The Black Forest Cake — A Love Story

The events depicted below took place on February 14, 2000, our first Valentine’s Day together. I originally wrote this story in 2007.

The events depicted below took place on February 14, 2000, our first Valentine’s Day together. I originally wrote this story in 2007.

Jon and I had been together about 10 months and our birthdays are both in February on either side of Valentine’s Day so we made an agreement not to make a big deal of it, to just be together, eat some yummy food, no gifts, no big money spent. I had the brilliant idea to bake a black forest cake and make him a tape as I felt that would fall within the parameters we had agreed upon, and still show him what a perfect partner I was. I knew he loved black forest cake. Plus, I was already planning on baking a German chocolate cake as part of the birthday dinner I was planning for him a few days later, so I figured it would be good practice.

I got up at 9:00am that morning, hung out, drank some coffee, got online, all the usual stuff. I had already printed out a recipe from my “Joy of Cooking” CD-ROM that he had gotten me for Christmas. I was a little bit nervous as I could not remember the last time I had baked something so complicated (turns out never) as this cake, and really did not have much in the way of baking equipment (turns out none) but was pretty relaxed about the whole thing.

I set off to the store with list in hand at about noon, figuring I’d be back at home by 1:30 to start baking. While the cake was in the oven I would make the tape giving me plenty of time to finish up and look beautiful before he arrived home from work at 7:00pm. I was clear about everything I needed, except one. Kirsch. I knew it was some kind of liqueur but had never seen it before. I was sure I would have no problem finding it. I was sure the grocery store would have it in their liquor department. I was sure the day would go simply and easily.

My first stop. Target. I needed a hand mixer. Which one to get? Lots of choices. How much to spend? Twenty minutes later after much debating and trying to intuit which hand mixer would help me to make the most beautiful cake ever, coupled with my uncannily Aquarian-like trait to not be able to make a decision about anything simple, I had made my choice. Done.

Oh, wait, mixing bowls.

Metal or glass? Metal or glass? Metal or glass? Back and forth went the wheels of indecision. Okay. Metal. No wait. Glass. No. Wait. Fine! Metal.

Don’t look back. Keep moving. Don’t look back.

Oh, and cake pans. Right. Oh, crap, a spatula, oh and a……. and a………, jeez you sure need a lot of stuff to bake a cake. The last time I baked a cake I poured the mix out of a box, added some water and other stuff, mixed it with a spoon, and poured it into that old crusty pan I make brownies in. Voila! Cake.

An hour and $100 later, I was back in my car and off to the grocery store. Okay, I was about 30 minutes behind, no problem, I’ll just pop in and out of the grocery store and be home. Done. Simple. Easy.

I pulled into the grocery store parking lot and thought to myself, “What the hell? Is everyone baking a Valentine’s Day cake today?” Packed. This was Chicago, after all. Faintly, a gnawing feeling started in the pit of my stomach. I pushed the feeling down and drove around and around as parking spot after parking spot was stolen out from under me by the frustrated and stressed-out urbanites, including one who screamed at me and flipped me off (Well Happy Fucking Valentine’s Day to you too).

Twenty minutes later, finally parked, I ran into the store with my cart, careened down the aisles, throwing flour, sugar, baking soda, chocolate, frozen cherries, (a cake! What was I freaking thinking?), etc, etc into it. I stopped cold in dairy. Frozen still. They were out of whipping cream. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

What the hell! It’s Valentine’s Day. How can they be out of whipping cream? There was a sign posted that said, “We are sorry. We will have whipping cream in on Feb 15th”. signed Dominicks

Crap! Crap! Crap! Well, a hell of a lot of good that does me! Black Forest Cake is all about the whipped cream…………well, and the cherries…………..and the cherry liqueur.

Okay. Breathe. No problem. Breathe. I’ll just need to go to another grocery store to get whipping cream. Fine. I can handle it, looking at my watch as it’s nearing 2:00pm. Plenty of time left.

Now for the Kirsch.

“Hi,” I said to the harried-looking man selling bottles of champagne to the many Valentine’s Day celebrants (gosh why do people have to wait ’til the last minute to do this kind of thing) “Do you carry Kirsch?”

He looked at me as if I was speaking another language (I mean, technically I was. Kirsch is a German word. But language did not seem to truly be the issue here).

“What?” he asked.

“Ummmmmmm Kirsch”, I said (oh crap there’s that gnawing feeling again, this time not so faint) “I think it is some kind of alcoholic thing, ummmmmm drink, ummmmmm liqueur? Maybe? Cherry flavored?”

He gave me a blank look and pointed his head in the general direction of one of the aisles while shrugging his shoulders.

