He listened as the chocolate cake screamed.
He watched it writhe in its box, the screams bursting out every few seconds. He covered his ears, but his eyes continued to watch the cake dancing, vibrating in its agony. He wanted it to stop. He had to make it stop.
He turned and ran to his table. Flour, sugar. Mixed together. Still silent in the bowl, but the moment eggs were added, they started to swirl. A ballet, directed by the whisk, circling, swirls of colour and movement. Beat, beat, and the mixture danced to the beat, as the whisk flashed and spun.
Dark chocolate, rich, decadent. Respect your ingredients. Know them. Crumbled into pieces, the chocolate singing to him. Melted in a bowl over water that was singing a merry tune. Chocolate melting with a sigh, luxuriously sliding over the spatula. Butter in, warm and smooth, blending together with the chocolate. He smiled. Coffee powder, sprinkled over, melting into the warm embrace, becoming as one. The wafting of the scent, the spirit of the chocolate hovering over the bowl, as the spatula worked, round and round. Songs of beauty and kahlua resounding around the rim of the bowl as he mixed, as he watched, and listened.
His ingredients sang. The flours mixed together, bursts of sound as they collided, as he sifted, as they shook in melody. The chocolate hitting the flour, to form a teeming mass of smell and taste, especially as the sugar was added, and mixed, and the batter settled. Into the oven, preheated and warm, ready to bring true life to his creation.
What life! What song! The rising of the cake accompanied by choral crescendoes, of warmth and smell meshed into shape. He watched and swayed from side to side as the cake rose, as the music played, just right, beautifully.
He turned. More work to be done. Sugar, cream, melted together. Swirls of sweetness and thickness, still not yet complete. Into the chocolate, melting and dissolving, becoming one together. The notes of discord vanished as the ganache formed. The fitting symphony to the choral harmony that was singing its last few bars in the oven.
Three more. Two. One. With a last choral note, he opened the door of the oven, and took out the cake. One, two, three deft and quick sawing cuts, and he laid the three layers of his gasping creation on the table, No notes out of place, the music still playing, So on with the ganache, one layer, two. And the final layer on top, and with a last flourish of trumpets, he smoothened the sides of the cake. The orchestra swelled to one final crescendo of truimphal symphony.
It was done. This cake began humming a little tune and bopping on its tray. He stepped back. He was glad. Symphonies got boring after a while.
They’d removed the other cake earlier, while he’d been busy. No matter. He’d work again when he had the inspiration. He watched as they boxed this one, and left the room.
They took the box out to the main office. “He’s made another amazing cake. Whose birthday is it this time?” One of the white robed men asked.
“My daughter’s. I feel bad doing this to him but his cakes are simply a-meh-zing.” His colleague drew out the syllables of the last word. “I mean, I’d pay a hundred bucks just for the quality of the stuff he comes up with. Too bad for him that he’s been held here. ”
“He can’t survive out there. Maybe we should sell the cakes he makes, and put that into some fund for him.”
“Maybe. We’ll think about that another time. I’ve got to get this to my daughter.”
“How about the other cake? It’s such a waste…”
“Just throw it away. I got it for like 10 bucks off some old woman down the street and it probably tastes like crap.”
The old woman stared at the mess in front of her. When she was younger, she’d made it sing to her. Now, if it was a good day, they’d scream. She had to do better than this.
With shaking hands, she started melting the chocolate again.
The inspiration for this one came from my younger son, who in a fit of imagination, mentioned someone watching a chocolate cake scream. Based off the recipe found here, along with the featured image.