Merry Christmas!

Back in Ohio at my mom's for the holidays. Baking away from my own kitchen is always interesting, but baking at my mom's was definitely easier than baking at Randy's. I credit age and gender for her well-prepared kitchen. All I had to supply was the ginger.

This week's cake was a gingerbread cake. As most people know, the gingerbread used to make gingerbread houses is actually not delicious at all, because it has to be tough to provide structural stability. So Dr. Robinson found a recipe for this cake, which is as soft and spicy as you imagine gingerbread should be. It's full of interesting ingredients: ground and crystallized ginger, molasses, black pepper, dark brown sugar. It was easy to make (a welcome break after the last cake debacle)--the toughest part was chopping the crystallized ginger. It smelled delicious while baking, and came out moist and spicy and excellent--particularly when served with Great Lakes Christmas Ale Ginger Snap ice cream. Yum!

In this chapter, Dr. Robinson talks about the end of two family traditions: the family vacation to a cottage in Michigan, because the cottage owners decided to stop renting it out, and the last gingerbread house building party, because her daughters were less enthusiastic and outgrowing the tradition. This year, I too am feeling the end of family traditions. I used to love Christmas time, and our own unique family routine: dinner and family presents Christmas Eve, then Santa's gifts Christmas morning followed by an afternoon of movies. Church Christmas morning when I was younger, then Midnight Mass when we were old enough to stay up. Way too many types of Christmas cookies. But things change: new travel requirements, financial concerns, houses, churches, relationships--I feel like I am struggling to hold onto the traditions that we used to have, desperate to not let them slip away. But sometimes change has to happen. Who knows if I will even come back to Cleveland next year? When you have to make room in your life for someone else, there must be compromise, which automatically leads to change. I know that I need to let go and allow new traditions to form. It's just hard--it solidifies the transition into real adulthood.

When my mom tasted the gingerbread cake, she immediately said, "You can make this every year!" So maybe we've already started a new tradition. If so, it's certainly a delicious one.

Buche de Honte

This was the cake that almost ended the project. I was 95% certain I could not pull it off. And, so, I have to confess, I cheated a little... there were a few minor modifications, just so I could get through it.

I don't know if you've ever tried to make a Buche de Noel, but my recommendation is: don't. It's the most time-consuming, difficult cake ever. I devoted 6 hours of my life to this cake, and that's without the stupid meringue mushrooms (details to come). Many tears were shed, expletives shouted, and items covered in chocolate (the cake book was nearly a casualty, but I managed to dry it out, so aside from a section full of spotty butter stains, it lives on).

My adventure began with a week-long search for a jelly roll pan. I scoured grocery stores, Targets, and facebook friends for something labeled "jelly roll pan" until finally Tim told me he had one. When I went to pick it up, he handed me a cookie sheet. Apparently, a jelly roll pan is just a cookie sheet with sides. Tragically, his was too small, but conveniently, my mother had just bought me a super fancy giant cookie sheet the last time she visited. Success #1: did not have to buy new pan.

The cake part of a Yule Log is deceptively simple: mix dry stuff, mix wet stuff, beat egg whites, combine everything, pour into pan lined with parchment paper, bake. It's a good way to start off because the ease of making the cake, which you would guess would be the primary component of, well, a cake, gives you hope that maybe, just maybe, you can accomplish this nonsense. But immediately upon taking the cake out of the oven, the fun begins. The hot cake needs to be covered with plastic wrap, and then a damp kitchen towel, and then inverted onto a cooling rack... which is quite an adventure with a lava-hot pan. Then everything--cake, parchment paper, plastic wrap, and towel, all need to be rolled up together and allowed to cool. I decided during this process that cake is really not meant to be rolled. The surface of my cake was covered with tons of little fault lines, like some sort of earthquake had gone through. But it never tore completely. Success #2, I guess.

While the cake was cooling, I started on the espresso cream filling. I don't own an espresso maker, so espresso was out of the question. I worried that coffee might not be strong enough, though. Fortunately, I had seen a previous coworker and his wife the night before, and they had given me Turkish coffee to use with the Turkish coffee set they had previously given me for my birthday. I figured Turkish coffee was pretty darn strong, so it should suffice in the absence of espresso. If you want to substitute Turkish coffee, however, make sure it's not the first time you've ever made Turkish coffee. Three attempts later, I ended up with something that was not quite authentic-looking or tasting Turkish coffee but would just have to do, because I was tired of trying to make it work. Finished the filling... but really more failure than success. Moved onto the frosting--a Swiss Meringue Buttercream frosting... which is exactly what it sounds like: some crazy combination of meringue and buttercream. But it was actually the easiest part of the cake to make. Success #3.

Then cake assembly. It was during this process I decided I would never again make a Yule Log. It sounded easy enough: unroll cake, spread filling on cake, re-roll cake. The problem is, all that filling spread on the cake doesn't exactly want to fit inside when the cake is rolled up. And it has to go somewhere. Which was all over my arms, my shirt, the towel the cake had been rolled in, the counter, and the floor. I was quite literally up to my elbows in espresso cream filling. Commence tears. I sort of wanted to just quit and throw the whole cracking, espresso cream-bleeding cake out. But I had spent way to much time at this point, so I just sort of made a tube out of the cake and threw it in the fridge to chill appropriately. Liz: 3. Cake: 2.

Thankfully, frosting covers all sins. Once I spread a thick layer of fantastic meringue buttercream frosting over the cake, I shaped and smoothed it and ended up with something that actually did resemble a white log. I just had to hope people would be too focused on the tasty deliciousness of the cake to examine the inside too closely. Success #4.

Now for the major cheating: decorating. Apparently, according to recipes by Martha Stewart and Julia Child, you are supposed to make baked meringue mushroom shapes to decorate the "log" and attach them with melted chocolate. This requires pastry bags, two different sizes of tips, patience and artistic talent. None of which I have. I angsted over how I would accomplish these mushrooms all week. Finally, I just said forget it. I dusted the log with cocoa powder to make it brown and used green sugar crystals to make patches of "moss." It really did look like a log. Just a less fancy log. Whatever. Logs shouldn't be fancy anyway. They're logs. At least it was FINALLY done.

I took it to a holiday party Bree and her husband were hosting that evening. Despite its lack of beauty and correctness, it was a huge hit. Everyone loved it. It was gratifying to know that all that work had paid off, but not gratifying enough for me to ever go through this process again, so I told everyone to enjoy it now because it'd be the only one I'd ever make.