I looked and looked. No Kirsch. Every other flavor liqueur possible: chocolate, licorice, coffee, hazelnut, on and on, but no cherry. None. NONE!

Okay. Fine. Don’t panic. I needed to go elsewhere for the whipping cream anyway. I’ll go to Jewel (the other giant Chicagoland supermarket chain) and they’ll have it. Plus maybe I can make the cake without it? I mean how important can the cherry liqueur be? Crap!

I’m sweating as I check out, paying the $40, (total for the day now at $140) raced back to my car, and ran next door to Aldi (the outlet grocery store) just to see.

“Please god, please let them have whipping cream!”

Nope

Back in the car and off to Jewel, kicking myself for the time wasted going into Aldi. I knew it was a mistake.

At Jewel, after staring at the empty shelf where the whipping cream should sit, trying not to cry, I ran to the liquor department.

“Kirsch!” I screamed at the guy standing there.

He shook his head, no, and I ran out of the store, got back in my car, sped off, realized I did not yet know where I was going, turned into a parking lot to stop, think, and catch my breath. And there it was.

A liquor store.

And the heavens opened up and the angels began to sing as I just knew they were going to have Kirsch.

They did, a dusty bottle of it for $20.

I went to one more grocery store (my fourth of the day, not including Target and the liquor store), got the last pint of whipping cream they had, got back in my car, and drove home, crying and laughing with relief. It was 3:30pm. Fine, plenty of time. Everything was going to be okay.

I got home, grabbed everything out of the car, felt something slip, and heard a shattering crash as I felt my feet being doused in cherry liqueur. I just kept walking, in denial, my brain unable to process the reality of what I had just done. I had picked up the bag with the kirsch, the god damned stinking kirsch in it, upside down. I believe for a moment I left my body as I robotically unlocked my apartment door, numb to the reality that once again I would have to get back in my car.

I unpacked, turned around, raced back to the liquor store, bought another $20 bottle of kirsch, and made it home in one piece. It was now 4:15pm. I could still do it. Fine. No problem. Not once did I think about quitting. This cake was not going to beat me.

Hastily I threw the cake ingredients together, beat the hell out of them with a venom not seen since (this was gonna be one delicious cake), poured them into the cake pans I had purchased so many hours earlier, threw them in the oven, and set off to make the tape. That’s right, you heard me. I said set off to make the tape. I told you I was not going to let this cake beat me. I was superwoman, perfect girlfriend, the most loving woman on the planet. AND I WAS GOING TO PROVE IT GOD DAMN IT WITH MY TAPE AND MY CAKE! MY $180 BLACK FOREST CAKE!

About 30 minutes later I took the cakes out, I was halfway through my tape, It was 5:00pm. I was doing it! I was doing it!

This was a three-layer cake which required me to slice one of the cake rounds down the center while holding it on its side to turn it into two rounds. See I had bought two round cake pans instead of three, thrifty of me, don’t ya think? I mean, after all, I was on a budget. The directions said to let the cake cool before slicing, but I felt I did not have the time, so I sliced away. Five minutes later I had broken cake all over my kitchen table.

I almost quit then, as I smoked a cigarette, staring at the one beautiful cake round and next to it the pile of chocolate cake chunks that used to be the other one. I wondered if I could just use the one. But no. That was not what the directions said. No. I would not be daunted. I would not be defeated! I would be perfect.

I made another batch of cake batter, poured it into the 2 empty rounds which would leave me with three layers, put them in the over, thought to myself, “Well I really didn’t need to take a shower anyway”, and went back to making the tape, the stupid tape, full of sappy crap he wouldn’t really like.

At 6:00pm as I was just taking the next round of cakes out of the oven he called, “Hey honey, I got done early so I am on my way home.”

“NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” I screamed at him. “I’m not ready! Don’t even think about it!”

“Are you okay?” he asked with trepidation.

“Fine. Fine,” I responded half laughing almost crying at the sound of the voice of the man I loved dearly for whom I had chosen to put myself through hell. “Just please don’t be early, the store didn’t have whipping cream and I was making you a big surprise and I had to go to 4 stores and I broke the kirsch, “ I babbled. “Could you please give me an extra 30 minutes and show up at 7:30?”

He sweetly and probably fearfully complied, told me he loved me, and I got off the phone so I could finish pretending to be the perfect girlfriend.

At that point, some Universal force must have shifted. Maybe it was the sound of his voice. Maybe it was the knowledge that I was doing all of this because I loved him. Maybe my spirit guides were tired of watching me make a complete and total ass of myself. Whatever it was, everything fell into place.

The cake tasted great. Really great. And we’re still together, no longer trying to prove how perfect we are…………well…………not usually.

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