Dark Chocolate Torte

Hi. I'm still alive, just in case you're wondering.

Which brings me to wonder, does anyone even read this ?

Regardless, I am writing this now because I am no longer working. Yup, after a month and a half of working in the hotel kitchen, I find myself at home again, with nothing to do but bake and eat. I did not quit the job. I wasn't fired either. I was just "removed" because the hotel decided that part timers were too expensive to be hired. I'm still scratching my head over that one, because it's one of the richest places in the city.. But whatever. I digress.

How have the six weeks been ? Well, if I have to be honest, those were the best weeks of my life. I walked in on my first day, feeling weird and jittery to the extent where I had no appetite. This is coming from a girl who practically eats her feelings.. But that day I could barely look at my water, let alone put solid food in my mouth. It was like walking into school after you graduated. Everything seems so familiar, but you get a sense of something different around the place. Most of my friends had left, with the exception of a few old faces. By the end of the day, I had met and liked everyone in the establishment, new and old alike. 

Time flew. My appetite came back and I ate voraciously and I didn't care because I was always running around and sweating it out having to grill trays of veggies often. I remembered how to do the things I once did when I worked there before, like how to make cheese plates (I work in a buffet with a cheese plate. How awesome is that ?) and layer lasagnes. I carted trays and boxes around and spent eleven hours a day on my feet so when I got home and sat down, my joints actually groaned. I cooked and watched people cook and made up my mind that if I ever wanted to eat anything Alfredo, I wasn't going to make it myself (cream + bacon fat + cheese could only mean deliciousness, but it still wasn't something I was willing to actually cook for myself..). I got acquainted with the new head of the place and also managed to get yelled at once or twice (believe me, those things were not of my doing). I met more people and made so many friends and found a sort of niche for myself in a place where nearly everyone was male. I didn't care. I loved it.

I loved that some guests remembered me. I loved that I could stuff my face with chocolate and fried pizza dough and not worry about putting on weight (okay, I did worry a little but it was justified in the end). I loved that I got paid to work around ingredients I had only seen previously but never got to touch or buy or eat because they were so goddamn expensive, or be around people that just made me happy. Everyone was so ridiculously easy to get along with, and I began to look forward to seeing them every day when I woke up. If this sounds stupid, I don't care. Sue me.

So when I was told then it had to end, I went into shock. I mean, I knew that I would have to stop sooner or later. My plan was to work till June, or at least the end of May, when my graduation would be. I never expected to be kicked out so early, more than two weeks earlier than what I had anticipated. My friends were surprised and they did tell me to stay, as well as come with up some silly suggestions to help me sneak back in, but I knew I couldn't do it. I didn't want to extend my welcome. On the last day of work, I went and did everything as I always did. And I left as I always did, without saying goodbye.

I never say goodbye. I don't like goodbyes. I always, always believe that they're not necessary because I'll always be seeing the other person again. Then I realized, that this time, I wouldn't be seeing them again. I wouldn't be going back there to work. I couldn't afford to go to a five star buffet to eat, and why would I, when they would be the ones slaving away to feed me ? I would be leaving the country in July. When was I going to see them again ?

I made up my mind. I walked back in - and sheepishly collected my voucher and pay for the week - and said goodbye and thanks to the people I should have byed and thanked before I left. I didn't stay long though.. It felt different already. I wasn't in my uniform and they still had to work. I didn't. I went home and cried.

I'm still not used to waking up and not having to drive off to work. I'm not used to having enough sleep, and I'm not used to being at home again. I'm not used to not being able to stuff my face anymore - technically I could, but with the amount of physical activity I have these days, it wouldn't be wise. Most of all, I'm not used to not being around the people I have grown to adore and, dare I say it, love. 

Erk, look at me, I've become such a baby.

I miss my friends. I really do.

Yes, there's Facebook and whatsapp and whatever social media and I can still visit and all but I'm so afraid it won't be the same. There's a huge difference in asking "how are you doing ?" when you're both fighting off the onslaught of hungry guests and asking "how are you doing ?" after commenting on someone's post about work via Facebook. 

But moping around isn't much good. I mean, why, when I have just proclaimed to have had the best times of my life ? Who knows, maybe I'll remain fast (Facebook) friends with some of them and we could be destinied to meet and work together again someday. Or I might run into one of them in Switzerland (wow). Or maybe I'd actually get that pair of shoes from said country for one of my friends who asked for said pair of shoes. And then we'd have to meet again. Or something like that. So on that cheerful(er) note, I leave you with this tart. Or torte, since I didn't actually make a tart shell. Nor was it made in a tart pan. I also made this when I was in the middle of a working week and in dire need of chocolate from lack of sleep and probably some essential minerals, come to think of it, since my diet at that point consisted of cheese and smoked salmon. But who am I kidding, I'm always in dire need of chocolate.

And normally, I would never be found making tortes, or anything for that matter, which ingredients are wholly cream and chocolate. I love my thighs too much for that (not that I have slim thighs in the first place). But I was walking around all day and I was eating a lot of cream and chocolate anyway so I figured "eh, why not ?"

Make this. Whether you're waking hours are spent walking or cooking or mooching around, make this and eat it. Then go ahead and reminisce about the good times. You'll feel better, trust me.

Dark Chocolate Torte

Adapted from this recipe.

For the crust:

10 graham crackers (I used digestives)

1 tbsp cocoa powder

2 tbsp brown sugar

5 tbsp butter

For the filling:

2 cups whipping cream

16 oz good quality bittersweet chocolate 

1. To make the crust, preheat the oven to 180C. Put all the ingredients except for the butter into a food processor and blend until very fine. Add the butter and pulse until the mixture becomes crumbly, like wet sand. If this doesn't happen, add another tablespoon of butter. Press the mixture into the bottom of a 7 inch springform pan and bake for 10 minutes. Leave to cool while you prepare the filling.

2. Chop the chocolate into little pieces and place in a large heatproof bowl. Heat the cream in a saucepan till just below a simmer - careful, you don't want it to boil. Pour the cream over the chocolate and let sit for a minute or so, then using a wooden spoon or a spatula, stir gently until the chocolate is melted and everything is combined and smooth. 

3. Pour the filling over the crust and refrigerate the torte until set, this should take at least three hours. To serve, unclip the sides of the pan and cut slices with a knife dipped into water and wiped dry. Make sure to clean the knife between slices !