A while ago, I had the fortune to eat the best chocolate cake ever. When the frog came home from work, I even told him that I had eaten the best chocolate cake ever. This was cruel on two counts. Firstly, he was engaged in a battle of the taste buds, where the men folk at his work place were trying to create the best chocolate cake ever and I had therefore quashed his dream of ever achieving this impossible task. Secondly, I didn't even save him a crumb, I ate it all.
Fortunately for the frog, the next time I met the chef during the week she handed over a huge chunk of the chocolate cake. She was going away for the weekend and I had obviously enjoyed it so much that she wanted it to go to a good home. Plus, I told her how upset the frog was that I failed to even think about bringing him a slice home.
This second piece provided dessert for a couple of nights and thus became my obsession. It was still soft and spongy despite its age. As you bit into it, every now and again there would be hard chocolate bits that you just let melt on your tongue. It was neither too sweet, nor too bitter. It was quite simply perfect. And the chef promised me the recipe.
I guess it's a bit like when you find yourself imitating your favourite writer instead of finding your own voice. In the end it's just a pale imitation.
So for now, I'm concentrating on carrot cake and blueberry muffins. I like them, but I have nothing to really imitate, I just need to please myself there. When I get them perfect, or just damn good, then and only then, may I be ready to tackle the banana bread.