Let Them Let Me Eat Cake!

Baking a cake takes no time at all. And eating it—that's like inhaling. But writing about it sucks up the weeks and months, and next thing you know, it's more than a year since the cake blog has been given some sugar.

My sugar came yesterday in the form of an agent for my book, which I like to call Let Me Eat Cake: A Celebration of Flour, Sugar, Butter, Eggs, Baking Powder, and a Pinch of Salt (and some vanilla! how did I forget vanilla?).

Jumping up and down every few minutes takes a lot out of you, but I figure the more I jump, the more cake I get to eat. And there's a pan of Aunt Margaret's chocolate cake on the counter in the kitchen right now.

There will be cake in my future.

Stay tuned, cake lovers. Much to come, including a brand new cake for my girlfriend's fortieth and a woman who wrote a play in which the lead converses with a gateau—a chocolate one.

Chez Schaefer?

In yet another derogatory remark directed at professional women, Comptroller Willie Donny said that he wouldn't debate his opponent, Janet S. Owens, "on how to bake a chocolate cake."

It's a good thing, because he'd lose that one, too.

Schaefer's comment is not only an insult to Owens, a smart cookie, indeed, but it's a blow to cake bakers everywhere.

Step aside, old man. We're tired of your stale attitude, your bitter rhetoric, and your sour puss. Time for sweet things to take over the world.

(Truth is: I'd vote for the chocolate cake over either candidate, but that says more about me than it does about them.)

Just Wrong

cakes

Witty Re-Torte

This recipe was adapted from an old Martha Stewart Passover favorite. Several things were wrong with the original, including hazelnuts. (Blech!) The problem with MS recipes is that several steps are incorporated under the same numeral. For instance, the original recipe has about four steps, which misleads you into believing this is an easy recipe. It's not, but what is harder is sifting through the many varied tasks in each. My rewritten way is much easier.

You do not have to celebrate Passover to make this cake. It's perfect for people trying to cut back on flour and sugar, great for diabetics, and lovely for anyone. If you want to make it with the real processed sugar and flour, go right ahead.

Fudge Glaze
(Makes 1 3/4 cups)

1.5 C whole blanched almonds
1 C Splenda
1 C Xylitol (or E)
2/3 C cocoa powder
Seeds of 1 vanilla bean
1 stick butter
Pinch of salt

1.) Blend almonds and 1.5 C water till fine.
2.) Strain almond milk with fine sieve. Reserve the nut mixture.
3.) Whisk 1 C sweetener (1/2 of each) together with cocoa powder; set aside.
4.) Put 1 C almond milk in a saucepan with the vanilla seeds, the butter, the other C sweeteners, and the salt; bring to a full boil.
5.) Whisk in cocoa mixture, and return to full boil.
6.) Remove from heat, cool 30 minutes, store in airtight container, and refrigerate.

(That is the best fudge glaze you will ever make! Use it as frosting or filling for just about anything.)

Chocolate Torte

1.75 C almond meal
3/4 C butter
3/4 C cocoa powder, plus more for pan
1/3 cup matzo cake meal (or your substitute)
6 large eggs, separated
1/2 C Splenda/Xylitol
1 t molasses
pinch of salt
1 C nut puree (from Fudge Glaze)
1/2 C Splenda/Xylitol processed superfine

1.) Preheat oven to 350°.
2.) Grease a 9-inch round cake pan with butter; dust with cocoa powder.
3.) Whisk together cocoa powder, almond meal, and matzo cake meal; set aside.
4.) Beat yolks, 1/2 C sweetener, and molasses on medium-high speed until mixture holds a ribbonlike trail for 3 seconds when you raise the whisk.
5.) Transfer to a large bowl, and fold in 1 C nut puree from Fudge Glaze.
6.) Clean mixer and whisk.
7.) Beat egg whites and salt on medium-high until soft peaks form.
8.) Add superfine sweeteners, beating till stiff and glossy.
9.) Fold egg whites and cocoa/almond meal/cake meal into the large bowl with the yolk mixture.
10.) Stir in melted butter.
11.) Pour into prepared pan; smooth top with an offset spatula.
12.) Bake until a wooden skewer inserted in the middle of the cake comes out clean, 30 to 40 minutes; cool on wire rack.
13.) Invert pan, and remove cake; slice into two layers with serrated knife.
15.) Fill cake with half cup (or whatever!) fudge glaze.
16.) Cover top and sides with rest of glaze.
17.) Refrigerate 30 minutes.
18.) Cover sides with chopped almonds; decorate the top with chopped or whole almonds.
19.) Keep refrigerated till ready to serve.