A girl from my program loved the cake and took the leftovers home. I wasn't there to see it, but apparently she forgot that she had placed it on the seat of the car and sat on it. She texted me about it, and at that point I just laughed hysterically. A fitting end for that cake, I think. She did say after she had finished the rest that even completely flat, it was still delicious.

I am ready for some easy cakes now. This one was just rough. Hopefully the Christmas cakes will be a bit more relaxing. It's hard to be filled with holiday spirit when you're covered in espresso cream filling and swearing at a cake.

July in Christmas

I was not feeling particularly festive, despite the rapidly approaching holidays. I tried cranking up Trans Siberian Orchestra, spattering garland and stockings and candles around my apartment, and dragging out the tree, and... ugh. Nothing. There just doesn't seem to be much Christmas spirit going around. Or even Hanukkah spirit, for that matter.

I refused to decorate the tree myself. In my family, it's always been kind of a big deal. Everyone had to be home to participate. The ornaments were unpacked and laid out, and everyone had their assigned group to hang. Cookies and spiced cider (with or without rum) were served, carols were played... it was truly a holiday event. Obviously living hundreds of miles away from my family, my own little tree doesn't get such special treatment, but the past couple years I've had a helper. Thinking about decorating my tree solo reminded me of how much I miss Randy, how hard long distance relationships are, and how much I wish things were just back to normal, our "normal," our routine. Faced with lack of family and lack of lover, tree decorating seemed like a chore, and I had no desire to do it.

Thankfully, I have some pretty great friends, who are basically the closest thing to family I can get around here. They were easily recruited for a tree decorating event by the promise of Great Lakes Christmas Ale (imported from Cleveland by my mother, and essentially liquid gold) and the weekly cake. I hoped a little company, good food, and good beer could spark some holiday spirit.


The cake was a lemon polenta pound cake. The recipe is fairly simple, except for zesting the lemons. I'd like to know who the first person was that decided to use "zest" in anything. I'd like to find him or her and give him or her a swift kick. I also discovered that baking soda boxes should probably come with no-slip grips, since somehow my box flew from my hand and went crashing to the floor, creating a beautiful blanket of snow all over my kitchen, complete with little footprints. Quite festive. In a quite irritating way. Clearly baking the cake did little for my holiday spirit.


But once Chris, Tim and Maureen arrived, Christmas music was playing, Santa hats were donned, and Christmas Ale and cake were served, my spirits did pick up a bit. The cake was perfect--crispy brown crust on the outside and a crumbly yet moist nearly neon yellow inside, with a bright, fresh, lemony flavor. It was a like a burst of sunshine in the cold December weather, and provided just enough extra warmth to kick the festivities into high gear. So the tree was decorated, Christmas Ale consumed, and lemon polenta pound cake enjoyed by all. I'm feeling more Rudolph than Grinch now, so bring on the holidays!

There's No Cake in Fruitcake

Only fruit. And rum. Lots of rum.

I'm a little apprehensive about a fruitcake recipe ending up in this book. There's been so many fantastic and unique and delicious recipes, and then, out of nowhere, fruitcake?! Dr. Robinson assures us that there really is such a thing as a good fruitcake. But I'm a skeptic. Then again, remember the Tomato Cake...

This cake was actually the cake from two weeks ago, but I wanted to wait until the first check and rum re-soaking to see how things were looking and then write about it. (That's totally a lie, I've just been extremely busy with the holidays and other top-secret life things, and have gotten home too late and/or too exhausted to write about it.)

Making a fruitcake is an adventure and a half, and not for the faint of heart (or wallet) because the list of ingredients is a mile long and full of things you've never heard of (what the heck is a citron?!), and the directions are very specific. All of the fruits are candied, and I had no idea where to find candied fruits, much less candied fruits I'd never heard of, but decided to start at our international Farmers Market, since, usually, if it's weird, they have it. And they did not let me down this time--citron and all, I found my candied fruits. Except for candied red cherries, which you'd think would be the easiest to find. They had candied green cherries, but I figured there was a reason the recipe specifically calls for red, which I assume is that no one should put something as unnaturally colored as a candied green cherry into his or her body.

The next debacle was the pan for the cake. The recipe calls for a 10" tube pan. I had no idea what that was. A quick search revealed something like a bundt pan but not fluted... think angel food cake pan. After spending my monthly grocery budget on cake ingredients, the last thing I wanted to buy was another pan, so I continued my searching for an acceptable substitute. Not as easy as you might think. But thank Google this recipe is famous and some poor soul was as lost as I was, and I discovered two loaf pans would work if I just decreased the baking time by an hour. I actually heard my credit card sigh in relief. (Also, by switching to loaf pans, my instructions went from some convoluted nonsense about drawing circles on paper bags and folding and cutting to "line pans with heavy brown paper." Fruitcake for Dummies.)

So the raisins and currants soak in rum overnight. Then you add all your other fruits and nuts and you get a giant vat of candied trail mix that looks like this:



Then you mix up the cake batter and add it to the fruit vat and it looks... well, pretty much the same. There's barely enough batter to moisten all the fruits and nuts. I was slightly concerned about the physical possibility of "baking" the cake, but I'd come this far and I was not turning back. So, pans into oven, and 2.5 hours later, fruitcake! Somewhat cakey-er than the batter going in, but still mostly a solid 2.5 pounds of candied fruit per loaf.


The cakes now have to "cure" for several weeks wrapped in a cheesecloth soaked in rum. Every week I have to check the cakes and re-soak the cheesecloth if it's dry. Today was my first check, and the cakes look pretty much like what one might imagine--golden, fruity, rum-soaked little mummies.

13 more days to go. I'm still a skeptic. But, like I said, remember the Tomato Cake...

Cake Week?

No, I did not forget to make a cake last week. I've just been putting off writing about it because 1.) I've been so busy I can't even remember what happened last week, and 2.) there's not too much to say.


Thanksgiving was last week, and I decided to add this cake as part of our dessert trio. No one but me likes pumpkin pie, and apple is exhausting to make (peeling all those darn apples...), so we were down to the Best Pecan Pie in the Whole Universe (a secret family recipe) and French Silk pie. This week's recipe was for coconut cake, and while coconut does not seem to go at all with Thanksgiving, I figured why not throw it in? After all, I'm thankful for the tropics because it's warm and there are lots of vacation spots, so why not show a little love by incorporating coconut into our Thanksgiving feast?


My boss generously gave us Wednesday off, so I used part of my "free" time to make the cake. The cake itself is a white cake, and pretty simple as cakes go. The frosting was more interesting--almost like a marshmallow fluff consistency, which was tricky to get just right (thank goodness for the KitchenAid) and trickier to spread. The recipe only called for toasted coconut on the top and outside, but I'm a go-big-or-go-home kinda person, so I put a healthy dash in between the layers as well. I ended up with a lovely three layer tower of vanilla coconut marshmallow goodness.


