a little zaftig » Cakes

An Understated Chocolate Cake

Laura — Fri, 29 Jun 2012 16:10:10 +0000

This cake has been part of our repertoire for more than a decade; I bet I’ve made it more than 20 times now. It’s from an era when I still cooked and baked from recipes, and one of the rare ones I still pull off the shelf. I make other chocolate cakes, of course, but I find myself returning to this one when we want something understated and bittersweet. I made it for a hen’s night with friends most recently and we ate it with earl grey ice cream, but my Sweet Boy and I celebrated the end of an era with the last slices, straight from the refrigerator with a glass of cold milk, when he got his driver’s license.

We’ve spent a lot of time together in the car these past 18 years: in car-related antics, in conversation, braving bad weather together, and learning to drive. When he and my Honey Girl were little and my Dear Husband’s frequent travel was upsetting to them, we had a set of rituals, for just the three of us, things we would do together only when he was away. It was a way to offset the pain of his departure just a little, and one of the favorites was that during these weeks I would sing ridiculous songs at the top of my lungs in the car as we drove, as many as they requested. Oh how they would giggle in the back seat. We were in a grocery store parking lot one such afternoon and I was singing, in my best Louis Armstrong, “Roll out the Barrel.” My Honey Girl and my Sweet Boy were cheering, “Louder! Louder!” and laughing so hard they bucked against the back of the seat and forward until the seat belts caught them; I was surprised they could get the words out. Then I realized that there were pedestrians in the parking lot looking at me rather strangely as they made their way to cars with carts. They had rolled down the windows in the back of the car. Still, at 21 and 18, they’ll roll down the windows in the car and ask if I’ll do it again. And I’m grateful whenever that happens because it brings us back to that time together, which is ending.

I won’t be driving my Sweet Boy anymore. Won’t be listening to Wiz Khalifa and Mod Sun and all of his music. And he won’t be listening to mine anymore—at least together in this way. I’ll go back only in memory now. To the car pranks, to barreling towards the brick wall of the middle school the first day we set out to learn to drive together, to listening to his stories and concerns. He still comes on errands with me sometimes, but our time together in the car is largely over.

Freddy had just turned six when I first made this cake; he had just finished Kindergarten. Now he’s 18 and has just graduated from high school. There are other cakes that have become part of the family, but this one feels like his. I’ve made it with him in mind almost every time it’s gone into our oven, even for the hens’ night, since I knew he would be here for a slice. This is for you, Freddy. Make it often on your own now, and I’ll make it whenever you’re home.

*Postscript: I found Annie, our little terrier, in my desk chair, licking the cake plate on my desk with her paw on my keyboard. “Mmmmmmmm,” she typed on the recipe. Indeed.

Cake Tips

To line the cake pans with parchment, trace the bottom of a pan onto a sheet of parchment. Then stack three sheets and cut all three circles at once. Butter the pans, smearing evenly with your fingers or a paper towel or a butter wrapper over the bottom and sides of the pans. Then place the parchment in the bottom of each pan upside down, so to speak, so that it does not curl upwards. Butter parchment gently, holding it in place with one hand while you butter with the other. Finish by tapping a couple of tablespoons of cocoa into the first pan. Working over a garbage bin, shake the cocoa over the bottom of the pan and then tip it so that the cocoa comes to rest on the side of the pan. Rotate the pan 360 degrees until the cocoa has coated the sides of the pan. Then tip the cocoa into the next pan and repeat. When you finish the third pan, tap any excess cocoa into the bin.

Measure your flour according to the directions for each recipe you use. Weighing flour is the most accurate method, but, alas, almost no American recipes indicate weights. If the recipe does not indicate a measuring technique, check the front of your cookbook. Cookbook authors frequently include a section on basics and ingredients. There may be notes on whether flour for their particular recipes should be scooped and leveled, lightened and scooped, or spooned in. Scooping and leveling is the heaviest measure of flour—just plunge your cup into your flour container, bring up a heaping cupful, and level it with a knife or other flat implement. To lighten flour before measuring, run a fork or whisk through flour. Then scoop gently and level. To spoon in, simply lift tablespoons of flour from container to cup and level it. For this recipe, I lighten the flour, scoop, and level.

For a slightly more refined texture, sieve the flour when you add it to the cake. You can certainly skip this step. Sometimes it feels a bit fussy to sift dry ingredients, and the cake will be delicious whether or not you bother.

It’s important that you not overbeat cake batter when you add the dry ingredients. You can beat it vigorously and without adverse affect when you are bringing together butter and sugar and other wet ingredients early in a recipe. But when you add the flour, be especially gentle with it. Beat it until it is incorporated, watching carefully and mindfully. Once the flour has disappeared, stop beating. If you overbeat batter at this point, the result will be a tough cake.

I usually bake the cakes ahead. You may wrap them tightly in cellophane and then aluminum foil and freeze them. Allow them to thaw at room temperature. Or bake them the day before you’ll frost the cake, and keep them in the refrigerator wrapped tightly in a double layer of cellophane. You may make the entire cake up to three days before you will serve it. I almost always bake the cakes day one, frost them day two, and serve them day two or day three. The cake will keep after it is frosted for about three days.

Frosting a chilled cake is much easier than frosting one at room temperature, as the texture of the cake is firmer.

Ganache Tips

If you overchill the ganache, let it come towards room temperature. It is best to pay attention during its initial cooling process, as it will have a creamier appearance and mouthfeel if you don’t overchill it. Don’t fret. It’s delicious even if it gets a bit too chilly. It will just look a bit drier on the finished cake.

If you’re new to frosting or you want an especially smooth finished cake, smear a thin layer of ganache onto the sides of the cake and place the cake in the refrigerator for half an hour. Then add a thicker layer of ganache, smoothing it or swirling it with an offset spatula or knife as you turn the cake plate.

The cake will be lovely and delicious whether you choose an informal and haphazard swirled frosting method or a perfectly smooth finish. Don’t be intimidated by frosting. This cake is so delicious that no one will mind if its appearance is casual.

