It started with burnt toast and a voicemail I didn’t want to hear.
Not tragic. Just… worn.
The kind of day that smells like old socks and cheap candle wax, where nothing goes wrong but everything feels like it’s leaning too hard.
I wasn’t going to bake.
I never bake when I’m like this. Not really.
But I saw the corner of the recipe peeking out from the drawer I jam shut too hard—Martha Stewart’s Flourless Chocolate Torte.
And I remembered there was still chocolate in the cabinet.
The good kind.
From that trip Mae and I took to Montreal before she decided she was too old to share beds in hotels.
What The Original Looked Like
Her Highness doesn’t mess around with this one.
No flour, no fluff, no icing. Just pure, unapologetic dense.
The recipe reads like she’s daring you:
coconut oil, bittersweet chocolate, eggs—no shortcuts.
She folds in ground walnuts like a whisper, barely there. Then tops it all with a sleek pour of melted chocolate. A little crown of chopped nuts in the middle.
It’s restrained.
Elegant.
What I Did Differently
I didn’t toast the walnuts.
I know.
She would’ve sighed. Maybe raised an eyebrow.
But I was tired and the pan was dirty from Mae’s oat mess that morning and I just couldn’t.
Also—confession—I used that weird chunk of sea salt from Provincetown instead of coarse salt.
It clumped. It cracked. It made the cake taste like memory and poor judgment.
But in a good way.
And I didn’t measure the vanilla. I just poured until it smelled like December before the divorce.
The Way It Happened In My Kitchen
The chocolate took forever to melt.
Maybe the water was too slow or maybe I was.
I stirred like I was punishing it.
And the dented Dutch oven was still on the counter—mocking me, probably. I dropped it the night I left him. It’s still got the bruise to prove it.
The eggs went in one by one, each one a question I didn’t ask.
Mae came in halfway through.
Asked if I was making “that fudge thing” again.
I told her no.
Then yes.
Then handed her the spoon to lick and she said it tasted like her birthday, even though it wasn’t.
The batter was thick, clingy, like it didn’t want to let go of the bowl.
I get it.
I baked it for 40 minutes instead of 35. I forgot to rotate it.
The edges cracked, a little.
Like me.
A Few Things I Learned
Don’t try to unmold a torte while it’s still warm.
Even if you think you’re careful.
Even if you’re whispering to it like a lover.
It will still stick.
Also—if you skip toasting the walnuts, it’s fine. It won’t be “elevated,” but it’ll still taste like something worth sitting down for.
What I Did With The Extras
I left it on the counter.
Mae took a wedge and disappeared.
I had a slice over the sink with a spoon I didn’t wash first.
No regrets.
Would I Make It Again?
Yes.
But only when I’m cracked and craving quiet.
That’s As Much As I Remember
The kitchen smelled like my dad’s hands,garlic and chocolate don’t go together, but somehow it worked.
It got quiet by the time the pan was empty.
Not peace. But close.
If you’re in the kind of mood where a cracked edge tastes like defiance, this reminded me of the lemon tart I burned last spring. That one fought back harder.
FAQs
Yeah, but wrap it tight. it gets a little denser after, but in a way that feels like it’s leaning in for a hug.
No. but the ground ones give it body. the chopped ones on top? optional, but they make it feel dressed up,even if you’re not.
it’s rich, not cloying. more “quiet jazz bar” than “birthday cake.” depends on your chocolate. i used 70% and it hit just right.
Use butter. or olive oil if you’re feeling bold. it’ll shift the vibe, but not in a bad way. just… different outfit, same soul.
Check out More Recipes:
- Martha Stewart Coconut Cake
- Martha Stewart 7 Minute Frosting
- Martha Stewart Oatmeal Cookies
- Martha Stewart Lemon Meringue Pie
Martha Stewart Flourless Chocolate Torte
Description
Creamy and cracked, like something trying to hold it together.
Ingredients
Instructions
- Make the batter: melted the chocolate with the coconut oil over steam that wouldn’t behave. it took longer than it should’ve. stirred until smooth, then added sugar like i was bracing for something. cracked in the eggs, one by one—each one a small apology. added cocoa, vanilla, the salt that wouldn’t spread. folded in the walnuts like i wasn’t sure they’d help. the batter looked like thick grief. poured it in anyway.
- Bake the cake: oven at 350. didn’t trust the temperature, but went with it. batter into the pan, smoothed it with a spatula that’s seen better years. baked it while the house got quiet. thirty-five minutes. forgot to rotate it. the edges cracked. didn’t fix it. just pulled it out and stared.
- Cool it down: left it on the rack all night. didn’t cover it. didn’t peek. just let it be what it was. in the morning, ran a knife around the edge like a prayer. flipped it onto a plate that still smelled like lemon from something else.
- Top it off: melted the rest of the chocolate with a lonely teaspoon of oil. poured it like a curtain. spread it slow. sprinkled the chopped walnuts in the middle. they didn’t stay centered. neither did i.