The Rake Magazine

I just have to talk about chocolate cake for a moment.

I love it, I think about it, I seek it.

Sadly, there are many unfortunate chocolate cake stories out there. Slices that look so promising on a menu can be too rich, too cloying, to flourless.

Density, moistness, simplicity, chocolate-ocity, these are all important factors.

I've tried to make fancy recipes at home, from Masters of Chocolate like Michael Recchiuti but it always seems like a lot of work for nothing special.

I might have found a winner. In an effort to make a special cake for my friend Matt Fennacy's birthday, on St. Patty's Day, I found this recipe for chocolate stout cake. Come on, chocolate cake and beer? Hoooray.

I made some changes (halved the recipe, used a little more Guinness, a little less sugar, threw in some cinnamon and cardamom)and baked it in a bundt pan. It was dense without being leaden. It was moist without being sticky. It was chocolatey without the icky sicky over-sweetness. I think it was the stout that kept the tart in balance, that allowed the dark richness of the chocolate to stand.

No icing needed, just a wallop of fresh whipped cream (or maybe mascarpone sweetened with a bit of dark rum).

Best part: because I used beer, the kids gave me a BLECH face and left it alone. More for me.

Have you read the "manifesto"?

Last December, some of the most influential men in food wrote what they called "an international agenda for great cooking". The Fab Four were Ferran Adria of El Bulli, Heston Blumenthal of The Fat Duck, Thomas Keller of The French Laundry and Per Se, and food scientist/author Harold McGee.

The agenda's main point is to debunk the term "molecular gastronomy" while celebrating the new horizons of food and technique. They believe that this is an important and historic era of cookery, but they don't want to be misunderstood by the next generation of chefs.

They want us to know that they have heart.

They want it understood that just because they use fancy machines and funky techniques and xanthum gum, it doesn't mean that passion need be lost. They believe in excellence, integrity, openness, and embracing innovation and evolution. They believe in that marvelous Brillat-Savarin quote: The discovery of a new dish does more for human happiness than the discovery of a new star.

I'm on board. I'm drinking the kool-aid foam and loving it. My brain is engaged with the New World cooking and I'm headed to Alinea in April to experience the new frontier.

But tonight, I'm going to Broder's Pasta Bar. I have been thinking about it for a week now, and I'm really in need of a beautifully crafted pasta dish. I've been thinking about the linguine with clams, because the pancetta makes it smokey and the peppers make it spicy. But I'm feeling Springy, so the spaghetti with Star Prairie Farms trout, sweet peas, lemon and basil might call to me. Sitting at the bar, watching the cooks swirl the pans with bright, fresh ingredients, adding the home-made egg pasta at the perfect moment, giving it a toss ... that's cooking to feed the soul.

Have you been watching Gordon Ramsey's show on BBC America, The F Word?

It's fucking great.

Some may think right away "I hate Gordon Ramsey, he's such an asshole." Well yes, but if you've only watched Hell's Kitchen, don't be so quick to judge. It should be clear to anyone who has even a little kitchen savvy that the FOX cooking competition is stacked with losers specifically meant to fail and frustrate the head chef.

He does have a rough manner, an old-school kitchen charm, a loud and spicy vocabulary. But he's all about the food and the guest, what more can you ask for in a chef, let alone a TV chef.

All the Rachel Rays and Tyler Florences and Paula Deens who primp and play to the camera are there for themselves and the audience. Even Bobby Flay, the "bad boy" of the Food Network is rather simpy and concerned for his best side.

Let's face it, Ramsey doesn't have a best side. The show is part survival competition, part cooking lesson, part food magazine. It opens with a bunch of cocky home-cooks who think they can handle working in a professional kitchen, with Ramsey. He quickly deflates all ego with his demand for perfection. The rate of success is judged by real diners who decide whether or not they would pay for the food. REAL RESTAURANT STUFF: Not a panel of snobby judges, but people with money in their pockets, the only people that truly matter to a real chef.

In another segment, Ramsey goes head-to-head with someone on similar dishes, last night saw different versions of Beef Wellington. If a table of diners likes the guest cook's dish best, Rasmey has to put it on his menu. It's great when he loses, if only for the stream of cuss the comes from his grinning face.

He's my new Sunday night habit, that fucking banana.

big, flat fish

The Alaskan halibut season opened this past weekend, and for fans of the flakey, white fish that means gold!

I have a friend who is a pilot for NWA. A few years ago he switched out some routes so that he could fly to Alaska, just to get some halibut directly from the guys on the dock. He brought a big pack home and proceeded to batter and fry the chunks at a five-family picnic. The memory of that creamy flesh and the crispy, malty batter still haunts me. I remember burning my mouth trying to eat so much, so quickly.

But halibut is just as memorable in finer dishes. Jax does a panko crust on theirs that is a more refined version of my beloved picnic fare. Who knows what the Oceanaire will do, but I bet it will be good. Be sure to listen carefully to the servers in places like Kozy's, Chart House, Stella's Fish Cafe, and Jensen's Supper Club where halibut will surely make an appearance as a chef's special. Personally, I wouldn't mind a month of dinners at the Dakota, waiting to see what Jack Riebel does with the beautifully flat fish.

Where are my Girl Scout Cookies?

My mom's cookies have been delivered. I saw the Springy green box of Thin Mints on her table yesterday. And yet, my little scout has yet to show up.

I saw a woman in the orthodontist parking lot horking down a sleeve of Do-Si-Do's, the peanut-butter sandwich cookies. I was jealous, I can admit that.

From the minute the doorbell rings and the little scout and I enter into a cookie contract, I wait. I'm a patient woman, but if I don't hear from her soon, I may start stalking her. There are shortbreads out there with my name on them, dammit!

Would they be this special if you could get them year-round? I don't know if I want to answer that.

And they're not just for snarfing anymore, either. Look what this culinary student from Woodbury did with the peanut-butter sandwiches and the Caramel deLites. That's patience.