Choclate makes everything better

Even the winter blues. Well, a little better, at least.

Dr. Robinson was also fighting the winter blahs when she made this cake. It's a glum time of year--back to the daily grind after the holidays, no vacation in sight, the weather is chilly and rainy. Dr. R says there was snow in Ohio. I wouldn't mind a little snow right now. It has a quiet, calming effect, bringing a noticeable hush to the usually bustling city. Of course, part of that is because the entire Atlanta area shuts down at the first flake, but, that aside, if you know snow, you know what I mean. I could use a little of that peace right now.

I made last week's cake - Mink Coat Chocolate Cake - and I just... kept it. I ate it piece by piece myself, except for a couple pieces I gave to Tim and Maureen for helping me out when I had a flat tire (my third since October... don't drive your tires past 40,000 miles). I believe the name derives from the icing, a heavy, thick caramel icing made from butter and brown sugar that seals the entire top of the cake in sugary perfection, the way a heavy mink coat wraps a person in soft warmth against an icy winter evening. The cake itself was particularly delicious for a chocolate cake as well. I can say that I truly enjoyed every piece. Sometimes you have days where the highlight is sitting at home in your pajamas wrapped in a blanket watching bad TV and eating chocolate cake. I had 6 of those days. In a row. This week will hopefully be better. Although the distinct lack of chocolate cake might be the first sign of trouble.

Goodbye, Alex

Last week was a fellow graduate student's final week. I thought it was an appropriate occasion for the cake, to add to the sweet part of the bittersweet occasion.

The cake was a Galette des Rois, or King's Epiphany Cake, the true purpose of which is to celebrate the Feast of the Epiphany. In actual tradition, a figurine of the baby Jesus or a bean should be hidden inside and the cake is topped with a crown; whoever gets the piece of cake with the hidden treasure is King for the day and gets to wear the crown. I had none of these things, and I didn't think it was necessary for our purposes, so my cake was Jesus-less and crown-less.

The cake is a puff pastry filled with an almond/egg/rum filling. The most exciting part of the recipe is that it actually calls for frozen puff pastry. Because there was no way I was making puff pastry from scratch. That's just one step too far. Sadly, I couldn't find the type of puff pastry suggested, or even a box of the appropriate size, so I had to use some creativity and kitchen skills to make the pastry fit (see picture). It was otherwise relatively simple, and came out a delicious, flaky, golden brown puff of sweetness.

The whole lab and then some actually gathered in the office for cake. I kind of wished there had been Jesus in my cake, because I was concerned I would need a miracle to make sure everyone got a piece (like the loaves and fishes?). Thankfully we ended up with just enough. It was the perfect cake for Alex--not too sweet, not too heavy (she's not a big dessert person). One of the post docs in my lab was actually even more excited--she lived in France, and apparently this is one of her favorite cakes; she waits all year for it to be "in season." I asked her if it was any good compared to the more authentic ones I supposed she got in France or from her French friends and family members. She assured me it was, and made sure to scrape the last of the crumbs from the pan. A big compliment, in my opinion.

We all spent some non-science togetherness time, made small talk, ate cake, discussed Alex's plans for her time off and her future job. I tried to convince her to stay by pointing out that she would no longer have easy access to an endless supply of baked goods in her new lab. No such luck, though. I will definitely miss her at work. But thankfully she lives close so we can still hang out. And it's proof there's light at the end of the tunnel--she defended and graduated and is moving on to a great job. So it's possible. I'm just hoping it's sooner for me, rather than later.

Fruit Cake: Reprise

I was going to attach this to the actual fruitcake post, but I decided it was too amazing and deserved it's own special newsflash post. Kind of like the KitchenAid. But not quite that special.

Anyway, I took a loaf of the fruitcake back to Cleveland with me. Apparently my grandma actually likes fruitcake, so mom thought she'd be excited. Clearly she was, because she stole a piece before I had even frosted it. We decided to have it during our tree decorating event, so I unwrapped the cake from it's rum-soaked foil and cheese cloth, plopped it on a festive glass plate, topped it with almond paste and a powdered sugar glaze as directed, and set it on the table... where it was for the most part avoided. After finishing the tree, my sister, who had seemed quite intrigued by the prospect of actually seeing and tasting a fruitcake, which we had only heard about in the Christmas lore of comedians (Emily: Is that a treasure map?), finally asked if she should try some, so we all took a small piece. I warily took my first bite. It was... GREAT! It wasn't hard as brick or gummy or anything like what you usually think fruitcake will be like. The rum was intense, but not in a bad way, and I think the frosting really brought it all together. I actually enjoyed eating it. So did my grandma, and my sister. Unclear about mom... she seemed unimpressed by the whole ordeal, although she did admit that it was better than she'd thought it would be.