Cocoa Cake with Bittersweet Ganache
Adapted from Gourmet magazine, June, 2001
Yield: one eight-inch, three-layer cake; about 12 servings

Ingredients:
1 c. unsalted butter, softened but cool
2 c. brown sugar
4 eggs
½ c. Scharfenberger* cocoa, plus extra for dusting the cake pans
¾ c. hot water
½ c. whole milk
2 t. Kalhua* coffee liqueur (optional) (or substitute 1 t. vanilla extract)
2 c. all purpose flour (I prefer King Arthur*.)
pinch of salt
1 ¼ t. baking soda

…
21 ounces Lindt* bittersweet chocolate (white wrapper), ground in a food processor or chopped into fine slivers with a sharp knife
2 ½ c. plus 2 T. heavy cream

*I’ve listed specific brands in this recipe as I’ve made this cake dozens of times and it turns out best using these ingredients. You may substitute others if you wish, of course.

Method:
Cocoa Cake

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees F.

Butter three 8-inch cake pans. Line them with parchment paper, butter the paper, and then coat them evenly with cocoa powder. Tap off the excess cocoa over a garbage bin and set them aside.

In a large bowl or the bowl of an electric mixer, beat together the butter and brown sugar until they are pale and lofty.

Add one egg at a time, beating well between additions.

In a medium bowl, whisk together the cocoa, water, milk, and coffee liqueur.

Run a fork or whisk through the flour in your bag or container. Add one cup of flour, the baking soda, and the salt to the butter and sugar mixture and beat it until it is nearly incorporated.

Add half the cocoa liquid and beat it until it is nearly incorporated.

Add ½ c. flour and beat gently until nearly incorporated.

Add the remaining cocoa liquid and beat until nearly incorporated.

Add the last ½ c. flour and beat until just incorporated.

Divide the batter evenly between the three pans and smooth their tops with a spatula.

Place two of the cakes on the top rack in your oven and the third on the middle rack.

Bake for 10 minutes. Then rotate the cakes on the top rack to the middle of the oven, and the cake in the middle to the top. Bake for 10 minutes. The cakes in the middle of the oven will likely be done at this point, and the cake on the top rack will need about an additional two minutes. To check the cakes for doneness, insert a thin toothpick into the center of each cake. It should have only a moist crumb or two clinging to it. The tops of the cakes will also appear dry and spring back when pressed lightly with a fingertip. Allow the cakes to cool in their pans.

Ganache

In a large saucepan, heat the cream until it is hot but not yet at a simmer.

Remove the cream from the stove and stir in the chocolate until it is melted and uniformly smooth.

Pour the ganache into a large bowl and place it in the refrigerator. Stir the ganache periodically and check its texture. It will take between one and three hours to bring it to a good spreading consistency, depending on the temperature of your refrigerator and the surface area of your bowl. When it is creamy and spreadable, frost the cake.

Frosting

When the ganache is ready and the cakes completely cool, place a bit of ganache on the center of your cake plate. Center a cake over it, flat side up. You may tuck in strips of parchment or waxed paper around the cake so that your plate remains clean if you wish.

Place a dollop of ganache on top of the cake, perhaps ½ cup. Spread it evenly over the top of the cake. No need to bother with the sides of the cake yet.

Place another cake layer on top and repeat the process.

Finish with the third layer of cake, flat side up.

Frost the sides of the cake with a thick layer of ganache, smoothing it with an offset spatula as you turn the cake plate.

I usually fill a pastry bag with the remaining ganache and decorate the top and base quickly, though it’s unnecessary.

I keep this cake in the refrigerator. Bring it to room temperature before serving, which improves its texture, or eat it straight from the refrigerator, which is also delicious.

The cake requires no accompaniment, but barely sweetened whipped cream and ice cream are nice additions. I have divided the cake layers in half and added very thin layers of ganache between each to make a six-layer cake, and I have also added a thin layer of homemade raspberry jam or lemon or tart orange curd to the layers before adding the ganache. Delicious.

Baby Barmbracks with Sherry

Laura — Thu, 10 May 2012 02:30:43 +0000

My Honey Girl and I spent the first week of April together in Ireland. Beneath a cornflower blue sky and tucked into the soft Connemara mountains, celadon in sunlight, black in shadow, we settled into the Cashel House where Mrs. McEvilly and her soft-spoken staff surrounded us with their incomparable care, tucking hot water bottles into our beds on chilly evenings and placing our pajamas on top so they were warm, too, bringing us pots of tea and biscuits, and glasses of champagne, and books to read in comfortable chairs before turf fires, poached rhubarb for our morning porridge, and sandwiches and slices of rhubarb tart when we arrived back too late for dinner. Without an itinerary we set about a proper vacation, that is, a week to do nothing but what suited us in the moment and focused primarily on total relaxation. We took out our battered little rental car to wind through Connemara, north and south, east and west, as interest and whim took us, past wooly sheep doused in the pink and blue dyes used in this part of the world since Adam was a boy, past the blooming gorse, brilliant yellow, past men hunched to cut bricks of peat in the ancient bogs, and Irish gardens in bloom: daffodil and tulip, heather and camellia, crocus and rhododendron and azalea, hyacinth, narcissus, agapanthus, vinca and spring gentian. In fact, I felt all week like a flower myself, with my own personal sunshine, my Honey Girl, beside me, waking from the long, grey dream of winter. Through the windshield: the savage beauty of the landscape (curtsy here to Oscar Wilde), the barren loveliness of the Burren, its limestone softened by wildflower, the sea with all its shades of blue, its rock, its draped grass, thatched cottages walled with stone, and the odd shaggy cow. We slept and hiked and lolled and ate and drank until we were so content we couldn’t wish for more—except perhaps that our time together wouldn’t end.

