My husband loves chocolate anything and everything, the more chocolatey the better, so I decided for his birthday to make the triple-layer chocolate-chocolate-chocolate cake made famous in “The Bear.”
If you are a fan of “The Bear,” you know the cake of which I write. And if you aren’t, here is a photo of the pastry chef-finished masterpiece, courtesy of Food & Wine.
It is a beastly beauty, the cake of which I am sure all chocolate lovers dream.
The cake has also become somewhat of an obsession with bakers and cake-eaters alike. Google “The Bear chocolate cake” and you’ll see what I mean. I figured I was up for the challenge, and decided to give that gorgeous creation a try.
I bought the fancy Dutch process cocoa powder and cacao dark chocolate, and the crème fraîche for which the recipe calls. I brewed the coffee. I gathered together all the ingredients I needed to bring the cake to life, and made sure the eggs and butter were at room temperature.
This recipe also calls for a lot of kitchen tools. Lucky for me, I have two bowls for my stand mixer, as well as a rechargeable hand mixer my kid got me for Christmas last year; they were all pressed into service, as were my two food thermometers and every whisk, mixing bowl, sauce pan, spatula and kitchen towel I own.
The intimidating recipe claims an “active time” of 1-1/2 hours and a “chill time” of 8-1/4 hours, for a total of 12 hours total — I added in some “dumb-ass time” because I know myself all too well. I began working 20 hours before my guests were to arrive. (I thought building an extra 8 hours into my time was a brilliant move; little did I know this cake would test every fiber of my baking soul in ways I had never imagined.)
The 12-hour recipe took me longer: much, much longer, like weeping-at-1- a.m.-covered-in-cocoa-and-cacao-and-powdered -sugar longer.
I am no pastry chef, but I do know my way around my kitchen, and I confess that I did things I’d never done before to birth this cake. It’s a fussy, work-intensive recipe that calls for 15 eggs and 1-1/2 pounds of butter. Add in the fancy cocoa and cacao chocolate and crème fraîche, and it becomes an expensive recipe, too.
But my husband deserves the best, right?
There was simmering and temperature taking, separating and whipping, melting and cooling, whisking and folding, and that was just to make the mousse (which was heavenly).
There were two moments — once during the alternating adding in of the dry ingredients for the cake, and once as I whipped in all the confectioner’s sugar I had into the frosting — when things went off the rails: I looked like I was starring in a baking mashup of “Willy Wonka” and “Scarface,” playing my role of a crazed baker sloppily snorting up the chocolate powder and confectioner’s sugar instead of using it in the cake and icing.
My little kitchen — which smelled like fancy cocoa/cacao heaven — was a huge, dusty, chocolatey mess. I could not have cared less. I put the three cake layers, mousse and frosting into the refrigerator until morning, as the recipe said I could. Exhausted, I climbed into bed at 2 a.m.; four hours later, I was up and at it again. My guests were arriving eight hours later.
I took the frosting and mousse out of the refrigerator as soon as I got up to give them enough time to come to room temperature. The frosting looked like a magnificent boulder of shiny chocolate (emphasis on “boulder”). I gave it some extra come-to-room-temp time while I enjoyed a leisurely cup of coffee.
I checked on the frosting again. It was still a magnificent, shiny boulder. A second cup of coffee and hour later, it had softened a bit but was nowhere near spreadable, so I improvised. With my little hand mixer, I went to work. Little by little, with a splash of cream here and there, I brought the icing to heel and finished the cake. While the frosting of “The Bear” cake looked dark and shiny and smooth, mine was lighter, duller and bumpier, like it could have used a good buffing.
Despite that, I took a moment to admire my work: The cake was absolutely huge, topped with a thick layer of chocolate buttercream frosting; I had to rearrange food and adjust a shelf so I could pop it back into the refrigerator.
When I brought the cake out after dinner, I struggled to not drop it. It was taller and heavier than I remembered, and while it looked nothing at all like the pictures, the cake was still impressive in all its chocolatey glory.
Was it delicious? Yes, yes it was. Honestly, it was unlike any chocolate cake I’ve ever made, each element with its own distinct taste. But be forewarned: this is the sweetest, richest chocolate cake you’ll ever taste. Just a sliver will do you.
Would I make it again?
I would consider it if someone I loved dearly won a major prize or ran a marathon AND asked very nicely, OR if you paid me a ton of dough.
There’s a reason I am not a pastry chef.
CLICK HERE for the recipe.
