"Because that pipe doesn't go to the marshmallow room. It goes to the fudge room."
I appear to be suffering from something the Aussies call “brain fag.” No, it’s not a slur – not that I know of, anyway. But one of my tour operators was telling me about this spot in the forest that’s believed to cure brain fag.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“You know when you feel a little foggy, and you’re not altogether there?” he asked.
Have I ever been altogether there? I thought, but instead decided that what he was referring to was what we commonly call “brain fog.” Whether it’s fog or fag, I have it. Thank you, jet lag. Thank you for making me understand that although I left Auckland at 8pm Tuesday and arrived home at noon on Tuesday, I still have little idea as to what day it is. Thank you, jet lag, for putting me to bed at 11pm last night in a state of utter exhaustion only to wake me up at three frigging a.m., forcing me to surf celebrity news until it put me back to sleep at around 5:30-ish. Watching me walk off the plane in Thailand on Sunday will undoubtedly be entertaining.
But on to more pressing matters. Namely, a PSA.
MISSING!
Have you seen this piece of chocolate cake?
(Photo courtesy of Toni De Connick.)
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D.O.B: 10/16/2007
Description: The Bailey’s Embrace, a rich chocolate fudge base topped with milk chocolate mousse, laced with Irish Crème and coated in chocolate ganache, decorated with white chocolate chunks.
Last seen: On Wednesday, October 17th, 2007 at the Adelaide Hyatt concierge desk.
Details: I hopped a bus to Adelaide Hills the morning of Tuesday, October 16th to partake in some of the Tasting Australia activities. My morning started by dressing up in a hazmat suit to visit and harvest my first bee hive, but the afternoon held the real treat for my inner child – an afternoon of making chocolate at premiere chocolatier, Cocolat.
Cocolat was envisioned by Terena Blanton, a South Carolina native who moved to South Australia for love. She bought an existing company that specialized in chocolate cakes and decided to expand on their already successful formula by creating a chain of dessert cafes that not only included incredible cakes and baked goods, but also rich truffles and gelatos. (Blanton is not currently a suspect in this case.)
Upon arrival at Cocolat I – along with a dozen other journalists – was whisked past the retail store to the warehouse at the back, where I was invited to wear a somewhat humiliating but necessary hairnet that somehow made me look like a penis wearing a red fuzzy sweater and earrings. Our group was taken on a tour of the facilities, which included the cake baking station (which had already shut down for the day) followed by the gelato room. Yes, it’s all as Willy Wonka as it sounds. The room had two mixers and countless ingredients, like pecans, carob chips, maraschino cherries… and when the fresh batch of coffee gelato was properly whipped, we were granted a tasting. It was orgasmic.
The next stop was the truffle station, where employees dutifully rolled the centers into perfect little balls to be dipped in chocolate. We were then granted a sample of the white chocolate lemon myrtle truffle, which was so rich that I could only take a small bite. We wandered around the rest of the warehouse looking at molds and watching techniques, nibbling on bits of chocolate where we could and generally reverting to childhood glee as much as humanly possible. When I said my inner child was satiated at this part of the trip, I wasn’t kidding. (My inner child is not currently a suspect in this case.)
Then, we were introduced to our task: make our own little version of the Bailey’s Embrace. Each of us were given a little naked fudge and mousse square that we were instructed to dip in a tub of ganache and set on a grate with a pan underneath to catch drippings. Once the first layer of ganache set, we were to pour more ganache over top to make it look smooth and solid. I watched as others gently and gingerly dribbled ganache over their cakes.
“Really coat it – load it on thick,” Terena instructed, and doused one of the cakes. So I followed suit and drenched mine until a small lake of ganache sat in the tray beneath it. Once they set a little more, we started decorating them – first with white chocolate chunks, then with a dollop of white chocolate ganache on top.
While the cakes finished setting with their new decorations we were given our next assignment: decorate a chocolate lollipop. I called upon my months as a Dairy Queen cake decorator to help me create my masterpiece, featuring a candy-coated C in the center, flanked by Smarties and white and dark chocolate swirls. It was such a dedicated artistic pursuit that Terena actually asked me if I wanted a job there. My thighs declined her offer. (My thighs are currently not a suspect in this case.)
After gently bagging our lollies and maneuvering our little chocolate cakes into boxes, we hung out in the main retail space to wait for the bus (although I ran to the grocery store for yogurt to help combat the ugly stomach issue that was forming from the minute amounts of sugar I’d ingested.) The next morning on the way to shark diving in Port Lincoln, it became abundantly clear that bringing a bag of little cakes and lollies wasn’t going to work very well. So Maite and I decided to check ours at the concierge, who graciously ID’d them with luggage tags and put them in the fridge for us.
Despite repeated attempts to try and retrieve it from the Hyatt, my cake was never seen nor heard from again.
Can you help? I’m sure I can come up with a reward of some sort.
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