One of our favorite discoveries of the week was a barmbrack we ate at the Burren Perfumery, a charming spot with an herb garden, tea room, still room, and shop where they sell lovely wild-crafted perfumes and body products. Barmbrack is a fruitcake, a keeping cake, perfect with a cup of strong tea. The recipe I developed is a one-bowl stir-up. I soaked raisins and sultanas and currants overnight in black tea and added homemade candied orange peel, big candied cherries, dark muscovado sugar, and sherry the next day. The cake is dense and moist with pops of cherry and sherry against the earthiness of the tea and spice. I made a big batch so I could share some with my pantry exchange group and the rest with family. If you’re not keen on fruitcake, this one might change your mind. I’m most happy that whenever I bake it or eat it, it will return me to the memory of first sharing it with my Honey Girl in the little oasis of our week together.

Baby Barmbracks with Sherry
Yield: ten mini loaves

Ingredients:
1 c. raisins
2 c. golden raisins
1 ½ c. currants
3 c. strong black tea, preferably Irish
1 c. whole candied cherries
½ c. diced candied orange peel
1 ½ c. muscovado sugar (or substitute dark brown sugar + 2 T molasses)
1 ½ c. sugar
1 c. sherry (I love Lustau East India Solera.)
2 eggs
2 ½ c. all purpose flour (I prefer King Arthur.)
2 ½ c. whole wheat pastry flour (or substitute all purpose flour)
½ t. baking soda
1 t. cinnamon
¼ t. ground cloves
½ t. ginger
½ t. freshly ground nutmeg
½ t. salt

Method:

The night before you wish to bake the cakes, in a large mixing bowl, stir together the raisins, golden raisins, currants, and tea. Cover the bowl and refrigerate it overnight.

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees F.

Add the cherries, orange peel, sugars, sherry, and egg, and mix until well combined.

Place a sieve over the bowl and add the flours, baking soda, spices, and salt. Shake the ingredients through the sieve and stir the batter gently until it is uniformly mixed. Do not overmix.

Place ten mini loaf pans onto a large jellyroll pan and divide the batter evenly into the pans, about one scant cup of batter per pan.

Bake for 30 minutes. Rotate the pan 180 degrees in your oven. Bake until a toothpick inserted into the center of a cake comes out clean or nearly clean, about an additional 30 to 35 minutes.

When they have cooled completely, the cakes may be wrapped tightly in cellophane and then aluminum foil and frozen. They will also keep wrapped this way at room temperature for about one week.

Serve with a nice cup of Irish or other good black tea.

Maple Pudding Cakes (Pouding Chomeur) + Sugarbush Spring

Laura — Fri, 23 Mar 2012 19:44:52 +0000

Spring came in with such a rush this year. By mid-March—mid-March!—the snow had receded, the grass greened, the buds burst, the crocuses bloomed, and people were out swilling cold beer on patios, the smell of charcoal grills in the air. A week later now, the ice on Lake Minnetonka has gone out, the first vinca bloom has appeared, and bleeding hearts and sedum and hyacinth are up from the ground. We are known to have snowfall in late April and even early May here.

I find myself in the market feeling like something of a lost child. I should be making all the dishes in my head: a pork loin roast rubbed with juniper and ginger and stuffed with prunes, a choucroute garnie with the last of the sauerkraut in my refrigerator, or an enormous cassoulet, bubbling in the oven with a hairy piece of pig skin, magret de canard, thick tight-skinned sausages, and white beans. But it’s been 80 degrees, and humid to boot. I’m not ready for salads. It’s too early even for asparagus, and I don’t want the Mexican asparagus they have displayed like daffodils anyway. I stand amid the produce so long, looking charily, that eventually my Sweet Boy asks me what I’m doing. I have cooking cognitive dissonance.

But there are signs of our old winter, of winter’s routine here. The earth is holding back a full bouquet of spring shoots and flowers, and, until yesterday, the trees were waiting, too. And last week the taps began to appear on the maple trees as we drove through neighboring towns. The sap is running and soon people will be boiling down in their sugar shacks and on backyard fires, and about a month from now the year’s new maple syrup will be ready.

One of those neighbors is Marsha Wilson Chall, in theory anyway. We haven’t met, but I know we live in the same town, and according to the dust jacket of her storybook, Sugarbush Spring, she grew up keeping this tradition. The book is a lovely way to connect with the rituals of sugaring: the snowy woods, the perfume of the fire and its wood smoke and the sugared steam of the syrupping pan, the first syrup poured into the snow and eaten as sweet streams of maple candy, the long hours tending the fire, the woolen filtering stockings, the glow of the first jars filled. If you have a maple tree, you can make your own maple syrup at home, too. Taps are inexpensive, if you don’t go in for the whole kit, and available at the charming Egg Plant Urban Farm Supply store, if you live within driving distance of St. Paul, Minnesota. Or you can order online here. You may read more about the process of maple sugaring in my article for Honest Cooking here.

Maple pudding cake, or pouding chômeur, was originally a poor man’s dessert, first made in Canada during the Depression era with brown sugar and water, but it has evolved to ubiquitously include pure maple syrup, thus upending its humble roots. It’s still a homey dessert, but one that’s rather dear. I bake my nutmeg- and vanilla-scented cakes in a bath of maple syrup and heavy cream and finish them in a hot oven until they are bubbling and caramelized. They’re a nice way to make a bridge at the table from winter to spring. And a cure, for now, for my cognitive dissonance.

Maple Pudding Cakes (Pouding Chômeur)
Yield: 4 servings (or more if you’re willing to share)

Ingredients:
½ c. unsalted butter, softened but still cool
½ t. freshly grated nutmeg
1/3 c. sugar
1 egg plus 1 egg yolk
½ t. vanilla extract
another pinch of salt
½ t. baking powder
1 c. cake flour
…
1 c. pure maple syrup (Don’t substitute the fake stuff here.)
¾ c. heavy cream (Cedar Summit Farms’ is fantastic if you live locally.)
pinch of salt
…
a spoonful of unsweetened softly whipped cream or crème fraiche or sour cream for serving, if you wish

Method:

Make sure your oven is free from drips and char from past baking and wipe it out if necessary. This recipe finishes at a high temperature, and your oven will smoke if it is not clean. Place a rack in the upper third of the oven and preheat it to 400 degrees F.

In a large bowl, or the bowl of an electric mixer, beat together the butter and sugar and grated nutmeg until they are well combined and smooth. Scrape down the sides of the bowl with a rubber spatula.