It was a hit--held its own against the other Thanksgiving desserts Thursday, got rave reviews at our weekly football gathering on Sunday (Tim's new favorite? It's a close call...), and on Monday I sent a large piece (as well as some of the ridiculous amounts of leftover coconut I had) home with some friends from Emory, who also gave it two thumbs up. Kudos to this cake for spreading its cake joy for almost an entire week!

Happy (un)Birthday to Me!

Despite the fact that I hate birthdays, I think everyone should have a birthday cake. No one likes getting older, but everyone likes cake, so I think everyone is entitled to their very own cake one day a year. Perhaps instead of birthdays, we should implement Cakedays. Not to be confused with Cake Days, of course.

Since I spent my actual birthday managing the Hotel Liz, attending a wedding, and belly dancing at a Hafla, I decided I'd use last week's Cake Day to make my own birthday cake. As an added bonus to my adventure, I got to test run my swanky new official baking apron and matching oven mitt that Alex too generously bestowed upon me for my birthday. Funny, I feel this project is slowly taking over my life... my gifts this year consisted of a KitchenAid mixer, a fancy KitchenAid bowl scraper attachment, and an apron and oven mitt set. It's nice to know people are on board, at least.

The recipe this week was a Jamnesty torte, which is an adaptation of a cake served on the Orient Express during its prime. Dr. Robinson made it in honor of a concert fundraiser her was daughter managing that weekend for Amnesty International, which they called Jamnesty. Her recipe adds a layer of blackberry jam between the layers of the flourless chocolate cake. I, however, was unaware of this, so my cake, sadly, was flourless and jam-less.

It was much less in many other areas, as well, I think, because it requires chocolate and almonds to be ground together in a food processor. Unfortunately, I only have Baby Food Processor, a small, free, mostly-gets-the-job-done food processor not meant for such tasks. Although I pre-crushed the almonds with a hammer and towel and cut the baking chocolate into smaller squares, Baby Food Processor was quite unhappy with me, and it took constant readjusting, several pauses to let the smoky smell subside, and much coaxing, singing, and kind words to convince Baby Food Processor that it was up for the job. The final product was a chunky mix rather than a fine powder, resulting in a cake that was less cake and more crunch. Not in an unpleasant way, just a much different texture from what I think the cake should have had. My chocolate buttercream frosting, however, was perfect. (I will add that few things in life are more satisfying than watching your KitchenAid mix up buttercream frosting.) And although I was slightly disappointed with the results, Tim said it was probably his favorite cake yet. (Also notice his Dramatic Angle photo of the cake cutting.) I'll admit, it did taste pretty excellent, jam or no jam.

Dr. Robinson also discusses in this chapter that we can often feel like we are trying to hold onto a planet that is spinning too fast, almost out of control for us. She compares it to feeling like a bacterium in a centrifuge, spinning at 10,000 times the force of gravity. I feel like one of those bacteria now, both in the short-term and the long-term scheme of things. In the short-term, I'm in the middle of almost three weeks straight of house guests, trying to keep up with laundry and cleaning. There's also the prepping for Thankgiving, the shopping and baking. And I'm putting in extra hours for dance and trying to make something, anything, happen at work, all while thinking about dissertation writing, graduating, and job applications. I feel exhausted, like I'm just trying to push through each day, one more step, until the still-undefined day when things will slow down. In the long-term, I'm now 26. Do you remember how old that seemed when you were in grade school, high school even, and writing all those completely ridiculous assignments about what you wanted to be when you "grew up," or the list of things you wanted to accomplish in your life, or where you saw yourself when you turned 30? Where are the house, the husband, the kids, the impressive career I wrote about in those assignments? Did anyone's life turn out like the one they wrote about in the 7th grade? No one dreams of being a single graduate student renting an apartment 700 miles from her family. And yet, here I am, and I don't even feel mature enough to be here. I don't feel as old as 26-year-olds seemed when I was 16. I feel like there is still so much I need to accomplish, but time is passing way too quickly. The whirlwinds of short-term and long-term meeting creates quite a dichotomy: each day feels long, but each year flies by.

Anyway, I'm glad I took some time out this weekend to bake a cake to celebrate me, and to share it with friends. For a little while, the crazy spinning slowed, and I could enjoy the here and now. I think that, in general, we don't do that often enough, we don't pause to take a breath and take it all in. We should do more dancing, more yoga, more sleeping in, more chatting with friends and family, more cake baking and cake eating. Maybe that would help life feel less like a centrifuge and more like a carousel. Wouldn't you rather ride a shiny pink pony than be stuck to the bottom of an eppendorf tube with millions of bacteria?

The Politics of Cake

Oh goodness, I'm over a week behind with writing this. November is just out of control.

Last week's cake was an Election Day Cake. Conveniently, both Cake Day and Election Day fell last Tuesday.

Dr. Robinson made this cake specifically for Election Day, but for me, these events was purely coincidental. My dark, dirty secret is... I've never voted. I'm not even registered. Before you go off on your self-righteous tirade about how I'm irresponsible and dishonoring democracy and disrespecting those who fought for that right, etc etc etc, let me explain.

No one has ever told me I should vote just to vote, just to make use of this precious right so many people worldwide don't have. The encouragement to vote always comes with a caveat: vote for the RIGHT person. Which is never who you think is right, but always the candidate the person who is encouraging you to vote is supporting. I've seen political debates turn into heated arguments between corworkers, friends, siblings, and couples. There is a reason for that saying about "The two things you should never talk about in polite company are religion and politics." Nothing makes me quite as uncomfortable as when someone starts talking trash about a politician or a policy, from the War in Iraq to "Obamacare." It inevitably leads to a tense discussion, and I usually just leave the room. If asked my opinion on an issue, I rarely respond more than "yeah" or use the excuse "I haven't really been keeping up with it." Relationships are so hard to manage as it is. Why add further strain? Hearing how passionately friends and coworkers support certain candidates and policies and disdain others, I know I could never be able to admit voting in opposition to what they believe. I don't want that. I just want there to be peace.

In addition, I hate when people vote for something based purely on party lines. I think, if you're going to vote, you should be well-educated on the candidates or issues and vote based on what you truly believe, not based on the supporting party. No Republican agrees with everything the Republican party supports, and same for the Democrats. If I go to vote, I want to make sure I have done my research, I know the facts, I know both sides of the story. And right now, I just don't have time. I know I'll get reprimanded for that statement, but at this point in my life, I just don't have the time and energy. I hope one day I will, that one day I'll care a little more. But for now, I'm going to let the battle rage on without me.