We ended up taking the rest of the loaf over to our family friends' house for dinner. Turns out, they also love fruitcake, and they had great things to say about this one. They even asked for the recipe. I felt like a proud mama--my ugly duckling had turned out to be a beautiful swan. Remember the tomato cake. ;-)

I took the other loaf to Tim and Maureen's holiday party along with the chocolate cake. The results were similar: many surprised positive comments. A few people took some home, and Tim asked to keep a big piece, which he said was quickly eaten. Even Randy admitted it wasn't bad.

All in all, my holiday cake baking was successful (minus that cursed Yule log...). A couple I'd make again: the gingerbread and the New Year's cake for sure, and the chocolate cake was easy so I'd make it if asked, or if I was going somewhere that required an impressive conversation starter. I don't know if I'd ever make another fruitcake. It's an expensive endeavor, but it might be worth it, especially if I know there will be people who like fruitcake, because those are the people who truly appreciated this cake most, I think. As for the Yule log... I don't care how many people tell me how many times that it was their favorite. Never again.

Happy New Year!

It’s amazing how so many different cultures have chosen to associate specific cakes with so many different holidays. What is it about cake that says “celebration”? Why is it so easy for us to assign significance to certain cakes, but not certain granola bars or types of chicken? I was worried that baking a cake every week would take away the “special-ness” of cake, but so far, I have not found that to be true. For me, or for any of the many people I have been fortunate enough to share these cakes with.

Many cultures apparently have a certain cake they bake in celebration of their New Year. The New Year’s cake in this book is Vassilopitta, or St. Basil’s Day Cake, a citrus and almond cake with many variations from the Greek culture, baked to celebrate both the New Year and the life of St. Basil, one of the founders of the Greek Orthodox Church, who is said to have died on New Year’s Day. Traditionally, a gold or silver coin is baked into the cake, and whoever finds the coin in his or her piece will be lucky throughout the year.

I baked this cake for New Year’s Day brunch (and by brunch, I mean whatever you call the meal you eat at 3:00 p.m. cuz you woke up at 2:00…). The recipe made a giant amount of batter, so I actually ended up with two cakes. We ate our pieces while the cake was still warm, as the recipe suggests, and it was excellent with our (attempted) omelet, turkey bacon, and orange slices. I saved a few pieces of the first cake for myself and took the rest to Tim and Maureen, and the second cake went to work, where it got rave reviews.

Dr. Robinson says she believes how some spends New Year’s Day is a predictor of the year to come. “If you spend the day squandering money, then the year will be one in which money will flow away from you. If you spend the day passively watching football, you will spend the year observing the action instead of taking part in the game.” I don’t know what that means for me. Randy and I slept in late after our night of partying like rockstars, made brunch together, spent the rest of the afternoon watching movies and playing Wii Fit, and then made dinner together. Nothing dramatic or exciting or novel, but quiet and satisfying and filled with a simple sort of happiness. I know it won’t be a quiet year—there’s so much to do if I want to graduate and move by the end of 2012. And Randy and I won’t physically spend the year together, since we’re living 800 miles apart. I will, however, be doing a lot of cooking, what with all these cakes to be made… As for the deeper meaning, I guess I’ll just have to wait and see what happens.

Christmas Magic

I love the story behind this cake:

In 1914, in Flanders, France, the Germans were battling the British and French, but Christmas was rapidly approaching. The Germans began putting up signs with messages like “You no fight, we no fight.” More and more signs appeared, and then they threw a chocolate cake into the British and French trenches, wrapped in a note asking for a one-hour cease-fire on Christmas to celebrate. Apparently, that evening both sides met in the middle of the battlefield to play soccer, sing Christmas carols, and exchange gifts like cognac, postcards, newspapers, and the chocolate cake. Eventually, the generals decided this was unacceptable and sent everyone back to resume the fight. An interesting comment on war, and a testament to the magic of Christmas.

Dr. Robinson searched for the recipe of the chocolate cake that had been chucked into the British and French trenches, but could find no reference. One of her daughters suggested it must have been a loaf cake, since such a cake would be the right shape for throwing and dense enough to survive the toss. So they selected a recipe for what is essentially a chocolate pound cake.

Randy was in town to celebrate New Year’s, so we made this cake together to take to Tim and Maureen’s holiday party. It was somewhat messy, despite the relative simplicity of the recipe, but we had fun, and Randy made an eager assistant. The end result was a bit dry for my taste, but that is my common complaint with chocolate cakes in general (and why I’m so surprised every time I try a chocolate cake from here and end up loving it), but it went over well at the party and leftovers were distributed amongst guests and hosts.

I must say that I am glad that, at the end of our party, we got to go home and curl up in bed, instead of returning to dirty, cold trenches to resume battle. But I am a bit sad we didn't have an experience as miraculous or story-worthy. Maybe we should have played catch with the cake, just for good measure. At least we'd know if the cake was truly tossable. Next year.