Add the egg and egg yolk and vanilla and beat to combine. Scrape down the sides of the bowl with a rubber spatula.

Scatter the pinch of salt, and the baking powder evenly over the butter mixture and beat to combine.

Add the flour and mix gently until just combined. Do not overmix.

Divide the dough into four even portions and pat them into four buttered ramekins (or into a buttered small glass or cast iron baking pan about 8 inches in diameter).

Place the ramekins onto a baking sheet.

In a large bowl, whisk together the maple syrup, cream, and pinch of salt until they are combined.

Pour ½ c. of the maple cream into each ramekin (or pour all of it into the baking dish).

Bake the cakes until a toothpick inserted into the middle comes out clean, about 20 to 25 minutes. (I rotate the pan halfway through baking for more even results.)

Increase the heat to 450 degrees and bake the cakes until the maple tops are caramelized, about an additional five minutes.

Serve hot with a spoonful of unsweetened softly whipped cream, crème fraiche, or sour cream, if you wish. The pudding cakes are also delicious unadorned.

If you wish to make the cakes ahead of serving, don’t caramelize them. You may keep them at room temperature for about an hour or so and then finish them in the oven at 450 degrees.

Italian Cream Cake

Laura — Thu, 22 Mar 2012 00:09:02 +0000

Work is so engrossing for me that, when my Sweet Boy is away, I often realize I am sitting in total darkness, the sun has set, the black sky has swallowed up the day, and the moon has appeared out my window. The television set in my neighbor’s window flickers across the way and lights up the bare branches as they sway in the wind. It’s time to cobble together a dinner for one, tonight tuna with olive oil and mayonnaise, picholine and nicoise olives, little cubes of feta, whole pink peppercorns, thyme, and a little lemon zest. And then to bake a cake, for when the house is full and lively again.

This cake has made so many appearances at our table in the last 14 years since I first made it that I couldn’t count them. My friend Diane made it for my 30^th birthday party and shared her recipe, but it always brings to mind my Honey Girl now, who loves it best. And since I’m missing her and anticipating our quiet week together in Ireland, I’ve been thinking about it, and about her smiling face across the table, at all of her ages, eating it, with and without front teeth. This is for you, my Honey Girl.

Italian Cream Cake
Yield: one three-layer 8-inch cake, about ten to twelve servings
From Dianne Libero, Tokyo, 1998

Ingredients:
1 c. buttermilk
1 t. baking soda
5 eggs, separated
½ c. unsalted butter
2 c. sugar
½ c. shortening
2 c. all purpose flour (I prefer King Arthur.)
1 t. vanilla extract
7 oz. angel flake coconut
1 c. pecans, chopped (optional)
additional coconut or white chocolate shavings or whole pecans for garnish (optional)

Method:

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees.

Lightly butter and flour three 8” cake pans.

Mix the buttermilk and the baking soda in a small bowl and set it aside.

In a large bowl, beat the egg whites until stiff and glossy and set them aside.

In another large bowl, cream the butter, shortening, and sugar.

Add the egg yolks one at a time, beating each thoroughly.

To the butter and sugar, add the flour and the buttermilk alternatively, mixing gently.

Add the vanilla, the coconut, and the pecans if you are using them.

Fold the egg whites in gently with a spatula as not to deflate them.

Divide the batter evenly between the three cake pans and smooth the tops.

Bake until the cakes are golden brown and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out nearly clean, about 35 minutes. I rotate the position of the cakes halfway through baking so that they bake evenly. This cake is incredibly tender and moist, a real charmer, when it’s perfectly baked, so don’t wait for a perfectly clean toothpick. You don’t want wet batter, but don’t be afraid of a few moist crumbs clinging.

When the cakes are cool, make the frosting.

Cream Cheese Frosting

Ingredients:
12 oz. cream cheese at room temperature
¾ c. unsalted butter at room temperature
1 ½ pounds confectioner’s sugar, sifted or whisked to remove any lumps
1 ½ T. vanilla

Method:

Beat all of the ingredients together until smooth and creamy.

To frost the cake, place a dab of frosting on a cake plate and place the first cake layer on top, flattest side up.

Smear about ½ c. of frosting on the layer and spread it evenly. An offset spatula works best here, though any knife will do.

Continue stacking and frosting the next two layers, always placing the flattest side of the cake up.

When your stack is finished, put a very thin layer of frosting on the top and sides of the cake and place the cake in the refrigerator for 15 minutes. Keep the remaining frosting at room temperature.

Remove the cake from the refrigerator and frost the sides generously.

You may cover the cake with coconut or with shavings of white chocolate or stud it with whole pecans if you wish. A combination is also nice.

The cake should be refrigerated. You may bring it towards room temperature before serving if you wish, but don’t let it sit out too long. It cuts best if it’s cool.

English Summer Strawberry Trifle

Laura — Mon, 04 Jul 2011 14:58:16 +0000

When the house is helter-skelter, the list is too long, and my energy is flagging, the best thing I can do for myself is to invite friends for a meal. The cleaning and the cooking have to be done anyhow, I figure, so why not have the happy reward of their company at the end? Step one for a summer supper: make trifle. If you’re unfamiliar with trifle, it’s a quintessentially English dessert: layers of sturdy sponge cake soaked with sherry, lush custard, bright jam, and fresh fruit, all topped with a crown of softly whipped cream. This one is the epitome of an English summer afternoon. In fact, when I moved to England the first time, I arrived at the end of summer, to hot afternoons, sherry in the garden as the sun waned, and strawberries with a pour of cream. I’ve made dozens of trifles, but it’s never occurred to me to translate those afternoons. I’m so happy I finally did.

English Summer Strawberry Trifle
Yield: about 12 servings (plus delicious leftover custard and jam)

One recipe génoise (below)
1/3 c. good sherry
A double recipe of vanilla custard (recipe here)
One recipe of strawberry lemon verbena refrigerator jam with candied lemon slices (recipe here)
Two pounds fresh strawberries, washed, hulled, and sliced
One cup heavy cream, softly whipped with 2 T. sugar

Make the jam first and get it chilling in the refrigerator.

