So before I get to the part where Cake Ultra technically ended a man's life (RIP Gerald, you sweet-toothed legend), let me just say--this dessert is not for the faint of heart. Or really, anyone with unresolved childhood trauma and access to a freezer. But I digress.
It all started one fateful Thursday when I was trying to avoid folding laundry by "recipe testing." I'd just finished layering my 9x9 pan with the ganache-glazed squares of chocolaty sin when my neighbor Gerald popped in "just to say hi" (read: steal snacks like a raccoon in khakis). Gerald was the kind of man who still said "hubba hubba" when he saw white chocolate, which should've been a red flag. But I'm forgiving by nature. And by that I mean easily distracted.
Anyway, Gerald takes one bite of Cake Ultra and immediately goes silent. Not just “yum” silent--like dead-eyed, time-stopped, spirit-left-the-body silent. His pupils dilated. He whispered "Mother of Ganache" and collapsed backward into my ficus. I scream. The dog barks. Alexa starts playing "Staying Alive" by the Bee Gees because she's a [BLEEP]ing menace.
I call 911 and shout something about "death by mousse," which confuses the dispatcher. Meanwhile, Gerald is on the floor, eyes closed, smiling like he just got kissed by a dessert angel. Paramedics arrive. One of them tries a piece. He cries. Full sobbing. Says it tastes like "the memory of his first love and the ending of The Notebook combined."
Spoiler: Gerald didn't die. Technically. He flatlined emotionally, went into a temporary Cake Ultra coma, and when he woke up three days later, he'd renounced all worldly possessions and joined a food monastery in Oregon. He sends me postcards now. They smell faintly of cocoa.
So. If you're looking for a cake that may cause spiritual rebirth, tearful flashbacks, or a brief cessation of brain function--Cake Ultra is your girl. But please, serve chilled. And keep your life insurance up to date.
You're welcome.