Now, you may commence your tirade. But just know that, unless you can look me in the eye and tell me that you truly, honestly don't care who or what I vote for, that you'll never even ask because it doesn't matter as long as I'm voting and voting for what I believe, I'm not listening.

As for the Election Day Cake, it has quite a history. A colonial era cake, it was made in large loaves in homes in New England to feed friends and family who had to travel long distances to visit the voting booth and would stay with loved ones for the event. Apparently, Election Day in the early days of our nation was a time for celebrating and feasting. I like this image of Election Day much better than the tense and impersonal atmosphere of our current voting set up.


The cake is thick, moist, and bready, filled with spices and raisins, and topped with a buttery sugar crackle. The recipe makes two loaves, so I took one to work, and kept one around for breakfast for the many visitors I had last weekend, in town for a wedding, which I think is a much more appropriate occasion for celebration than Election Day in the modern era. It was well-received, and I think, despite the lack of voting, it fulfilled its purpose: to celebrate being with friends a loved ones. In a time when politics can pull people apart, a sweet cake can help remind us of the importance of coming together.

A Reflection on Science, and Happy Birthday, Tim!

The great thing about making a cake every week is that you have an instant birthday gift for all your friends. Who doesn't want a delicious homemade cake for their birthday? (Particularly one with a tea light instead of normal birthday candles?)

The recipe this week is Twilight Velvet Crumb Cake, which is actually a recipe off the Bisquick box. It was the first cake Dr. Robinson made by herself, at only 11 years old, and the cake her daughter baked to celebrate the day Dr. Robinson became a full professor. For those not involved in the academic realm of science, this is the culmination of all your work... college, graduate school, post-doc, assistant professor, associate professor, and finally, full professor. So being promoted to full professor is a huge accomplishment. Dr. R. notes that, while nearly 50% of all PhDs in the biological sciences have been awarded to women since the mid-1990s, only 8% of full professors are women. Based on my time in graduate school and some recent experiences, I hypothesize that this sad statistic is the result of an environment which does not allow most women to flourish. Academia in the sciences can feel like the "good ol' boys club;" it helps those who are already ahead and presents increasing obstacles to those who are behind, and a large percentage of the time, it is truly not what you know but who you know. The intense competitive nature can be oppressive for those whose personalities tend toward nurturing. The need to be available and have access to e-mail at all hours of every day can be a deterrent for those women who want to be mothers. And the demand to constantly be "tougher," depending on whose definition of "tough" you go by, can turn the warmest person cold, or the most independent person utterly complacent.

But I don't remember Dr. Robinson being any of these things. She was a scientist, but also a mother and a friend, she cared about her students, she made time to bake a cake every single week. And she was still successful, still reached the ultimate goal. I don't know how, but she overcame all of the obstacles and came out not only an academic scientist but also a whole person. I usually don't feel like there is room for both of these things in this life. I want out of the world of academia because I feel trapped, I feel like this lifestyle doesn't allow one to be whole, well-rounded, and happy and still be considered successful. Whatever her secret is, I want it. However, I think it's one of those things that has to be learned, not told, not given.


But we were thinking of happier things this Cake Day. It was Tim's birthday, and the inaugural run of the KitchenAid! Probably overkill for this simple cake, but totally worth the excitement (check out the mad mixing action in the photo). The name is appropriate, because the cake itself is velvety in texture. The topping is the best part though: coconut, pecans, brown sugar, and butter make a golden, crunchy, sweet crust atop the soft, crumbly cake. It would be excellent with coffee for breakfast, but also went perfectly with our pizza and football dinner celebration. An all-occasion cake, I guess... and Maureen said it might be her favorite one yet! I guess that means I'll have to make it again some time. Who would have thought a simple recipe off a box of Bisquick could be so good?

Newsflash!

We interrupt your irregularly scheduled cake blogging with this important news bulletin:



(Cue that shiny sounding "aaaahhhhhh" music they always play on TV when they show something glorious.)

That's right. That day when people are supposed to be nice to me and give me stuff is coming up, and my mom, after reading my entire blog in one sitting (as atonement for not keeping up in the first place.. just kidding!) and listening to me lament about my lack of nice things when it comes to baking, somehow managed to obtain one of these beautiful items, thereby accomplishing both being nice to me and giving me stuff 12 times over.


I got the notice about the package last night, but my apartment office was closed. Morning could not come fast enough. I went to pick it up first thing, and when the guy brought out the box my eyes got really big and a huge smile must have spread over my face, because he commented, "You seem excited." Um... YES! Can you not read the giant "KitchenAid" written on the box? How could it get more exciting? I quickly forgave his lack of understanding, however, when he very generously offered to carry it out to my car. It made for a very long day, knowing that wonderful, gorgeous stand mixer was sitting unopened in my trunk.


When I finally got home, my neighbor noticed me struggling to get the package out of the car along with my backpack, my gym back, a grocery bag with a few items I needed, and my lunch box. He also very generously offered to carry the mixer for me. While I was beginning to feel a little irritated because everyone was getting to touch this mixer except me, I agreed to let him help me up the stairs to my apartment, where I grabbed the scissors and tore open the box to find... another box. At least this one was fancier. But getting the box out of the box was no small feat. And removing the mixer from the second box and all its packaging was yet another adventure. Now I know why only married people get these things... it takes two people to unpack one!

Once the mixer was out of the box and sitting in my entry way, I realized I hadn't made a spot in the kitchen for it. (If you think for one second that thing is going in a cabinet, you are WRONG! It's sitting out so I can stare at it in all its fabulous bright green splendor ALL THE TIME. And then everyone else will see it and have to admire its loveliness too.) So, the blender got demoted to a shelf, and the knife block was moved to a new (albeit probably less convenient) counter spot. Then I thought... WWMD... What Would Mom Do? Sigh. Obviously, I needed to wash everything before putting it together (be proud, mom, be proud). One somewhat hasty sink full of dishes later, it was finally assembly time! Taking no chances, I turned to the manual. But I have to say, I'm pretty sure lesser primates and younger children could figure it out... it's fairly self explanatory. The hardest part is figuring out when you would use all the different... mixy things... (I wondered for a moment if that hook thing was to replace my hand when I actually succeeded in cutting it off while using the chef's knife, and was a little disappointed they didn't include a wooden leg too. Apparently, however, it's for bread doughs. Why bread doughs require a deadly weapon to mix I have yet to figure out.) But thankfully, the manual has that information, as well as recipes. And of course a whole list of attachments I can now start to accumulate! (And by now I mean when I have a house with counter and cabinet space.)

