The Most Delicious Chocolate Cake Recipe Ever

She was five when we baked our first cake. Little blonde pigtails bouncing and big blue eyes dancing while we pulled out the ingredients. I had printed out the recipe so she could help me find everything. "What's next, Mama!"

"Hmmm," I pretended to ponder the ingredients. "We have flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, oil and milk. I'm sure we are missing something. What kind of cake are we making again, sweetie pie?"

"Chocolate, Mama! We were making chocolate cake. We don't have any chocolate yet." She was practically vibrating with excitement at this stage.

"Of course! How could I forget the chocolate? It's in the bottom cupboard where the flour and sugar live. It's in the red tin, called Cocoa powder. Can you find it?" her little face screwed up in concentration when I added, "Cocoa is spelt with a curly C, remember." She marched over and began digging through the ingredients until she came back with the tin in question.

"It has a picture of chocolate on it too, Mama."

"So, it does," I agreed as I took it from her and sat it down. "Alright, we have all the ingredients. What do you think we should do now?"

"Put them in the bowl. You have to mix it all up! I saw it on my show."

"That's right, but there's a special way to do it. If you don't put the ingredients in the right way, the cake won't be very nice." The expression on her face told me she wasn't entirely convinced, so I decided to add a bit of fantasy. "It's like magic, sweetie. You know when you make a potion if you don't put the ingredients in right," I leaned down to whisper the next bit. "It might blow up in your face! Boom! Chocolate mix everywhere!"

It was too much, and she began to giggle. "That would be a huge mess, Mama. My teacher said we aren't allowed to make big messes because if we do, it takes time away from fun stuff to clean it up."

"What a wise woman your teacher is, Sweetie-Pie." I bopped her on the nose and turned back to the table.

"Have we washed our hands?"

She showed me both sides of her hands as if to prove she had done it correctly. "No germs here, Mama. We don't want no Covid cake!"

"No, we don't," I laughed. "Right before we start, we need to pre-heat the oven and sort the pans for the cakes. Can you remember the rules about the oven?"

"Only grown-ups can use it because its, 'hot, hot. Hot'. It could burn you, and that would ruin everybody's day." Oops, she was starting to pick up the things I said. I would have to make sure and talk to my dear husband and remind him to watch his language. Little people have big ears.

"That's right, so Mommy is going to turn the oven on. It needs to be 350 degrees, and that's super-hot. So that's why we turn the oven on first to heat up and be at the right temperature to bake the cake. We wouldn't want a soggy cake in the middle, would we?"

"Ewwww, nope." She giggled.

"Now, you can help me with the pans. We take two pans and spray them with our cooking spray." I showed her how to do one, then let her loose on the second tray. It was interesting to watch. I loved watching the intense concentration on her face as she took her time to coat the pan. There was probably three times the amount of spray than was needed, but that was okay. Next, I showed her how to put a bit of flour in the pan and shake it all around. Her eyes went wide. She couldn't wait to try. There was definitely more flour on her than in the pan by the time she was done. I didn't care; I had already uploaded the pictures to Instagram and Facebook. My sister would love them.

"Are you ready?" I looked around, pretending to make sure no one was listening. "It's time to make the cake potion. Remember, we have to do it right, or it goes, boom! "Her little cackle broke loose at the thought of cake batter exploding all over the kitchen. "But it's our family's secret recipe, so you can't share it with anyone. So do you pinkie promise to keep our super special secret recipe between us?"

She looked as if she was taking on the weight of the world as she solemnly held out her hand and crooked a pinkie. "I promise, Mama. I won't ever tell anyone. I don't care if the spy ninjas capture me and torture me; it's our secret." But, of course, the spy ninjas were a group of YouTubers she was obsessed with, so I knew she was serious.

"That's good to know; now that you're a big girl, you are being trusted with sacred family secrets passed down from Mommies to Daughters since forever." So we hooked our pinkies together and promised to make the most delicious chocolate cake recipe ever made to our graves. After that, I showed her how to mix the dry ingredients first in a separate bowl. Every step we took together, and my heart nearly burst when she turned the mixer on to mix the wet. She was so proud of herself. Once we had the batter made, I helped her to hold the bowl as we poured them into the pans before I took them and placed them into the oven.

"Now, for the most important part," I winked at her.

"What?" Bless her, she had no clue what we were about to do. I took out two spoons and unhooked the mixer blades.

"Now we eat the left-over batter while the cake bakes." Her sky-blue eyes lit up with joy, and she squealed when I handed her one of the mixer blades. By the time we were done, I was sticky, and she was covered from head to toe in chocolate batter. I may have snuck in a few more pictures, but that was part of my Mom duties.

After I had bathed her and cleaned up the kitchen, the cakes were cool enough to frost. Of course, there was another bath needed, but it was worth it. The look of pride on her face when she jaggedly cut the first slice for her Daddy was priceless. She spent at least twenty minutes telling him in detail how she made the cake. The pinkie promise didn't count because Daddy was family, and she could tell him everything.

After we had all had a slice of cake, I took her up for one last bath before bed. As I was tucking her in, she wrapped her little arms around me and said, "Best day ever, Mama. I love you."