To all the members of my tribe, I wish you the happiest of Passovers. And remember the true meaning of this, and every other holiday, They tried to kill us, we won, let's eat.

The Sounds of Cake

If you have nothing to do on a rainy morning or lots of things to try and avoid doing on a rainy morning, do this. Why? I don't exactly know.

Thanks to astute reader David Beaudouin for turning me on to some real cake fun—and keeping me from things I ought to be doing.

Lost

Oh, friends, you know me better. A daily visit to The People's Court and an occasional foray into American Idol (and secret untold, unwitnessed by most people, visits to soap operas) are my only glimpses of shlock TV.

I'm speaking of myself. I am lost.

Yesterday, my hard drive crashed, leaving me without manuscripts, without pictures, without anything, including the two e-mails from famous authors and nine pages of already-daunting craft paper about the writing of the cake manuscript.

I have nothing left except for a real daughter, a real husband, and two real dogs, none of whom will do anything I tell them, and a wheel of frozen cake.

Alas, I am still woe, as I have sworn off the eating of white stuff for the entire month of March and, perhaps, April.

All that I have to comfort me are the memories of last night's episode of Seinfeld, in which Elaine complained, loudly, at her co-workers' constant cakedness. She's so sick of it that she takes a sick day, but when she returns, she's greeted by a handful of coworkers with a get-well cake.

ELAINE: Stop it! That's not even a song! I mean, now we're celebrating a sick day?

MALE WORKER: I think it's nice.

ELAINE: What? What is nice? Trying to fill the void in your life with flour and sugar and egg and vanilla? I mean, we are all unhappy. Do we have to be fat, too? ...I don't want one more piece of cake in my office!

Of course, it's an absolute lie. No sooner do they leave than Elaine realizes she's jonesing for cake. She goes into Mr. Peterman's office where she has the stupidity (because who would do this in real life) to start eating a gorgeously frosted piece of (obviously) wedding cake. She then learns that Peterman procured this slice from some auction house, where he paid oodles for it. After all, it's "[a] slice of cake from the wedding of King Edward VIII to Wallis Simpson, circa 1937, price—$29,000."

But even that is little comfort right now. Cake: It can't restore your hard drive.

Wheel of Cake

Spin the wheel. Take a bite. Spin the wheel. Take a bite.

The cake wheel was given to me by the lovely and talented Jamie Williams of SugarBakers. "It's what I give my brides," she said to me, as if I should expect no less, even though I'm there to do what's already been done to death, her Today show story. She was not, as some would believe, a loser of the "Hometown Wedding" cake competition. She wasn't selected by America, perhaps, but the couple liked her cake the best. They said so on national television.

About the cake wheel: I don't know what's what just yet, but I'm guessing I have some Amaretto Raspberry cake, some Red Velvet Fudge cake, some carrot, some lemon. Who cares? It's all going to taste like sweet heaven in my mouth (and hell on my hips).

If you're following my diet travails (more agony and torment, less effort) this week, you'll know that I am "off cake." Hell, I'm off sugar, bread, potatoes—anything white except cauliflower and paper. I'm trying to look good in last year's bathing suit (made by Omar the Tentmaker, as my sister always says) because I'm too broke for a new one. So this lovely cake wheel is cooling its heels in the freezer.

Here's the last paragraph of my interview. You will know now the true extent of my love.

I thank the folks at SugarBakers for their hospitality, and leave with my front-seat passenger, the hulking catering tray. I wonder whether I have the fortitude to lock it in the freezer the moment I get home. There's a quiet humming. I turn off the radio and listen. For twenty slow, rainy miles, the cake slices serenade me with Bach's "Ode to Joy," each inch square by four layer piece imitating a different instrument. I remember my own wedding on a beautiful sunny day, a day with all my friends, really good beer, and lots of cake. I miss two exits.

