Melitón arrived at our fireplace with a serving spoon up his sleeve. He said he'd come to warm his hands. One of them weighed about half a pound. We were making a cake to dunk in hot chocolate, and the crafty bastard had already chosen his weapon.
“I'll only have a little piece,” he announced.
Liria eyed his sleeve and carried on greasing the tin. Outside, it was raining. Inside, the fire smelled lovely and we had the whole afternoon ahead of us. We Brownies love that moment when you haven't eaten yet, but you already know your dignity hasn't got a chance.
First, a proper homemade cake
For a cake that serves eight, we use 3 eggs, one 125 g pot of plain yoghurt, one potful of sunflower oil, two of sugar, three of plain flour and 16 g of baking powder. That's baking powder, not bread yeast. Empty the yoghurt into a bowl and use its clean, dry pot to measure the rest. Level off the flour without packing it down.
Preheat the oven to 180 °C conventional, without the fan. Grease a round tin about 24 centimetres across and line the base with baking paper. The fireplace is for warming our backsides later. The cake needs an oven at the right temperature. Chucking it on the embers would just turn our hopes into charcoal.
Beat the eggs and sugar until the mixture looks paler. Mix in the yoghurt and oil. Sift in the flour and baking powder, then stir just until no dry flour remains. Liria held the bowl while Melitón checked that nobody was stealing the spoon he was still pretending not to have.
Pour the batter into the tin and bake on the middle shelf for roughly 35 to 45 minutes. Keep the door shut for the first 30. From 35 minutes, test the centre with a skewer: it should come out without raw batter on it. If there's wet batter, give the cake a few more minutes and test again. Every oven has its little ways.
Leave the cake in its tin for ten minutes, then turn it out onto a rack and let it cool until just warm. It'll hold together better when you slice it. Melitón leaned so close to sniff it that Liria had to push his fringe out of the way.
“Breathe somewhere else, mate. You're cooling our cake with your bloody nose.”
Hot chocolate and barefaced cheek
For eight small cups to go with it, we use one litre of milk, 300 g of dark baking chocolate and 30 g of cornflour. Add sugar only if you'd like it sweeter after tasting. Set aside a little of that milk while it's cold and stir in the cornflour. Warm the rest, then add the chopped chocolate and melt it over a low heat, stirring.
Stir in the cornflour mixture and keep stirring right across the bottom until it reaches a gentle simmer and thickens. Cook it like that for about a minute, then take it off the heat. Add a splash of milk if it's too thick. We want it to coat the crumb, not require a crane to retrieve the cake.
We settle a comfortable distance from the fire and let the chocolate cool enough to drink. Dip just the tip of each slice and lift it straight out. Leave it in there and it'll soften and break off. Then you'll need a spoon to fish it out. Enjoy yourself. Nobody gets a prize for looking posh while losing their cake.
The first bite soaked up the chocolate, the crust held and we fell silent with pleasure. Some afternoons fit into a single mouthful. Then we started arguing over the crispiest edge, because poetry never keeps us quiet for long.
Melitón handed out the cups with suspicious generosity. Next thing we knew, he'd settled the now-lukewarm saucepan on a cushion in his lap and covered it with his blanket. The spoon was sticking out underneath.
“What have you got there?” Liria asked.
“My baby. He's just nodded off.”
Liria lifted the blanket. Melitón had a shiny chocolate moustache from ear to ear. We doubled up laughing.
“Well, if you gave birth to it, you can bloody well wash the pan.”
