Cupcakery

I never got the whole cupcake craze.
Until now.
I have on my desk a chocolatey-chocolate treat that surpasses any of the mega-muffin, overblown, looks-good-tastes-okay cupcakes I’ve sampled before, from all over the food map: kiosks and food trucks, restaurants, bakeries and coffee shops. Hoping each time for a luscious combination of flavor and texture, each time has been a distinct disappointment. Where do I finally find satisfaction? At the office potluck.

I always want a cupcake to deliver not only the amusement of having a miniature cake to eat, sometimes decorated with clever or beautiful or just plain delicious frosting, but also to live up to the idea of cupcake, which conjures up childhood birthday parties full of glitter and balloons. This cupcake, in addition to satisfying the adult in me, even hits that childhood note. And, it allows me to, once again, laud the homemade over the store-bought.

Today’s cupcake was baked by my friend, Barbara, who, I am learning, is a cake queen (she made a Thomas the Tank Engine cake for her preschooler that looked as though it would come alive and say something perky to Mr. Conductor). Her cupcake features the sort of chocolate flavor that satisfies the deepest craving; the cake is soft and yielding and full of flavor, moist but not gloppy, light but not lightweight. To pump it up even more, she’s covered it in dark ganache so rich I can’t wait to try making these myself, just so I can lick the bowl.

On top of all this is the cupcake’s sweetest twist, which adds not just whimsy, but texture and crunch to go perfectly with the smooth, rich cupcake itself: crunchy sugar sprinkles in silver, gold and white, carefully shaped into stars. Barbara tells me she got the decorations from the legendary cake decorating shop, Little Bitts, in Wheaton – a must-stop for any serious home cake makers.

Barbara’s other secret: her masterpiece is crafted from the Georgetown Cupcakes recipe, snipped from a Washington Post comparison of local cupcakeries printed a couple of years ago. Maybe Barbara has a three-ring binder like mine, bursting with these sorts of clippings. All I really need to know now, though, is that the recipe is available, and I can try it myself. (Also that you can use Ghiardelli if you can’t splurge on (or find) Valrhona or Callebaut). Fun.