The Return of Cake Jones

I admit that I lost my desire—not for cake but for writing about cake. My first semester at school didn't meet my expectations for a combination of reasons in and out of my control. But that is a waterbath under the cheesecake, so to speak.

I have just returned from Asheville, North Carollina (see the pictures) with a renewed sense of purpose, place, and thing. I am [noun]; hear me [verb].

Joe Mackall, my mentor this semester, has suggested that I write 300 words in the next four months. This is four pages a day, by my calculations. And with all the other things I need to do (and wish to do), it's undoable. But I'll have to work on my ability to churn out the words willy nilly, without regard for structure and order. I'll have to channel some of Ann Lamott's courage to "write a shitty first draft," one that no one's going to read.

And so I've begun to put my interview notes into prose.

Meanwhile, I have several things warming in the oven. First, comedian Jim Gaffigan (gaffe again?) has a standup routine based on cake, something my husband saw on Comedy Central while I was in Asheville. I'm trying to secure an interview with him, either by phone or e-mail or in person when he hits DC in April.

Second, I'm hoping to interview a man who gives all the town's bakers their start, a man even my first interviewee could say nothing nasty about (a feat, let me tell you).

Third, I'm looking forward to the Joy of cake when my friend, Brownie, comes for a visit and we have crabcakes at Kocos and real cakes at my sister's 40th birthday.

Lots of events on the horizon. I hope you'll stay tuned. Oh, and for a tidbit too big to leave on the cake blog alone, check out A Doggy's Life.

Editor's Note

A few short hours after the previous post, the author lost all willpower. When faced with a choice between bad cake with pretty white frosting and no cake at all, she found she will still choose cake. Leslie will be saying 10 Hail Atkinses and doing penance with flax meal and salad.

Sculpting Medium?

I arrived early to my last cake class in order to have a heart to heart with the instructor. "I know this is supposed to be stress-free and fun. It's cake decorating, after all. But I suck!" I told her. A pathetic but exasperated sigh followed my admission.

Carole's look was earnest. "Now, are you speaking like a beginner? Or are you comparing yourself to me?" she asked.

I looked around the room for Jessica, the girl whose cake was two layers of perfection, crumb coated and iced smooth, an elegant, flat, perfect blank canvas. I pointed: "Her."

Jessica had worked in a bakery a few years ago, so, though she's enrolled in a beginner's class, she's, technically, a pro.

"See?" my cake teacher asks. She's not quite sure what's wrong with the way I frosted my cake. It's clear I don't have icing towels, but it's a fine start. But she does locate a problem: my cake plate. "This is flexible," she says. It will make my icing crack.

Once again, having the right equipment is essential. So I turned around and marched into the Cake Cottage with my credit card, where I racked up a tidy sum on a Wilton cake holder. I didn't spend the dollars on a lazy Susan; however, I found some nifty cookie cutters and a gigantic offset spatula. (I'm dying to try those cookies on the cover of Family Circle!)

And the evening didn't turn out too bad. I don't, as I had originally thought, suck. I do lack patience, but some of the patterns (I have wanted to call them "moves" or "stitches" since this whole thing began) are easy. I practiced my sweet pea about forty times before commiting it to caketop, and I didn't do such a bad job. The rosettes are nearly perfect. The rosebuds are fine. My hyacinths are pretty nice. My leaves are inconsistent, some looking like natural beauties, others resembling penises. They will come. (The leaves, I mean.) I'm still not comfy with borders, but my garland around the side of the cake was pretty nice.

I feel much better about my skills now that I've seen some improvement.

And I've also learned an important lesson. I'm not too fond of the recent batch of frosting, and the Betty Crocker cake mix I used (some Moist Deluxe white thing) is absolutely VILE. It's been sitting on the countertop for nearly a week, and I've had exactly a bite.