Anyway, short story long, I am now the owner of a fantastic Green Apple KitchenAid stand mixer, and it is displayed prominently on my kitchen counter for all to admire (mostly me). I am patiently waiting until Cake Day (Saturday/Sunday) to use it for the first time... I feel the most appropriate first use of my new mixer is a cake for this project, since that's why I got it in the first place. When I was cleaning up the packaging and gathering all the paperwork, a card fell out of the packing slip. It was a birthday message from my mom: "We all need a little help on our journeys. Here's a little help with Cake, Hope, & Love." I don't know why, but it brought tears to my eyes. Maybe it's because it feels like I need help... lots of help... in all of my journeys right now, and as silly as it sounds, the mixer is something tangible, help I can see and touch and physically use. Maybe it's because this whole crazy cake idea is something I'm doing just for me--it won't make me rich or famous, it won't help me land a great job, it won't help me get my PhD (well... that's somewhat debatable), but my mom still reached out to support this personal, somewhat irrational endeavor, reminding me that no matter what, she's got my back. Regardless, this bright green KitchenAid might make it worth having a birthday this year. And I cannot wait until Cake Day!

Cupcake Day!

I have an irrational love of cupcakes. I don't know what it is... maybe the fact that they're like adorable little mini cakes. Or the fact that if you eat one cupcake you don't feel like a fatty. And if you eat two... is it really that much more than eating a normal piece of cake? Or perhaps it's all the awesome options for wrappers (see photo--from my mom!). Some people hate on cupcakes, say they're not classy or whatever. I personally find them suitable for all occasions: weddings, birthdays, I-hate-work-so-much-I-cry days, etc. So I was delighted when this week's recipe was for Black and White CUPCAKES! (Also, it gave me another chance to use the AMAZING cupcake pan and carrier my mom got me while she was here, which I think I love almost as much as cupcakes themselves.)


I actually had no idea what to expect from reading the recipe, as it calls for both a black batter and a white batter, and when you assemble the cupcakes for baking as directed, you have a chocolate puddle with a big dollop of cream cheese in the middle. But once the cupcakes bake, they end up being rich chocolate cupcakes with a fantastic chocolate chip cream cheese filling. There's no recipe for frosting, not even a frosting suggestion, and honestly, frosting is not required. I baked them Saturday along with some chocolate chip pumpkin muffins, and the orange and black were perfect for Halloween weekend festivities.


I tried to spread the cupcake/muffin love as much as possible. I took the first round to a meeting Sunday afternoon, and the rest (minus a few to keep for myself, of course) to dinner at Tim and Maureen's that night, where they got rave reviews. The rest were divided up amongst the two of them and Chris as evenly as possible to avoid any fights. I'm still enjoying the ones I kept. In the spirit of the recipe, Dr. Robinson comments, "few things in real life are black and white," and after a long, rough week, I couldn't agree more. But cupcakes, I believe, are white, even the chocolate ones. Taking a moment to enjoy a cupcake is also a chance to take a moment to breathe, relax, and savor the sweet things in life. I think that's what I love most about cupcakes: you can't eat one without smiling. :-)

Tunnel of Fail Cake

Ok, really it’s supposed to be Tunnel of Fudge Cake. But the fact that I am a whole week late on writing about my cake adventure should give you an idea of exactly how well this Cake Day went…

The Tunnel of Fudge Cake requires a Bundt pan, which, naturally, I did not have. Well, technically I have a silicone version, but after a previous silicone muffin disaster and doing some research online, I was way to scared to use it, so I ran out and got a $10.00 real metal nonstick pan from Kroger.

The Bundt pan was created in 1950 by H. David Dalquist. Supposedly, some Jewish women in Minneapolis approached him looking for a better pan to make kugel, a Jewish side dish made of noodles of potatoes (note: I have never tried this, but it is now on my list). Dalquist created the new shape, and women called the pans “bund” pans, for the German term for a gathering of people. Dalquist added the “t” and trademarked it. Incidentally, the pans did not become famous until the introduction of the Tunnel of Fudge Cake by Ella Rita at a Pilsbury Bake-Off in 1966. That makes this week’s recipe both famous and a classic.

Apparently, however, “famous” and “classic” do not correspond to “easy.” First of all, if you’ve ever tried buttering and flouring a Bundt pan, you have experienced true frustration. Trying to get butter in all those little folds is infuriatingly tedious, and how exactly are you supposed to flour that inside spike? Then, I had to cream together 3.5 sticks of butter (!) and 1.75 cups of sugar, which is no small feat with a tiny, cheap pastry cutter and a $10 hand mixer. (Where, oh, where is my KitchenAid?) I’d also like to note that this recipe requires 6 eggs. SIX! Between that and the butter, it might actually be a heart attack on a plate.


Once the buttering and flouring and creaming and mixing were done and the cake was in the oven and my apartment started to fill with the rich smell of chocolate, I calmed down a little. The best moment, though, was removing the cake from the pan. I suddenly loved Bundt pans… you don’t have to do anything and your cake turns out beautiful! Even without frosting. After adding the glaze, I felt pretty satisfied and spent a long time (and several photos) admiring the chocolate gloriousness that was my cake.

Unfortunately, I started to wonder how exactly this cake was going to have a tunnel of fudge inside. At no point did I create said tunnel or add said fudge. So I got back on the internet and did some more research on Bundt and the famous Tunnel of Fudge Cake. Supposedly, the sugar content of the cake prevents the inside from completely solidifying, creating a crisp cake outside but a soft fudge center, with an air pocket above the fudge. Because of this gooey center, the normal toothpick test for doneness can’t be used, and you are dependent on correct temperature and cooking time. Panic set in. Did I beat the butter and sugar until it was fluffy enough? Did I bake it too long? Would I have a tunnel of fudge?


I was trying to save the cake for when my dad arrived, but I didn’t want to serve a cake disaster, so I cut a piece in order to examine the center (and, of course, taste it… both correctness and taste are important when it comes to cake, after all). Sadly, my cake did not have a very prominent fudge center. I was extremely disappointed. It still tasted good though… very rich and very chocolatey. My dad and his wife promptly inhaled the pieces I gave them, and both said it was delicious. My coworkers and friends enjoyed the leftovers as well. So I suppose it wasn’t a complete failure. I’m not sure how many more Bundt cakes I’ll be making, though. Good thing that pan was only $10.

A Quiet Cake Day

I celebrated Cake Day this week with just me. I was needing a little "me time" anyway, and working in the kitchen with the radio up was a nice break from the rest of the world.

