my mouth is watering.

Oh no. What am I doing in this aisle again? I’m standing in the “corridor of corruption” in a petrol station snack-shop in Meyerton. I’m 45 minutes away from home, I’ve been crying, it’s stinking hot, and I’m staring at a Man Size Lunch Bar. It’s taking everything I’ve got not to sink to the floor and inhale it. Plus the ladies at the counter are staring at me because I’m the only one in the store and the pressure is getting to me.

When I got home after my encounter with the “aisle of iniquity”, I decided I needed to do something to take my mind off my stupid, not-really-that-big-in-the-big-scheme-of-things problems. I decided to bake a cake.

You see, I’m a baker. OK – scratch that. I’m not a baker. Not even close. I think my wickedly talented Mom and Brother home cook slash super kitchen people just tell me that to boost my self-esteem. In our house, I’m the one who’s asked to make a salad, not bolognaise sauce. I butter toast instead of frying eggs. I lay tables and chop yellow peppers into perfectly even segments instead of actually placing anything in a pan. My entire resume of culinary skills can fit into this small paragraph:

Cake; pancakes; popcorn; toast.

Oh my. It’s not even a paragraph. It’s not even a sentence. Microsoft Word has done that weird squiggly green line underneath it and suggests I revise the fragment.

Ordinary, yet delicious.

It’s kind of embarrassing. No, it is embarrassing! For one thing, my future husband is (more than likely. OK definitely) going to be shocked when I place no, not Nigella’s Feasts on the kitchen counter, but a binder full of take-out menus and a loaf of Woolie’s Toaster Brown. I was asked to make spaghetti once and I couldn’t even pay attention to the boiling water, let alone the actual meal. When Mom asked me to make one of those Royco Pasta Sauces, I mixed together the wet ingredients you’re meant to mix with the sauce powder and added them to the pasta. Without the Royco Pasta Sauce powder in the liquid. Seriously?

But you see, as indicated in all too short and simple a manner previously, I can make one deliciously fantastic chocolate cake, pancakes that will blow your mind hole, popcorn that’s perfectly adequate, and toast. (Well, it is just toast.) I love making the cake because it’s a really simple recipe, and frankly the separating of the egg whites from yellows combined with the mysterious way in which our oven temperature varies depending on the oven’s mood that hour is possibly the most thrill I get these days. And I’ve been doing pancakes ever since my Mom got sick of making them for us all the time and decided to pass on the torch. Or frying pan – whatever. Plus, the thing about pancakes is that I understand them. I know that they taste better if you leave the batter to stand for an hour (and even better the next morning). I know that if they’re tearing and heavy you add another egg, and if they’re tearing and sticky you add more flour. I know that a splash of vinegar may sound weird but without it they just don’t taste the same. It’s nice to understand pancakes. I like the feeling of security that putting a cake in the oven brings: that mixing eggs and flour and sugar and baking powder will result in happiness.

You would think this revelation would result in an urgent desire in me to expand my chef-y horizons followed by a fervent search through the yellow pages for a Saturday morning class taught by a struggling but adorable high-school dropout who just wanted to really live his life and that I know despite our differences and complete lack of fortune or blessing from society would really be perfect for me and really accept me despite my completely dismal abilities in the kitchen and we would live happily ever after and have four scrumptious little cupcake-addicted children (three boys and a girl), but no.

I like not knowing how to cook. I like the fact that I stood in that aisle in the Shell Snack Shop and knew that spending an hour making a chocolate cake to share with my family would not only take my mind off my problems, but satisfy my need for comfort food in a way that a Lunch Bar never really could (not even a Man-Sized one). I say that a future of me filled with burned rice and overcooked chicken is totally worth it if it means that when I really need to make a cake, I can do so much more than just make a cake. I will know that that cake will stand out not just because it’s awesome (and it will be, believe me), but also because it is a rare product of my unskilled hands. And to me, that’s worth so much more than a Lunch Bar.

If you think it might be worth it too, here are directions that won’t result in just a cake, but about half an hour of distraction, a house smelling so good you’ll have to fight off the neighbours with a stick and possibly high-pressured water pistols, and two warm, gooey things: the middle of the cake, and the middle of you.

Jo’s Choccie Cake

Ingredients

1 cup flour

1 cup sugar

1 heaped tablespoon cocoa powder

1 teaspoon baking powder

3-4 eggs

½ cup sunflower oil

¾ cup hot water

Method

Put the oven onto 180°C. Separate the eggs and place them aside. Also, butter a cake tin. (This is stuff I always forget to do at the beginning of the process and always wish I hadn’t. Now you can start.) Sift together the dry ingredients, and then add the egg yolks and the oil. Mix ‘em together. Add the hot water, and then, once you’ve whisked the heck out of the egg whites, fold them into the batter. Pour this whole concoction into the tin and place in the oven for like, 25 minutes. Lick the bowl, taking extra care to cover your face in as much batter as possible. Then get the cake out. If the centre is gooey, you’re in for a treat! Feel free to drown the warm pillow of fluffy goodness in melted Cadbury's Milk Chocolate or a viscous mixture of icing sugar, cocoa and condensed milk. Yum!

Edit (12/1/2011): I made the cake today! I had my friends Mike, Roan and Chris over for supper + happiness. There is still some cake in the kitchen - it will make for a wonderful midnight snack! There is added standard icing with cocoa in it. The centre is all natural goo :P

The cake in all it's chocolaty glory

The rivers of wondrous goo pour forth