Carole says a time will come when I will see buttercream as nothing more than a sculpting medium. I'm afraid that if the time ever does come, my passion for cake will have drawn to a close. So, while I vow to make blech-tasting cakes and frostings for practice, the cakes I make for celebration will themselves be worth celebrating.

A Real Turkey

If I had a day job, don't worry: I wouldn't quit it for cake decorating.

Tomorrow night, our class will be frosting a cake, transferring a pattern, and filling it in. Since I will be out of town, and since my Thanksgiving hosts have requested a carrot cake, I thought I'd give this project a try.

Before I started, I was missing a few things. First, I didn't have enough uncolored icing, so I decided to make a cream cheese version. The consistency was a disaster, so I fell back on last week's batch of practice frosting. I did the crumb coat, and then I piled it on thick, as I'd learned in class. But I didn't have enough to cover some of the thinner areas; some brown shows through.

I found a piece of leaf clip art and outlined it on waxed paper with some black gel. I turned the pattern over on top and pressed the black into the cake. It worked perfectly—and it was just about the only thing that did.

In haste, I turned yellow into orange with some red food coloring, then mixed a bunch of colors together for an icky brown. And then I began to draw. I don't have a lazy Susan, which made for a lot of starting and stopping. And I had a cheesecake baking, a mosaic in the workshop to finish grouting, and dinner to cook.

It didn't look so bad until I tried to write in green frosting. I'd made a mistake, and it stained the cake. I tried to recover it with whatever was left in a pastry bag, but it only made a bigger mess. I wound up inventing a few new patterns (accidentally, of course).

All I can say is that I'm grateful it's the Silver Palate carrot cake under all that nastiness; at the very least, it will taste terrific.

I guess the high point in all this—aside from the fact that I could, actually, fill the leaves pretty well (if rushed)—is that my daughter thinks it's really cool.

Bad Clown Cupcakes

Perhaps I was a bit smug when I began cake decorating classes. I'm no stranger, after all, to world of art making. I can wield a mighty glass cutter and know my way around a power tool.

But that doesn't mean I can squeeze a pastry bag.

Last night, our instructor, Carole, demonstrated several piping designs, including rosettes, rosettes with stars, roses, leaves, stems, sepals, and the shell border. I got the hang of a couple of these, but none of them were close to good looking. My leaves were far too realistic than the perfectly shaped hearts of the instructor. And I could not make a shell, no matter how many I tried. But It wasn't until we got to the sweet pea that I felt a total failure.

I blame it on the bag. Last night, out of laziness (and because people really do this), I subbed plastic, disposable pastry bags for my tough, washable ones. (Have you ever washed a pastry bag? Ick!) I had spots full of trapped air all night and could not escape the bag farts. I would draw a stem, and in the middle, a burst of air would explode on my practice board.

Maybe it's not all the pastry bag. I can be a little impatient.

When we moved on to the more free-form clown cupcakes, I thought I'd ace icing these. Instead, my clowns are sad, scary proof that I stink as a cake decorator.

And thank goodness! How fat would I be if I were doing this for a living?

It's a Cake Life

Finding a new hobby or interest gives people lots of good ideas for gift giving. It's fortunate that I chose to write about cake rather than, say, defecation (Everybody Poops) or colon polyps.

This year, my birthday netted lots of cake-themed cards and a few gifts for the struggling cake writer, like my new Olympus DS-330, a digital recorder that is Mac compatible, so I can download all my cake interviews and save them on the computer, rather than have to transcribe them right away and erase the file.

I also got a couple of groovy cake-themed goodies: a Hurry Up The Cakes hoodie from Engrish.com, which gets a lot of comments from strangers who don't understand why I'd want the cakes to hurry up; Demeter angel food-scented cologne from Anthropologie, which smells a lot like cotton candy; and buttercream-scented body cream, a thick, rich cream from Jaqua Beauty that smells so authentic that someone like me would be tempted to eat it (or me when I wear it). Last year, my love for cake firmly established, I got a cake-scented candle, which I burn regularly in the kitchen, even though I swear it makes my blood sugar rise and my heart race.

Cake-themed gifts: they're a good thing.

Decadent

cheesecake

Could this cake be made even more decadent? How about substituting dark chocolate for the white?