Make the custard and chill it.

Make the sponge cakes and allow them to cool.

Take a little break. Trifle is a bit of a project, but you’ll be so happy you made each element when you’re tucking in later with gusto.

With a long serrated knife, trim the edges from your cakes and slice off a thin layer of the top. This will pretty them up and allow the sherry to soak in.

Place one cake layer in the bottom of your trifle bowl, trimming the cake if necessary to snuggle in nicely.

Pour half of the sherry onto the cake, distributing it evenly.

Spread the cake layer with jam, a fairly generous smear.

Top it with a pour of custard, perhaps about ¼ “ deep.

Top it with half of the strawberries.

Repeat the process once again: cake, sherry, jam, custard, berries.

Cover the trifle with cellophane and keep it in the refrigerator until it is time to serve.

Whip the cream, spoon it over the top, and serve.

Génoise
Adapted from Larousse Gastronomique
Yield: two 8-inch cake layers

Ingredients:
½ c. unsalted butter
8 eggs
1 1/3 c. superfine sugar
¼ t. salt
1 t. vanilla extract
2 ¼ c. all purpose flour

Method:

Preheat your oven to 400 degrees F and butter two 8-inch cake tins.

In a small saucepan over the lowest possible heat, melt the butter and set it aside.

Bring a large pan or the base of a double boiler filled with water to a simmer over high heat. Lower the heat so that the water is not actively simmering.

In the bowl of an electric mixer, the top of a double boiler, or a medium heatproof bowl, whisk together the eggs, sugar, salt, and vanilla.

With a glove-style hot pad on one hand, place the bowl over the barely simmering water. If you are using a double boiler, the hot pad is unnecessary.

Whisk the egg mixture vigorously, taking care not to tip the bowl, until it is voluminous, pale, and thick, about 30 minutes. You may need to wrap your whisk handle with a towel or hot pad as it heats up, so keep one nearby.

Wipe the bottom of the bowl with a towel.

If you are using the bowl of an electric mixer, hook it up and continue to beat it using the wire whip.

If you are using a double boiler or other bowl, transfer the egg mixture to a bowl in which you can continue to beat air into it with an electric mixer or handheld mixer.

Beat the egg mixture continuously until it reaches room temperature, about 15 minutes.

Ever so gently, fold in the flour using a spatula.

Pour the tepid butter gently into the side of the bowl, and ever so gently fold it in.

Divide the batter into your cake tins and give the tops a bit of a smooth if necessary.

Bake until they are golden and they spring back when pressed lightly in the center, about 10 to 15 minutes.

A Warren of Bunny Cakes

Laura — Fri, 22 Apr 2011 20:17:40 +0000

There are bunnies in these woods…

I woke to hoar frost this morning. (Is there anything lovelier?) And the first daffodil of the spring, nestled in a bed of snow not yet melted. Spring and winter are currently colliding in Minnesota in a month-long tug of war. I know spring will prevail eventually, but right now winter’s fans have seen it holding on for dear life. I don’t mind. I love winter cooking, and spring crops haven’t yet begun appearing in Minnesota markets, so I’m happy to wait a big longer. When spring comes roaring in, I think I’ll finally be ready to stop making warm, hearty meals. I have been hoping, however, that the weather would cooperate long enough for me to photograph this warren of bunny cakes for Easter. Today, the hoar frost and the snow retreated, the sun made a too-brief appearance, and the ground seemed just dry enough for me to crawl around the marshlands behind our house. I used to see cakes molds like the one I used for these and think, pretty, but too much fussy decorating. Especially tiresome was the idea of trying to elegantly pipe icing into all of those awkward nooks and crannies. Perhaps that’s why I found this mold in a stack on super clearance a few years ago. Instead, I kept things simple and quick by lining up a number of siftables and toothpicking in some sliced Dots and Crows for eyes. In practically no time at all, I had eight cakes, white, vanilla-flecked, cinnamon, chocolate, dark chocolate, and black cocoa. Simple and charming, check and check. Happy Easter! Happy Spring!

A Warren of Bunny Cakes
Bake up any cake recipe(s) you like in a rabbit-shaped mold. When the cake is cool, dust it with one of the siftables below, turning it ever so gently from side to side. Attach sliced Dots, Crows, or other similar candy, with a toothpick for the eyes, and brush the eyes with a bit of corn syrup, if you wish, for a more lifelike effect.

Siftables:
Confectioners’ sugar
Cinnamon
Confectioner’s sugar mixed with any of the cocoa powders
Cocoa powder
Dark cocoa powder
Black cocoa powder

Brown Butter Almond Cake with Homemade Citrus Jelly

Laura — Mon, 11 Apr 2011 23:39:32 +0000

It is 45 degrees here this morning. The sky is clear and big and bright blue, and the last of the snow is melting. Even the spot where the plows had pushed up a good eight feet at the end of the driveway has nearly disappeared. There is the smell of dirt and life in the air, and the first green shoots are pushing up as the earth thaws and warms. It seems like a nice day, then, to celebrate the end of winter. I spied the last of the winter citrus jelly I made in March in my refrigerator this morning and decided to make a little cake to say farewell to winter and welcome to spring. So I baked a brown butter almond cake, and smeared the layers with the jelly, and topped it with the last of the slices of candied citrus from last month, too. I had preserved them in some vanilla syrup, and they are just as pretty as can be, tiny slices of kumquat, small slices of meyer lemon and tangerine, and big moons of cara cara orange and grapefruit, all flecked with vanilla seeds. And the cake, well, it’s as pretty as can be, too: lofty egg whites with browned butter, deeply toasted almonds, and nothing to interfere with these pure flavors. Oh my. It’s somehow both light and rich, and the bittersweet honey of the jelly and the candied citrus are a nice counterpoint. I baked this into a three-layer miniature cake and put the rest of the batter into a two-cup bundt pan. I covered it with cellophane and will bring it to room temperature tomorrow before I bake it off and then dust it with confectioners’ sugar or drape it in a glaze, probably bitter chocolate. You could use any baking pan you’d like, or even a muffin tin. Just adjust the baking time, checking the cakes every few minutes until they are done. When it’s just the three of us, I like to bake like this so that we have two modest desserts with a variation on a theme, rather than one big dessert that gets sad looking and eventually tossed. It’s no more fuss, really, just a few more peeks in the oven, and such a delicious reward.

