Remembering my gramma with Hungarian chocolate cake

My Gramma Betty came from Hungary to the US in 1930 at the age of 6. And while I don’t remember growing up with many traditions from her home country, I will never forget her Hungarian chocolate cake, which is known as Rigó Jancsi.

The funny thing about this memory is I did NOT like the cake. Why? Because it’s not the typical sweet chocolate cake and I was probably between 8-10 years old. What kid really likes bittersweet chocolate and coffee? Not this kid.

But this kid has grown up and learned how delightful dark, bittersweet chocolate can be.

Last night I took the plunge and made an attempt at this cake for the second time (my first attempt, years ago, ended in tears and a cake that shredded as it stuck to parchment paper).

My gramma lost her battle with Parkinson’s in December 2001, right around Christmas. As I’ve mentioned before, she was the hand that guided me to make my first chocolate chip cookies, roll snickerdoodle dough into cinnamon sugar, and bake a beautiful lemon meringue pie (though I’m pretty sure I watched on that one). And because of this, the fear of failing to make this cake a second time weighed heavily on me. But after some encouragement, I stopped stalling.

Did it turn out the way she made it those 20+ summers ago? No. The cake was too thin and delicate to roll correctly, and I didn’t think it would look good as quarters. But instead of throwing it away, I decided to make this cake my own.

I divided the cake base into 3, trimming the slightly dried-out edges. I made my gramma’s coffee filling, only to realize that by following her recipe the filling was as thick as buttercream. So I gradually added more cream until I achieved a fluffier result. As for the glaze, her instructions are minimal, and I balked at the idea of adding water to the lovely 72% Belgian chocolate I got from Mueller’s at Reading Terminal Market. Instead, I cracked open my copy of The Cuisine of Hungary and followed its chocolate glaze recipe.

Then, I looked to my pantry and found a lovely jar of apricot jam my sriracha-loving friend Randy had sent me and decided my cake deserved a touch of fruity sweetness, even though my gramma’s recipe did not call for it (the jam is a traditional, yet optional, spread for the cake).

By 8:30, I assembled the cake, drizzled the glaze over the top, and learned the glaze recipe does indeed make too much (that can be fixed later). I left it to set in a cabinet as I waited for Ray to come home, and once he did, I cut each of us a 1/2-inch slice.

My first bite brought tears to my eyes … not because I hadn’t made my Gramma Betty’s Hungarian Chocolate Cake exactly, but because it reminded me of her, and that summer she made the cake, and the summers that followed in her kitchen. I may have only eaten the chocolate glaze scraped off the cake that day, quietly complaining to one of my uncles that the cake didn’t taste right, but what I had spent 2 hours making and what sat on my plate in front of me still formed a connection for me.

Ray’s first bite, and following bites until the plate was clean, was full of oohs and ahhs and thoughtful comments about the true flavor of the chocolate. According to him, he had never experienced something like this cake before. And he loved it.

Below is the photo of my gramma’s recipe, written down by my mom. I do not suggest using it, though, because I think it needs to be updated and improved upon for a modern kitchen. Just add that to my list of things to accomplish in 2014. But for now, I’m going to enjoy my own iteration of Hungarian Chocolate Cake and take heart in knowing that, if she were alive, my Gramma Betty would be pleased with my dessert.