing sigh. “It happens all the time. They don’t like the prices, a dog or child tries to befriend them and they walk straight back out.”
I light up and slump back down in the bar. “I was making them such a cool tapa. Want some? What is bored in Spanish?”
The eight year old pipes up. “Aburrido. Can I have some chocolate cake?”
“No but you can have some eggplant.”
“If I eat eggplant can I get chocolate cake?”
“Will you do some dishes?” Disinterested in the deal he wanders off to play with the dog
“Come on, give me chocolate cake.” He pops his head though the cutaway wall that opens the kitchen to the dining room attacking from a different angle.
Did I tell him about how persistent harassment works?
“Eat this and you can have chocolate cake.” I offer up a chili.
“What will happen?”
“Your mouth will burn.”
“And then I get chocolate cake.” He grabs the chili and chomps the whole thing down
“Oh, shit I didn’t think you would do it. You ok?” He seems to be taking it. I rush to hand him a glass of milk. “You defiantly deserve chocolate cake for that.” He bursts into tears and runs off to mum. “Drink the milk.” I chase him in vein.

Orange and almond chocolate cake

Surrounded by oranges and almonds I tried to incorporate them into every dish with a with at least one success.

Makes one large cake 16 portions or 48 mini muffin size

600g good quality chocolate 70% cocoa solids
400g unsalted butter plus more for greasing
50ml fruity olive oil
Zest of two oranges
50ml fresh orange juice
12 eggs
125g castor sugar
125g Cocoa powder
75g Almond flour (ground almonds)
5g Sea salt

Baking- the first task of the day. Downing the rest of my espresso between trips to the fridge and cupboards I setup my workstation. Grab a couple of kitchen clothes and set the oven to 140C. Dampen a cloth and squeeze out excess moisture, methodically I lay it very flat and top it with my favourite chopping board; a thick rectangular wooden slab, it is not moving anywhere but I test it with a firm shove. Chocolate first, it succumbs to shards under my German blade. My right hand grabs the large metal bowl and positions it to catch the chocolate chunks tumbling toward the floor. A couple more fluid passes of the twelve-inch chefs blade and my board is clear. A quick hack of the butter and the big metal bowl now rests atop a pot of barely simmering water.
With plenty of time I move through the kitchen gathering tins; – they take a smear of butter and a heavy coating of ground almonds. Fetching eggs, oranges and dry ingredients, I glance at the slow decline of the butter and think of yellow icebergs in a brown hot tub. I add a whisk to the bowl and gently maneuver the chocolate. It has seized on me before, slow and steady without too much attention never fails. As it combines into a thermal mud consistency (Think Rotorua) I remove it with a clothed hand, the mix takes on the olive oil with a few wristy figure eights. My mirco-plane is de-sheathed, I am samurai. Orange zest rests atop a black lake.
Using my hand as a sieve and my powers for measurement orange juice flows over the surface of the solidifying lake, a few passes of the whisk and it is all one entity.
The sugar and cocoa float down, like the snowflakes on my mind with each tap of the sieve, a gentle mix. Quick draw, double fisting, eggs plop from their shells – (you might want to do this in a separate bowl and one at a time so you don’t have to pick out bits of shell)
More wrist action but gentle as I want to mix the eggs as little as possible. A pinch of salt and the almonds, a kid like bang, bang of the whisk to make it drop its tag-alongs and I turf it to the sink. Spatula in hand, a few folds and the rest of the almonds are incorporated. Now to get the mix into these silly little muffin tins, the temptation to abort is barely suppressed. A jug? A spoon, the spatula?
Spoon by spoon, dam a drip, the rhythm comes as I judge just the right amount to fill a mould and follow under with a cloth with each pass back to the bowl.
Mini muffin trays onto oven trays into oven. Slide the trays out enough to be balance and the tray they sit upon filled with a water. Ever so carefully push the oven rack in and close.
Next.
I inhale quickly in short bursts, it is smelling good. A glance at the clock reveals it has only been 30 minutes. I decide on a quick peak, they look risen and soft. Oven off, a couple of folds of my tea towel and it jams the oven door just ajar.
Another half hour of prep later and I play the how steady can you hold a tray game delicately maneuvering the trays to counter space. My clothes absorb some warm water giving me a self judged score of; 86 = bloody steady.