Torta Pazza

Yesterday evening we had another roommate dinner. Recall time: last roommate dinner through the course of the meal we each consumed an entire bar of cream cheese. Last night it was time for me, Swati and Bettylou to prepare the meal--retaliation time. Bettylou made a fabulous appetizer, a Mexican inspired casserole with Italian cheese and corn and Italian salsa. It was amazing. Swati made spinach lasagna, very nice, very nice. I made the dessert.

Bum, BUM, BUUUUUMMMMMMM!!!!!!!

May I begin by stating that it is difficult to find chocolate cake in Italy? Wait, rephrase. It is difficult to find chocolate cake IN THE BOX in Italy. That was more honest. I found some. I bought cake pans. I bought the ingredients for the frosting. Now, when I make (Molly makes) this cake in the US it is not difficult. I (she) take a bar of cream cheese, a tub of whipped cream, a cup of granulated sugar and a cup of powdered sugar, OH and crushed Hershey almond bar and I (she) mixes it. EASY. This should be so simple—no. In Italy the cream cheese is more like yogurt, the whipped cream was only found in a spray can (not refrigerated), the powdered sugar was not a cup and the Hershey almond bar was an eclecticism of chocolates I found at the grocery. That’s fine. I am a creative and accommodating person, this can work.

The cakes stuck to the pan a little—that’s okay, the culinary artist needed a taste. Chopped up the chocolate bars. Fine. Easy. Piece of cake? Not quite. The frosting, it was not becoming frosting—soup. NO, I am not the appetizer!!!! I mixed, I beat with the whippy thing, and I called my Momma!!! Nothing. I threw the frosting into the freezer. Stuck the chopped chocolate on top of our fridge and stuck the two cake pans into our little kitchen closet. Side note: our kitchen closet does not reach the floor, it is a little room and its floor starts about 6 inches above my waist. It is like a purgatory room.

We ate. My mixings sat—cooling (thickening), cultivating, and thinking about life past.

Dinner finished. I asked everyone leave the kitchen. I ran around throwing my cake together. It was a smidgen drippy. Oh, no, A LOT DRIPPY!!! I RANNNNnn into the room where my roommates were waiting for me to call them. I yelled for them to get into the kitchen and START EATING!! The cake is DYING!!!! No questions asked. They all rushed in, saw the cake and grabbed spoons. We ate the cake. All together. One big, happy, cake-eating group of girls in Perugia, Italy.

I ate some of it this morning. Its good.