Well, that's an experiment for another lifetime, another budget.

You will need a 10" springform pan. Spray the bottom with non-stick cooking spray. (I use a non-stick pan but still spray, and it removes easily.)

Grind about 12+ shortbread cookies (you want a cup and a half) and an ounce of almonds. Add a T of sugar, mix with a t of almond extract, and stir in 3 T melted butter. It should be nice and moist.

Press the mix in the bottom of your springform pan, and bake at 350 for ten minutes. Lower your oven temp to 325.

In a double boiler, melt 6 oz. white baking chocolate, chopped fine. Let cool.

Beat the 4 packages 2/3 Philly cream cheese until they are creamy and smooth. Add 5 eggs, one at a time. Add 1 t vanilla, and 1/4 t almond extract. Beat in 3/4 cup sugar.

Add about a cup of the well-mixed filling to the melted chocolate, and stir. Add the chocolate mix to the filling, and stir to incorporate. Pour the filling over the crust and bake for about 40 minutes. The edges should be slightly browned and pulled away, but the center should shake slightly.

Cool. Cover tightly, and refrigerate overnight. (I only refrigerated for a few hours.)

The cheesecake will crack like mad unless you use a water bath. I didn't want the trouble. I left the cheesecake in the oven to cool, with the door ajar, and when I came home from my meeting, the cake had cracked and sunk in the center, too. Oh, well. Anything can be fixed!

To make the glaze to pour over the top, simmer 7 T heavy cream in a small, heavy saucepan ,then add 8 oz. finely chopped chocolate, and stir well.

cheesecake closeup

I fill my cheesecake cracks with this slowly when it's a little cool, then set it in the fridge awhile. Then I take it out and pour all the glass on top. If your cheesecake's flat, like it's supposed to be, some of the glaze will drip down the sides. That's a good thing.

Melt a small jar of raspberry jam (don't waste money on the expensive stuff; buy all-fruit, as the others are twice as much and full of high-fructose corn syrup and junk) in a small pot, then strain it into a bowl.

Toast some sliced almonds in a pan on the stove. Spread the jam around the edge of the cheesecake, and press in the almonds.

You can drizzle some jam on the top, too, and sprinkle with almonds. The actual recipe calls for this to be served with raspberry puree made from fresh or frozen raspberries, and you can throw some pretty fresh berries in the center.

You can't miss with the greatest cheesecake that ever lived.

Still, I wonder what a dark chocolate version would taste like. Don't you?

Cake: A Bad Idea

Second Place

Writing about cake would be a good idea for just about anyone. It's not, however, for a low-carber.

Yes, I'm a low-carb eater. This means I don't eat bread or pasta; I eschew flour and sugar; I shun starches and sweets. I'm supposed to, anyway. It's for my health.

A few years ago, I was trying to lose a few pounds. I'd suffered from insomnia since the birth of my daughter, and I had carpal tunnel and a host of aches. I went on Atkins, and I suddenly began to sleep without aids and found I no longer needed anti-inflammatory drugs, either. I no longer needed to wear wrist guards—hulking hand contraptions—to bed. In three weeks, I was near goal weight; in a few months, I was off my antidepressants and sleeping pills.

Enter the Cake Thesis.

Perhaps my decision to explore the moist white underbelly of the cake world was a bit misguided (read: stupid). It wouldn't be so bad if I had stopped at cake. But once that oven door opened, the hot dog roll began to go down with the hot dog, the hamburger bun starting going down with the hamburger. Instead of delicious sauteed zucchini going down with the spaghetti sauce, pasta goes down.

Consequently, pain goes up.

I have been back on track for three days now, and I am slowly recovering. Cake for work (and birthday—I mean, c'mon) will be my only high-carb allowance.

On a forum, women friends recently discussed why we do this to ourselves, knowing it causes a world of problems. How can we see something that causes bloating and confusion and insomnia and swelling and inflammation and pain as a reward?

A frank and thorough writer cannot simply explore the light side; cake has a dark side, too (a gooey, rich, chocolate side, perhaps, but it's dark).