Brown Butter Almond Cake
Yield: one four-inch, three-layer cake plus one two-cup bundt cake

Ingredients:
½ c. unsalted butter
1 ¼ c. confectioners’ sugar
¾ c. whole almonds
½ t. baking powder
¾ c. all purpose flour (I prefer King Arthur.)
6 egg whites
1/3 c. sugar

Method:

Preheat your oven to 400 degrees F.

Butter 3 four-inch cake pans and a 2-cup bundt pan. Or butter any baking pan you’d like to use, or even a muffin tin. You will just need to adjust the baking time if you use another pan, checking the cake or cakes every few minutes until they are done.

Preheat your oven to 400 degrees F.

Place the almonds on a baking sheet and bake them for 10 minutes, giving the tray a shake halfway through the baking time.

Lower your oven heat to 350 degrees F.

In a small saucepan over low heat, melt the butter. Cook the butter until it is a deep brown. Watch it carefully as it progresses, as it may burn quickly. Remove it from the heat and set it aside until it is tepid.

In the bowl of a food processor, combine the almonds, flour, confectioners’ sugar, and baking powder. Process until the almonds are finely ground, about one minute.

In a medium bowl or the bowl of an electric mixer, beat the egg whites until they are quite stiff, about three minutes.

Ever so slowly add the sugar. Beat for one additional minute.

Add the tepid brown butter and beat gently to combine.

Add the almond and flour mixture in two batches and mix gently only until combined. Do not overmix.

Divide the batter into the pans and bake the small cakes for 18-23 minutes, or until they take on just a bit of pale golden brown and they spring back when pressed lightly in the center. Bake the bundt cake separately until it is done. If you wish to bake it another day, cover it and store it in the refrigerator. Then bring it to room temperature and bake it at 350 dgrees F until it is light golden and springs back when pressed lightly in the center. I would start with 15 minutes and then begin checking the cake every few minutes.

To assemble the cake, tip out the cake layers by inverting them and giving them a little tap.

Trim the cake layers using a serrated knife to level their tops.

Place a layer on a cake plate, smear it with jelly, continue until you have all three layers laced with jelly, and top it with candied citrus slices, if you wish. You could dust the cake with a little confectioners’ sugar if you don’t have candied citrus.

Recipes for Candied Citrus and Winter Citrus Jelly are here and here, but you could use any jam or jelly, homemade or purchased.

Four-minute Chocolate Chocolate Cake for One

Laura — Tue, 22 Mar 2011 11:11:57 +0000

We took our first two-hour walk of the season today, through the woods and marshes near our house. Slippery ice, squishy mud, the first glimpses of patches of green since our November snow fell, honking geese, loud woodpeckers at work, and Little Annie as happy as can be. Welcome Spring!

When we returned, muddy pawed and booted and chilly, all three of us, we warmed up with big mugs of cinnamon tea and then shared this little cake. My sweet Auntie Bitsy sent me this recipe a few years ago. I upped the cocoa, oil, and chocolate so that it’s even more moist and chocolate-y than the original. It takes four minutes from start to finish and, made with excellent ingredients, it’s surprisingly good. In fact, we’re making another one, and some whipped cream, because it was so good. We especially like the melty chunks of Callebaut chocolate that sank to the bottom. Mmmm. A four-minute cake? This could be dangerous.

Chocolate Chocolate Cake for One
Yield: one serving, or two if you’re willing to share

Ingredients:
4 T. all purpose flour (I prefer King Arthur.)
4 T. sugar
4 T. high quality cocoa powder (We used Ghiradelli.)
1 large egg
3 T. whole milk
4 T. canola oil
½ c. high quality chocolate chunks (We used Callebaut.)
1 t. vanilla extract

Method:

In a large mug, stir together the flour, sugar, and cocoa powder.

Stir in the egg, milk, oil, and vanilla.

Stir in the chocolate chunks.

Microwave on full power for three minutes. *If you have an especially powerful microwave, start with two minutes, perhaps, and check the cake.

Fennel & Almond Pound Cake with Sambuca Syrup

Laura — Fri, 25 Feb 2011 20:51:14 +0000

I used to love that little pinch of fennel seed and rainbow-colored licorice candy as I paid the check at our favorite Indian restaurant. Rory Gilmore ruined it for me with her, well, I’ve posted it below for those willing to risk never being able to enjoy his or her little pinch again.
…
From The Gilmore Girls
Mother and daughter Lorelai and Rory Gilmore discuss the progress of Rory’s date…
Lorelai: So the guy’s a dud?
Rory: Trevor’s fine, I’m moronic, I bring the conversation to a crashing halt every time I speak.
Lorelai: Where is he now?
Rory: In the bathroom, probably pondering my brilliant anecdote about urine mints…
Lorelai: What?
Rory: You know, when people go to the bathroom and they don’t wash their hands and they come out and take a mint.
Lorelai: [gasp] Oh my God, I’ve been eating those mints for years!

(See what I mean?)
…
I love all things licorice, so I always looked forward to it. I suppose I could go out and buy myself a box of Good & Plenty, but I never have. And I never buy licorice either, don’t know why. My Dear Husband has a theory about time and place and the pleasure of serendipity. We didn’t grow up in the digital age, so if you missed the A Charlie Brown Christmas because you were naughty or because your mom talked too long at church on Wednesday night (ugh), it was over. Over. You had to wait a year to see it again. Today, you could pull out your DVD copy and watch it any night, and, sadly, it’s not quite as magical anymore for just this reason. Stumble on something, or wait for it, and it’s imbued with a little magic. So, even though I knew that I could always have that little pinch of candy every time we went out for Indian, it was still a taste I had to wait for, and one made special by time and place. My Dear Husband still throws back a handful at the little hostess desk, but I just can’t. (Did you read the scene? You know it’s true.) Well, I was sipping a little glass of sambuca recently, the Italian anise-flavored liqueur, thinking about how madly in love with licorice I really am, when it occurred to me to drown a pound cake in the stuff (not really). The beauty of the Indian candy is the pairing of the fennel seed with the licorice, so I decided to grind some fennel seed for the cake. Ooh, it’s good. (Little dance here.) Now I (and you) can enjoy a slice of this cake, which has its own little bit of magic: dreaming it up, making it myself, and remembering the seven years my now-all-grown-up Honey Girl and I watched Gilmore Girls together.