This week I was to make a Honey Cake, and I discovered that I'm a little ahead on the time line, because this cake is apparently a tradition for Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, which was a couple weeks ago. The use of honey at this time is a symbol of the wish for a sweet New Year. Neither Dr. Robinson nor I are Jewish, but I had to laugh when I discovered that we share the same envy of Jewish food (especially latkes!); I guess it's not as weird as everyone thinks.

The cake itself required an extensive list of ingredients, but was simple to make, as all that was required was putting everything at once into a large bowl and mixing. The batter, however, smelled like death, due to the addition of bourbon. Bourbon is the one liquor I just can't handle, and the smell of it gave me an instant hangover, without any of the pre-hangover fun. As it baked, though, the cake filled my apartment with a sweet and spicy smell, and the bourbon was soon forgotten. By the time it came out of the oven, I was trying pretty hard to prevent myself from diving in with a fork before it even had a chance to cool.


The glaze, however, gave me fits. Simple: boil honey, water, orange juice, and orange zest until it thickens, then pour over cake. Well, I boiled and boiled and boiled, for a good 30 minutes, but that glaze never thickened. It did, however, boil over and coat my entire stove top in a sticky sludge, wasting a good half of the glaze mixture. Finally, I gave up and just poured what I had over the cake, topped it with almonds, and called it a Cake Day.

Glaze or no glaze, the cake was delicious and complex in flavor, with noticeable notes of orange, honey, vanilla, and spices. It has the texture of banana bread, with a sticky, crunchy honey and almond topping. I consumed way too much in one sitting and ended up with the sugar shakes. The recipe actually makes 2 loaf pans worth of cake, and since I've been on a baking binge recently, I decided I needed to share or else I'd end up 10 pounds heavier and in a state of constant vibration. I took large pieces to Chris and another friend that afternoon, and froze some for Randy, to see if my Jewish cooking skills are passable, and my sister, who had called that morning while I was baking to discuss the ups and downs of graduate school and was quite intrigued by the sound of the cake. (Additionally, unlike me, she enjoys bourbon, so it's only appropriate that she get to try it.) (Also additionally, she complained that I never mention her in my cake blog, which is entirely untrue, but this is her "shout out.") The other cake will go into work tomorrow, and I will carry it in myself... crutch free!!!

A reflection on stand mixers

Once again, I am delinquent in my cake update. Apologies.

I feel as though this chapter is somewhat of a reprimand. How many times have I lamented not owning a KitchenAid? Dr. Robinson apparently has also always wanted a KitchenAid, but had to settle for a cheaper but sturdy and efficient stand mixer. When this mixer died, she excitedly went to buy a KitchenAid... only to find out it was too big, too excessive, and full of "flaws" her old mixer didn't have. She actually bought one 4 times... only to return each of them. She ended up settling for the new model of her old mixer, which, to be fair, she was also displeased with, so it might not entirely be the fault of the KitchenAid. But still... perhaps I should keep my appliance envy in check. In most cases, my hand mixer and a spoon are sturdy and efficient enough to get the job done. (But I'm pretty sure I still want a KitchenAid one day...)

Cake Day was Saturday. Tim, Maureen, Chris, and I had planned another cooking adventure for dinner, so naturally, I had to contribute cake. Due to a full day, I got up early just to make it. I've been particularly surly regarding work lately, and I found it a bit sad that I while dread dragging myself out of bed in the morning to go to work, getting up to make this cake was easy and seemed like the perfect way to start my day. Perhaps I should have gone to culinary school...


This week's recipe was an Irish Buttermilk Bannock, a flat, bready cake related to the scone. There were surprisingly few "wet" ingredients, making the batter very sticky. The recipe suggests topping it with blackberries, but as the cake itself wasn't very sweet and there were no instructions for the topping, I spread a layer of left-over powdered sugar glaze over the top and made a blackberry sauce by cooking together blackberries, sugar, lemon juice, and corn starch. The color of the blackberries was a beautiful against the cream and gold of the cake, and everything blended together quite well. We ate almost the entire thing, so it couldn't have been too bad.


It was a simple recipe (stand mixer free), and was a good finish for our meal. Nothing fancy or extravagant or fancy about this Cake Day. Well, nothing special aside from the fact that there was cake, which, in my opinion, can make any day a little special.

A very special Cake Day

Sorry for the tardiness. Cake Day did happen last week! Life has just been too crazy to write about it.

Last week's Cake Day was extra special because I had an extra special guest: my mom! She came down all the way from Cleveland, OH for the week to clean my apartment, do my laundry, buy groceries, cook some good meals, and just generally take care of me to give me a little break from the frustrations of being on crutches. And she did all this while working from my apartment (note to self: get a job that allows me to work from home). It was excellent. Pretty sure I have the best mom ever!

In honor of her coming, we of course had to celebrate Cake Day. The timing of her visit couldn't have been any more perfect, because this cake was invented with her in mind: almond semolina cake--full of almond flavor, not too sweet, almost like a coffee cake. More on that later, though. First, further proof of the awesomeness of my mom.


For this cake I needed a springform pan, yet another item this unwed baker doesn't own. (I might want to get married just to have a registry...) I was searching online trying to figure out how I could use a regular pan, but mom either had less faith in my MacGyver skills or was just impatient for cake, so she insisted we go to Target to get one. All I wanted was a springform pan. And we came out with a springform pan, a new high-tech cookie sheet, a cake carrier, and this AMAZING cupcake contraption that is both a pan and a carrier. (I need to makes some cupcakes soon because I'm dying to use it!) Excellent. Completely unnecessary, but super generous, and made my day. Soon I'll be almost like a real baker!


The cake itself wasn't too tricky (aside from separating the eggs, which my mom did, because I'm no good at it), but there was some guess work, since there were a few important directions left out of the recipe (a first edition issue, no doubt). But my guessing must have been right, because the cake turned out beautifully! My apartment smelled delicious while it was baking, and the cake was lovely--we actually had a cake photo shoot, partially because the cake was so pretty, and partly to show off my new cake toys. While it cooled, we had champagne to celebrate my paper, cheese, and black olive and onion focaccia bread, and then made a fancy, fabulous dinner of swordfish, asparagus, and fried green tomatoes. Then we helped ourselves to cake, paired with more champagne, which we enjoyed in the lovely weather outside on my porch. Quite a tasty evening.


This cake would be great for breakfast or with brunch. (My mom noted the next morning that it's excellent with coffee, although it was pretty darn good with champagne too.) The brown sugar and almond topping was delicious, and the cake itself had a unique texture, probably due to the semolina flour. Definitely a winner. It's a cake you can take places and be impressive.