In a few weeks, I will be talking to some mental and physical health experts at Hopkins about the sweet tooth and the nature of food addiction. Perhaps I will learn to develop a more professional relationship with my subject

Because when it comes to sweets—especially cake—I have an inability to think beyond the moment to its consequences. It's all about instant gratification and momentary pleasure. There's rarely a hint of critical thought when I am faced with cake. Cake. Hmmm. Here you are. I will eat you.

The only things that run through my mind have to do with strategy. I am a cake soldier on the front lines competing with other cake soldiers. In seconds, I must figure out how to get the corner piece, how to eat it without looking like a crazy homeless person, how to get a second hunk, how to get that blop of frosting—that one, over there, yes, yes, yes.

Cake is God

cake bounce

Cake is everywhere.

It arrived at my daughter's morning soccer match, when a woman announced she had to leave early to bake a boiled milk cake. You're writing a book on cake, and you've never heard of a boiled milk cake? her eyes seemed to say. "What about a 1-2-3-4 cake?" She was testing me. This is obviously a pound cake, named for butter, sugar, flour, and eggs. The milk never counts, even though that's what makes it so moist.

Cake was at the Baltimore Book Fair in the guise of a moon bounce. The candles wiggle a bit when the kids are hopping inside, working off that white sugar buzz from all that fried dough their moms used to bribe them to just shut up during the poetry readings that were for their own good.

The cake contest I entered last week was for a birthday cake in honor of the Fair's 100th birthday. (Had I known, I'd have made my entry more festive.) The judging is today at 4:00, and it's hosted by Duff Goldman, the subject of my desires.

Cake happened while I slept last night, too. At midnight, Theater Project hosted one of the High Zero (an experimental music) festival events: Amplified Cake. Actually, it's called Cake Mix, and it features, "[a]n amplified cake [getting] slowly eaten while [the room plays] Baltimore club beats from within. Get yer freak on for sweets."

Forget the illogical syllogism. Cake really is everywhere, and it really is God.

Magic

I described to my good friend, Paul, my idea for a cake story, a chapter in my book in which I visit various "cake factories," from the upscale, extravagant cake production companies like Charm City Cakes, all the way down to the little snack cake plants.

I explained that I wanted to go behind the scenes of the cake-making process without actually demystifying it.

Paul, a genius in many ways, understood perfectly. He called me the Penn and Teller of cake.

cake fantasy

fantasy

No. The fantasy is not, trust me, enriched, bleached wheat flour and hydrogenated oils. It is not emulsifiers and leaveners, preservatives and colors and flavors.

The fantasy is not that you can smear it on the bodies of the ones you love and remove it with your tongue.

The fantasy, my friends, is being able to eat the 3 layer fantasy fudge cake and look good naked.

3 Layer Fantasy Fudge Cake

fudge

Last night, as an apology for the registrar having overloading my honors writing class, the coordinator of the honors program dropped off a 3 Layer Fantasy Fudge Cake, a silver cake server, some foam plates, and a stack of elegant napkins. Most of the class sat there, meekly, refusing to admit they wanted to devour the cake at that moment, naked and in private.

Even when I discovered and announced that it tasted like crushed Hostess Ho-Hos or Ring Dings, the cream replaced with wet, delicious fudge, most of them just sat there. One had the effrontery to proclaim that "it was too early for cake." Too early? For cake? The perfect breakfast, brunch, lunch, dinner, dessert, or midnight snack? That cake?

A few of the less inhibited (read true) rose without delay. I recognized a kindred in one of them, Auriane, whose eyes glazed over with a rapture much like my own, if twenty years younger.

When I lectured, cake crumbs flew willy nilly from my lips. I kept looking down at it until one student suggested I replace its plastic lid. I told my class that I just wanted to roll in it.

Perhaps I reveal too much of myself.

Despite its dark deliciousity, despite its fudgy freshness, it is not, thankfully, white sheet cake. With white, buttercream frosting. I brought the remainder—about eight or ten three-high slices, covered in thick shavings of chocolate—home for my husband and daughter. The cake did not call me, wake me in the middle of the night, begging for my lips. I slept soundly and sent the cake off to my husband's office this morning, just in case it decided to speak this evening.