Pound Cake Tips
This pound cake recipe does not include a leavening agent, such as baking soda or baking powder, which acts to make cakes rise as they bake. Beating air into the butter and sugar creates volume, but it takes time. The butter and sugar will be nearly white when ready and very fluffy. This takes perhaps five to ten minutes depending on the power of your mixer.

Don’t be afraid to really poke this cake all over, and spoon the syrup over it very, very slowly so that it soaks in.

Inexpensive kitchen scales are available now at discount stores such as Target. If you’re on the fence about buying one, take the plunge. Whenever you have the option to weigh your ingredients for baking, your final product will be better. Totally worth the $20.00!

When I use my kitchen scale, I like to place a sheet of waxed paper or parchment paper in the bowl. Lift two or three of the corners and easily transfer ingredients to your mixing bowl. No need to clean up between ingredients in the scale, too.

If you don’t want to bother making the sambuca syrup, just pour two shots of sambuca over each cake. Yummy, too, just a little stronger.

Fennel & Almond Pound Cake with Sambuca Syrup
Yield: two loaves

Ingredients:
1 pound of unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 pound of sugar
2 T. fennel seed, ground finely in a mortar and pestle or in a dedicated spice grinder
1 pound of eggs
a pinch of salt
2 t. almond extract
1 pound of all purpose flour (I prefer King Arthur.)

Method:

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.

Prepare two standard loaf pans by buttering them generously and dusting them with flour. (I use the butter wrappers to grease the pans.)

In an electric mixer, cream the butter, the sugar, and the ground fennel seed on high speed until they are very light and fluffy. Scrape down the bowl frequently.

Add the eggs, one at a time, beating between additions. Scrape down the bowl frequently.

Add the almond extract and mix.

Add the flour and salt and mix gently until it is just incorporated.

Divide the batter into your two pans and bake for 55 minutes, or until a toothpick pressed into the center of a loaf comes out clean.

While the cake bakes, stir up the syrup.

Allow the cakes to cool slightly. Then remove them from their pans by running a knife around the edge and inverting the pan gently into your towel-covered hand. Place the cakes on a cooling rack over waxed paper or a paper bag.

While the cakes are still warm, poke them all over with a toothpick or wooden skewer and pour the syrup slowly over the cakes.

Sambuca Syrup

Ingredients:
¼ c. sugar
¼ c. water
4 shots sambuca

Method:

Bring the sugar and water to a simmer in a small saucepan.

Remove from the heat and stir in the sambuca.

Vanilla Cheesecake with Fresh Lingonberries and Cardamom Whipped Cream

Laura — Tue, 07 Dec 2010 00:33:14 +0000

Our Honey Girl’s Mr. Right’s parents (Are you still with me?) visited us this past weekend from Alabama. It was Mr. Right’s dad’s birthday, and I had it on good authority that a cheesecake would be something that would make the birthday boy happy. Since they were visiting from the South, I thought it would be nice to put a Minnesota Scandinavian twist on my favorite cheesecake recipe. So I bought some fresh lingonberries to scatter on top, a bracingly tart pop of flavor when they burst in your mouth against the creamy vanilla cheesecake, and added a flourish of whipped cream laced with freshly ground cardamom seeds. I served the cake with the lingonberries in a sugar syrup the first day, and with plain lingonberries after that. It is delicious both ways. The berries’ assertive tartness is softened by a little time in the company of some sugar, and the sugar makes a nice sauce mingled with the juice, but they are also a bright contrast and quite nice plain. This is a crustless cheesecake and gluten free, but you won’t miss the crust. In fact, after making it for the first time 19 years ago when my Honey Girl was baptized, I found the crust on other cheesecakes a distraction from its creamy perfectness. Instead, the top of the cake browns as it bakes, and when you invert it, it becomes a base with a hint of caramel under all that creamy vanilla yummy-ness. This cake can be made up to four days ahead. It’s light and creamy on the first day, and it gets a little more dense each day. My favorite day to eat it is day four, but it’s pretty tough to wait.

If you cannot find fresh lingonberries, pomegranate seeds would make a fine substitute. If prying them out seems like too much labor, sometimes you can even find them already harvested from their ruby orbs. Check the pre-cut produce section. Or serve it plain. It’s delicious without anything extra, too.

Cheesecake Tips
To measure the cornstarch, fill a half cup measure with cornstarch. Then remove one tablespoon.

Scrape down your mixing bowl frequently as you work. If there is cheese and butter at the bottom and on the sides that doesn’t get incorporated thoroughly, you will have an extra-cheesy bite or two in each piece rather than an evenly creamy cake.

When I went to bake this cake deep into the night and long after groceries stores had shut off their lights, I found all of the lemons had disappeared from my kitchen. I substituted some key lime juice I found leftover from summer drink-making and it was just fine. Any acidic citrus juice will serve the purpose the lemon juice, so feel free to substitute.

A bain marie is a pan of hot water. To make one, find a pan one size larger than the 9×13 pan you’re using for the cake. Fill the pan that will serve as your bain marie about 1/3 of the way. It is important that the water be boiling. When your cake is ready to go into the oven, lower it ever so slowly and evenly into the pan of boiling water. The water should come up the sides of the cheesecake pan about half way. Add a bit more water or scoop out a little as needed. The bain marie provides moisture in the oven as the cheesecake bakes and makes for a very creamy cake.

