How To Make German Chocolate Cake How To Make German Chocolate Cake Ingredients: This is a list of things, half of which you do not have in the house, the other half of which you have no idea what they are. You are going to give up on baking this before you’ve even begun the batter, but you don’t know that yet. All you’re really trying to do is desperately make your wife happy, which, just like baking a German chocolate cake, you will realize you have absolutely no idea how to do Directions: Stumble into the kitchen. The linoleum is too cold on your bare feet and the air conditioning nips at your legs. In your hurry to get downstairs, you arrived in nothing but your boxers. Shake your head, grab at your hair, and wonder how on Earth you’re going to make a German chocolate cake, which happens to be your wife’s favorite Consult the recipe of your wife, who refuses to speak to you at the present time. You’ve had another fight, this time about that pile of your dirty socks that she says is growing exponentially. She uses fancy words when she’s mad, and lately, though you don’t know why, her vocabulary has been extra colorful. It needs coconut?! After desperately searching the refrigerator, pantry, and silverware drawer, Google "coconut substitutes" Peruse possible coconut stand-ins and grow severely discouraged without even printing out a recipe, let alone attempting to bake the blasted thing Google "how to make german chocolate cake without coconut" After having stared at recipe after recipe for five minutes, slam laptop closed Realize that this is going to be harder than you thought. Put your head in your hands. Why can’t you make your wife happy? You imagine her, wild, blonde curls just reaching her shoulders, big eyes that used to hold a glimmer, but now hold a coldness that for the #life of you, you can’t figure out how to thaw. Wander into the living room, cake-making put on pause. See wedding photo on side table next to the couch. Lift, stare. Sigh. Seven years ago, she told you she was the happiest girl in the world. Seven minutes ago, she told you you were the stupidest man in the world. All because you didn’t put your dirty socks in the hamper. It doesn’t make any sense. Fall into the easy chair, still holding that picture. You have a sinking feeling. That all the puppy love you still feel for your beautiful wife isn’t matched anymore. That she’s somehow realized she could have done better. Bite your lip. You’ll show her you’re good enough. Stand up, setting your wedding picture carefully back down on the side table. Return to kitchen, determined to bake the best German Chocolate Cake your wife has ever and will ever taste. Realize that you can't bake cake without milk, which you forgot to buy. She’d complained about that from the time she realized you’d forgotten, to when you left for work. Spend the next two minutes looking for car keys. Acquire car keys. Realize you can't go to the store without pants. Swear, because you’re going to have to go to your room, and she’ll be there. Setting foot in there could be like pulling the pin on a grenade. Gingerly open bedroom door. See beautiful wife sitting on bed, pouting at a book. Try to say hello, voice cracks. Your voice hasn't cracked like that since puberty. Freeze when your wife finally speaks. "What are you doing in the kitchen this late with no clothes?" That voice you’ve heard for seven years still makes you weak in the knees. Stare stupidly at your wife. "I'm making you something." Endure loud, shrill bouts of laughter. "You can't cook. Go to sleep." Sigh. "I just came to get some clothes so I can run to the store real quick." Close your eyes as you hear your wife’s voice once more. “Oh, are you finally buying some milk so I can stop eating dry cereal?” Nod. “Once again, I’m sorry for forgetting.” But your wife still isn’t satisfied. “What do you need milk for? Are you baking something?” Nod again, confidently. “It’s a surprise.” Slide open dresser drawers and pull on a pair of pants and t-shirt. Turn to your wife as she says, "You're bribing me." Smile. "Maybe I am." For good measure, you pick up the armful of socks on the floor and drop them into the hamper. Satisfied, descend staircase. Drive to store and grab four cartons of milk. Now she won’t have anything to complain about. Come home. Stumble into kitchen. Cakes are made in bowls, right? With spoons? Acquire bowl and wooden spoon. Smile. You are making progress. Read Betty Crocker directions, which say to chop a bunch of “baking chocolate” and heat it in a pan. Baking chocolate? Unsure of the significance of the difference between chocolates, acquire bittersweet chocolate chips. They are hard to chop. Throw chips in pot. Stir awkwardly. Realize you have no idea what you’re doing. Burn chocolate. Swear. Attempt to heat chocolate four more times. Fail each. Hear the gentle flaff flaff of your wife’s slippers. Wince. Feel your fists clench as her musical voice drips with sarcasm. “That smells delicious.” Hate how in love you are with the woman in front of you, in pink plaid pajama bottoms, hair wild around her face. Mumble, “I’m trying.” You’re doing more than trying to bake a cake. You’re trying to salvage the love you used to have. The magic whose final twinkles are vanishing before your eyes. You’re trying to show this woman why she married you, because it seems she’s beginning to forget. Frown when she laughs and says. “You’re failing.” Let your eyes follow her as she opens a cupboard, pulling a brick wrapped in bright yellow and red paper from a shelf. She plops it on the counter next to the stove, where your fifth batch of chocolate is burning. Watch her leave the kitchen. Turn off the stove. Stare at the burned chocolate, the chocolate you’d tried to save but somehow managed to ruin every time. Glare at the wooden bowl, the spoon, the four cartons of milk still in their plastic grocery bag. Wonder if she meant you’re failing at the cake, or failing your marriage. In one fluid, angry sweep, shove all cake ingredients and baking equipment off of the counter. As it all hits the floor, tears sting your eyes. Because you’ve realized that the answer is both.