It was a perfect Cake Day, and my mom and I enjoyed the cake throughout the rest of her stay. I was really sad to see her leave, but happy I got to spend some time with her and so, so grateful for everything she did for me while she was here.

Happy Birthday, Alex!

Tomorrow is Alex's birthday, one of my coworkers. So this week's Cake day is dedicated to her. Which made the rest of my lab quite happy as well. Any excuse for sweets in science. In fact, a direct quote from Justin, another of my labmates, this afternoon after yet another failed attempt at an experiment: "Since nothing in my life is working, I'm going to go eat cake." Exactly.

I particularly liked reading this week's chapter, because it mentioned people I knew from the bio department back in college. I stopped for a little to wonder how they were doing, if they're still there, trying to figure out how I can stop by the university one day when school is still in session to see everyone, instead of taking my usual eerily silent walk through the ghost town of campus around the holidays. It also describes the adventures of Dr. Robinson and her friends during a "camp out" for adult women hosted by the Girl Scout organization as a fundraiser. Sounds like my kind of camping: classes included archery, wine tasting, and belly dancing (which her description of made me laugh--a lot), and a catered seafood dinner. Fantastic. They even consult a Ouija board back in their cabin, and I can't help but laugh to myself at the thought of these three grown, mature women, who mentored me through college, giggling like preteen girls over the game board. I wonder if my mom and her friends do this on their get-togethers. I wonder if my friends and I will, after we've had careers, been married, had children, bought houses. I hope we do.

Making this cake was somewhat of its own adventure; I might as well have been in the woods, what with all the spontaneous improvising I had to do. The cake was supposed to be a chocolate cake with peanut butter icing and a chocolate garnish. My first issue, however, was that the recipe called for a jelly roll pan. I don't actually know what a jelly roll is, much less what the pan for one looks like, and I certainly do not own one (my list of required supplies is growing: KitchenAid, second double boiler, jelly roll pan). After a quick 911 call to Google, I decided to just use a 9 x 13 cake pan. They're both... rectangular. The cake itself went smoothly, as did the peanut butter chip frosting. (I think I ate like a gallon of it... it almost didn't make it to the cake.) When I got to the garnish, though, I had some problems. Seemed simple: 1/2 cup chocolate chips, 1 teaspoon of butter. Melt in microwave for 1 minute, drizzle over cake. So I put my chips and butter in a cup and put it in the microwave for 1 minute, took it out and gave it a stir to smooth it out, and... it solidified almost instantly. Strange. Perhaps I didn't add enough butter? So I added a little more butter, and put it back in the microwave for a few seconds. And when I took it out, I had... chocolate carbon. A weird charcoal like substance that had no business on a cake. So I tried again, with another 1/2 cup of chocolate chips. Still not drizzleable. Stubbornly, however, I attempted to drizzle, and just ended up with some chocolate lumps on top of my beautiful peanut butter frosting. What to do? On a whim, I melted the rest of the bag of chocolate chips, plopped it on top of the cake, and spread it out. Ta-da! A layer of chocolate ganache (sort of). The cake looked and smelled so delicious, I was sure no one would be the wiser.


And it was a big hit. We all gathered in the office while Alex cut her cake and we enjoyed slices that were probably too big but rich and delicious. The cake itself is similar to the cake part of the Best Cake Ever. (I'm actually starting to love chocolate cake. Apparently it just needs to be made from scratch and contain sour cream.) The topping was sort of like a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. I could feel the cavities forming in my teeth as I ate.

All in all, a successful Cake Day. I sharpened my improvisation skills, Alex got a birthday treat, and we all got a little something to sweeten up what seems to have been a sad week in science.

Down in the Dumps

"Dump cake. A cake made by 'dumping' the ingredients directly into the baking pan, mixing them, and baking the batter." --John F. Mariani, Encyclopedia of American Food and Drink.

Or, a cake you make when "sad" doesn't begin to describe how you're feeling.

I needed cake today. No time for plans with friends or elaborate dinners. I needed something sweet in my life and I needed it NOW.

I found out that I have a stress fracture in my right hip. I've been on crutches since Friday, and I'll be on crutches for another 1 - 3 months, depending on how the fracture heals. I was scheduled to run 5 races this season; I've already registered, the money is spent and now lost. But not only do I need to stay off my leg, I can't do ANYTHING. No yoga, no biking, not even swimming. I exercise 6 or 7 days a week, and on some of those days, twice. I walk everywhere. And now all I can do is sit. Working out, and especially running, is my stress relief. Plus, I live alone--my family is 700 miles away, my boyfriend is 800, my only roommates are two cats and a turtle. So I'm in a vicious downward cycle--I'm stressed because I can't work out and I'm trying to figure out how to accomplish basic every day errands and work and chores, but I can't relieve the stress because I can't work out. The best option for quick, albeit temporary relief, is clearly cake. So today was an Emergency Cake Day.

I giggled a lot reading this chapter. The Dump Cake is an official Girl Scout sanctioned cake, intended to be made in a standard Girl Scout issue cast iron Dutch oven and cooked over a campfire. (Thankfully, Dr. R has included a home version for those of us who never made it past Daisies.) The chapter tells the story of Dr. R's last Girl Scout camp-out with her youngest daughter, and is so candidly written and full of different emotions that in three short pages, you've found yourself crying, laughing, and swimming in nostalgia. The theme of the camp-out is Survivor, and Dr. R describes the antics of the girls as their teams try to "Outwit, Outplay, and Outlast" with clear motherly affection, and the antics of a few mothers (you know the type) with tongue in cheek.

After reading the chapter I felt a little pang of sadness, but also the tiny seed of determination. This is my Survivor Challenge. I, too, have to "Outwit, Outplay, and Outlast." But instead of two days in the woods, I have 3 months in Life. How will I cook meals, clean my apartment, feed my cats, get groceries, work in a lab while on crutches? How will I cope when I am completely and utterly overwhelmed by frustration, anger, or sadness? Baby steps. The first thing I will do is make a cake.


So I crutch into Kroger, ask the manager if I can put items in my back pack while I shop, grab the unbelievably short list of ingredients for the cake, and reluctantly but gratefully accept the help of an Infectious Disease doctor who complimented my stellar crutch technique to carry my groceries to my car. (Baby step 1: accept help. Still working on Baby Step 2: Ask for it.) I hop a couple times around the kitchen to grab a pan, a spoon, and oven mitts and preheat the oven. I dump all the ingredients into the pan (ok, so the butter was more placed than dumped) and enjoy a good laugh at how ridiculous the pre-baked cake looks. After the Tomato Cake, however, I am wise, and I excitedly put the cake in the oven and distract myself for the hour while it bakes with a book. (The Help, by Kathryn Stockett. Yes, like the movie. Read it. It's better for you.) Soon my whole apartment smells like melting butter, and when the cake comes out of the oven, it is crisp and bubbling. I attempt to wait for the cake to cool enough for me to eat, but after approximately two minutes, I scoop out a small amount.