I don’t have a serving tray large enough for this cake, so I made a cake board by cutting a piece of plywood, wrapping it in tin foil, and covering it with clear contact paper. It sounds tacky, but it looks quite professional.

Center the cake before you turn it out onto a tray or board. To do this, use your hands as a guide. The cake should be equidistant from all sides.

Once you have transferred the cake to a tray or board, do not try to shift the cake. It will not move well. If it’s a little off center, pipe a little whipped cream on and around it in a decorative pattern and make it even by creating a false border. It it’s really off center, serve it from the kitchen rather than presenting the whole cake.

It the cake looks a bit wonky, smooth the edges and the top with a knife. It’s very malleable and agreeable to work with.

Cardamom seeds must be removed from their pale green pods. Simply pry them open. The seeds may be ground with a mortar and pestle or in a dedicated coffee grinder.

Pay attention while your cream is whipping and stop when it is still soft.

Vanilla Cheesecake with Fresh Lingonberries and Cardamom Whipped Cream
Yield: one 9×13 cheesecake

Ingredients:
2 pounds cream cheese at room temperature
½ c. unsalted butter at room temperature
1 T. vanilla extract or the seeds and pulp scraped out of one vanilla bean
1 ½ c. sugar
½ c. less 1 T. cornstarch
7 large eggs
2 c. heavy cream
¼ c. lemon juice
…
1 c. fresh lingonberries
1/4 c. sugar
…
2 c. heavy cream
¼ c. sugar
1 T. vanilla extract
1 T. freshly ground cardamom seeds

Method:

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees and place the rack to the upper 1/3 position.

Butter a 9×13 pan.

In the bowl of an electric mixer, beat together the cream cheese and butter until they are smooth and creamy.

Add the vanilla, sugar, and cornstarch and beat well.

Add the eggs one at a time and beat well between additions. Scrape down the mixture frequently with a spatula.

On low speed, gradually add the cream and then the lemon juice.

Pour into your pan, place it into a ban marie (see tips above), and bake it for 30 minutes.

Increase the oven temperature to 375 degrees and rotate the cheesecake 180 degrees in the oven. Bake for 15 minutes, or until the top is golden brown.

Allow the cheesecake to cool to room temperature.

Run a knife carefully around the edge of the pan, place a serving tray or serving board on top of the cake pan, line it up so that it is in the center of the tray or board, and invert both simultaneously. The cake will thud out of its pan and onto the tray or board.

Wrap it in cellophane and store it in the refrigerator until you wish you serve it. It will keep for about five days.

To prepare the lingonberries, simply sprinkle them with the sugar, give them a gentle stir until the sugar is dissolved, and allow them to rest for about 30 minutes. Or serve them plain.

Whip the cream with the sugar, vanilla, and cardamom seeds in the bowl of an electric mixer with a wire whisk attachment.

Spoon some berries onto each piece of cake and pipe or spoon some whipped cream on top.

Orange Flower Water Pound Cake with Candied Orange Peel & Rum and Orange Liqueur Glaze

Laura — Fri, 19 Nov 2010 13:25:20 +0000

This is definitely an egg-before-chicken recipe, but sometimes those are the most fun. I made too much glaze for my Pfeffernusse the other day (recipe here), and it was too good to just throw away, so I decided to dream up another vehicle for its sticky yummy-ness. I’ve been baking a lot of cookies, so a cake seemed appealing. And I spied a little bit of leftover candied orange peel in my pantry, another Christmas baking leftover I didn’t want to let go to waste. So I chopped it up, and stirred it into a pound cake batter with a glug of orange flower water for good measure. Then I poked holes throughout the finished cakes with a toothpick, and drenched them in the glaze. The pound cakes are fragrant, tender, and a little heady with the grownup flavors of the orange flower water, candied peel, and alcohol.

Since I was in an experimenting mood, I thought I would try making pound cake with a truly old fashioned idea: a pound of flour, a pound of sugar, a pound of eggs, and a pound of butter. Use a digital kitchen scale to weigh each of your ingredients. Without a leavening agent, this batter requires a long beat at high speed, perhaps five to ten minutes depending on your mixer, so be patient with it. It’s worth the wait!

Music for this baking pound cake
Diana Krall’s equally heady The Look of Love is a nice listen.

Serving Suggestions
This cake is delicious plain, but if you’d like to gild the lily, drizzle it with a little raw honey. It would make a yummy breakfast toasted and smeared with good butter and a pinch of salt.

Don’t be afraid to really poke this cake all over, and spoon the glaze over very, very slowly so that it has a chance to soak in.

Orange Flower Water Pound Cake with Candied Orange Peel & Rum and Orange Liqueur Glaze
Yield: 2 loaves

Ingredients:
1 pound of all purpose flour (I prefer King Arthur.)
1 pound of sugar
1 pound of eggs
1 pound of unsalted butter
a pinch of salt
a dribble of orange flower water to taste (I never measure, but I would guess I added about two teaspoons.)
¼- ½ c. candied orange peel, finely diced (Skip it unless you have fresh.)

Method:

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.

Prepare two standard loaf pans by buttering them generously and dusting them with flour.

In an electric mixer, cream the butter and the sugar on high speed until they are very light and fluffy.

Add the eggs, one at a time, beating between additions.

Add the orange flower water and mix.

Add the flour and salt and mix gently until it is just incorporated.

Stir in the candied peel.

Divide the batter into your two pans and bake for 60 minutes, or until a toothpick pressed into the center of a loaf comes out clean.

While the cake bakes, stir up the glaze.

Allow the cakes to cool slightly. Then remove them from their pans by running a knife around the edge and inverting the pan gently into your towel-covered hand. Place the cakes on a cooling rack over waxed paper or a paper bag.

While the cakes are still warm, poke them all over with a toothpick or wooden skewer and pour the glaze over the cake.

Rum and Orange Liqueur Glaze

Ingredients:
1 c. confectioners’ sugar, sifted
2 T. orange liqueur, such as Grand Marnier
5 T. spiced rum

Method:

Stir together the sugar, the rum, and the orange liqueur until you have a smooth glaze.