It's almost like cobbler, sweet and buttery, soft with a perfect crunch on top. So I grab a much bigger scoop, devise a method of furniture surface leap frog to get my plate to the sofa, and eat way too much cake while watching several episodes of Scrubs. The magic of Cake Day settles in; for now, my spirits have lifted and my outlook is not so bleak, I will Survive. It might sound selfish, but I'm glad I kept all the magic for myself this time. I needed to take a moment to take a deep breath and regroup, just me, myself, and cake. (The cake, however, I cannot keep all to myself, as it would be gone in two days, and since I'm not working out, eating an entire cake is probably not a good plan.)


Right now, forget the crutches. I've got cobbler.

Best Cake Ever

That's really all that needs to be said about this cake. It is pastry perfection.

Cake Day this week was Monday, in honor of Labor Day, a day off work, and the closing of a fantastic week with Randy. He helped me bake, by which I mean he spent most of the time sitting in his office chair reading instructions while I ran frantically around the kitchen. However, he did make an excellent photographer, and we played Wii while cake parts were baking and cooling and freezing, so it ended up being a lovely late afternoon together.

This week's recipe was New Orleans Chocolate Cake, chosen by Dr. Robinson at the time as a way to celebrate the city of New Orleans and honor the growing number of victims from Hurricane Katrina, which was pounding the city of New Orleans and the surrounding area at this time during her Year of Cake. Purposely or not, this declaration now forever associates this cake with the memory of that event. Once one has read the chapter, one can never make this cake without remembering for a brief moment the devastation and those who were lost in the horrible storm.


My feelings going into making this cake, however, could not be more opposite. There is no great tragedy in my life right now, and aside from the sadness slowly sneaking in as my impending departure drew nearer, this week had been full of joy and I was ready to celebrate. And this was the perfect cake. It was complicated, and I had to cheat a little--the recipe includes instructions to make a homemade chocolate pudding filling, but I used a box of Jello pudding mix. I didn't have the space, equipment (2 double boilers?!), or time necessary to take on making both a pudding and a cake, and I wanted to keep things simple and easy, so we could enjoy the baking process and being together without getting frustrated over first-time pudding-making.


If my infidelity to the recipe had any negative impact, it was impossible to tell. This was honestly the best cake I have ever eaten. The chocolate cake itself is moist and rich, likely from the addition of sour cream. A simple, light whipped cream frosting makes the perfect topping, adding just a bit of texture and flavor contrast without overwhelming or taking away from the cake itself. And the pudding filling adds a pleasant little surprise right in the center. We added sprinkles again for a splash of color, and helped ourselves to giant pieces, which we ate sitting in bed watching Star Wars (the original ones, not the lame new ones). I'm fairly certain I can't think of a better way to spend an evening than devouring a huge piece of indescribably delicious chocolate cake while lounging in pajamas in front of the TV in a sea of pillows and blankets. I'm so glad I ended up making this cake while I was up in Princeton, not only because I know that Randy really liked it as well, but because the whole experience definitely wouldn't have been as fun, or as meaningful, without him. Maybe the cake wouldn't even have tasted as good (although honestly, it's so amazing, I kind of doubt it :-p). I will definitely be making this cake again. It's worth the effort. Maybe next time I'll get brave and try making my own pudding.


I successfully completed two traveling Cake Days. It will be nice to be back in my own kitchen for the next one, but I'm going to miss my Cake Mate bunches. (P.S. We don't usually dress alike, I swear. In particular, we don't usually dress like twin bums. Pajamas, remember?)



9/17/11 Best Cake Ever reprise: My friend had her birthday this week, so I told her I'd make her a cake and gave her a choice of any that I've made so far. After hearing me rave about this one, it was an easy choice. So I made it again and took it to our Mexican Margarita party. We caused quite a ruckus in the restaurant with our singing and cake with 40 candles (she's not actually anywhere near 40; in fact she's not even 30 yet). It was a huge hit, and we left the rest for our waiters, as a thank-you for putting up with our group and the free round of birthday tequila shots! Seriously... this is the best cake ever.

Celebrating the simple things

This week's Cake Day was extra-special. My boyfriend, Randy, moved to New Jersey in April for a post doctoral position at Princeton. We haven't seen each other in almost 5 months. But thanks to Delta SkyMiles, I finally made it up here to see his new apartment, his new campus, his new life.

He is in need of some home-baked goods, and since this project is becoming an important part of my life, I wanted him to be included, so it only made sense to celebrate Cake Day with Randy. This week's recipe is for The White Cake, a cake made by Dr. Robinson's mother-in-law for nearly all important celebrations. The recipe is simple, and even states you can mix the cake batter by hand (my kind of cooking!). I baked the cakes while Randy was at work, which was an adventure in what he calls his "RV kitchen" (it's tiny), with even fewer tools at my disposal than usual (I brought my own cake pans and cooling rack). If I can get a cake out of here, I can get a cake out of anywhere. We frosted together after lunch (well, ok, I frosted and Randy took pictures... and added his own flair with some sprinkles), but patiently waited to savor our beautiful creation until after a run, dinner, and the last Harry Potter movie (we may have been the last people in the world who hadn't seen it). The first bite was an exciting moment, and well worth the wait. The cake itself is moist and almost satiny, and the frosting will satisfy even the most ravenous sweet tooth. It's simple, classic, and pure deliciousness.


Reading this cake's chapter, I find the timing of this Cake Day was particularly fitting. The Robinson family made this cake the week of Hurricane Katrina, and although not nearly as devastating as Katrina, Hurricane Irene blew through the East Coast earlier this week, and many areas, including the Princeton area, are still recovering from the flooding. Their Cake Day doubled as a celebration of Dr. R's in-laws' 63rd wedding anniversary. While nowhere near as impressive as a 63rd wedding anniversary, we are celebrating the slightly belated 3-year anniversary of our own relationship. But for us, it's the pure simplicity of this cake that I find most fitting. We have no big plans, no fancy outings planned for my time here. We are just enjoying our time together, playing it by ear, being us. Good local food, the beach, movies, running, and whatever else we're inspired to do that lets us enjoy each others company in a way Skype, AIM, and cell phones can't. And pretending we're movie critics and groaning about our sore calves late at night over slices of sweet cake is a perfect way to celebrate us.