Great Closing: Book Group Apple Cake

Today's recipe from Hunger No More: Food & Fellowship from the Episcopal Diocese of Washington is actually from my own church! St. Alban's has been serving DC as a free church for 157 years. (What's a free church, you may ask? Well, back in the day, most churches charged pew rent; St. Alban's never did, by design.)

There's a book group at St. A.'s, and, like book groups the world over, it's at least partially fueled by food.

Book Group Apple Cake

3 large apples, roughly diced
2 cups sugar (I mix white and brown)
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 cup raisins (soaked in brandy is nice, for adults)
1/2 cup chopped, pecans (optional)
2 eggs, beaten
2 tsp vanilla
2 cups unbleached flour (replace 1/4 with wheat germ for added nutrition)
2 tsp baking soda
2 tsp cinnamon
a few shakes of ground cloves
1 tsp salt

Mix chopped apples with sugars, then add oil, raisins and/or nuts, eggs and vanilla. Mix dry ingredients together and stir into moist mixture. Bake in a 9 inch square pan (or a tube pan) at 350F for one hour, or until done (test with a toothpick). Serves 12.

So named because our parish book group urged its inclusion in the cookbook. We don't know if the cake keeps well, since there's never any left.

Joyce Walker
St. Alban's, DC

To be honest, it's not the St. Alban's connection that made me include this recipe. No, it's the last sentence, the epic closing, that promise of cake so wonderful you'll never have a crumb left.

I dig a recipe with a promise.

I'll wager it keeps well -- so much of the cake is sugar and apples, it's just bound to be moist as all get out.

This week's daily reminder: you can order your own copy of Hunger No More and support feeding ministries in the DC area.

Blotkake: A Special Occasion Layer Cake

Yesterday, I slapped a poll up on Facebook asking which of three recipes from Favorite Recipes from Caldwell, Idaho should be posted today. This one won by a landslide, but never fear: the second place one will go up tomorrow, too, as I run yet another poll on Facebook asking which cookbook I should feature next. Without further ado:

Bløtkake (A Special Occasion Layer Cake)
Mrs. Bjorn Friling

1 1/4 c. sifted cake flour
2 tsp. double-acting baking powder
6 egg yolks
3/4 c. granulated sugar
6 egg whites
3 squares German's sweet cooking chocolate
3/4 c. margarine or butter
1 1/4 c. confectioners sugar
2 eggs
2 c. heavy cream

Make, then freeze, several days ahead as follows: 1. Heat oven to 325°. Line bottoms of three 9-inch layer cake pans with waxed paper. Sift cake flour with baking powder. 2. In small bowl, with mixer at high speed, beat egg yolks with granulated sugar until light. In large bowl, beat egg whites stiff. Fold in yolks and flour. Pour into pans. Bake 15 minutes or until golden. Cool on racks. Remove and freeze in paper. 3. Early in the day to be used: Thaw cakes at room temperature for 1 hour. Meanwhile, with knife, shred chocolate; reserve 1/4 cup. Also, in small bowl, with electric mixer at high speed, with electric mixer at high speed, mix butter with confectioners sugar. Then beat in 2 eggs until creamy. Refrigerate this butter cream. 4. On serving plate, place 1 layer, bottom side up. top with 1/2 of butter cream, then half of shredded chocolate. Set second layer in place, top as before; place third layer. 5. Whip cream; frost cake with some and decorate with rest. Garnish with reserved chocolate. Refrigerate immediately until served.

Say it with me now: BUTTER, not margarine. Use butter.

Now, if you've Googled "bløtkake," as I have, you might be surprised to see that there's not a single berry used in this cake. It's still legit! It seems that bløtkake is sort of catch as catch can in Norway. Use what you have, and what you like. Love marzipan? Cover the whole thing in Marzipan. Blueberries in season? Go to town with blueberries! The chocolate is pretty darned optional.

Chocolate lovers, be at ease: you can use chocolate and berries, if you like. Perhaps some lovely raspberries or sliced strawberries?

Mrs. Frilling also contributed her Norwegian Meat Balls recipe -- that's Kjøttkaker for you Norwegian speakers, or those who like the excuse to use a slashed ellipse in a blog post. That recipe is currently in the running for tomorrow's bonus post -- it's up against Bagdad (sic) Hash, which is a casserole with both canned chow mein noodles and crushed potato chips. Either way, we'll wrap up our time with Favorite Recipes from Caldwell, Idaho on a savory note.

Mother's Fruit Cake: Boozeless (Mostly) Fruit Cake

I love a good fruit cake. I even like a mediocre fruit cake. The fact that so many people mock fruit cake makes me sad, mostly because I really would love to start getting fruit cakes as gifts again as folks did in days of whatnot. We've already covered one fruit cake option (Brandied Fruitcake Drops) here, but Presbyterian Palate Pleasers gives us a proper, mostly-full-on recipe.

Mother's Fruit Cake

1 lb. brown sugar
6 eggs
1/2 lb. butter
1-1/2 lb. flour (6 c.)
1/2 tsp. cloves
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
3 tsp. baking powder
1/2 c. milk
1 c. wine
1 lb. currants
1 c. black walnuts
1 lb. raisins
1/2 lb. dates
1/4 lb. citron
1 lb. English Walnuts
1/4 lb. cherries
1/2 lb. figs
1/4 lb. lemon peel
1/4 lb. orange peel
1 c. flour to dredge fruit

Mix ingredients. Grease and flour one large tube pan and one 9x3" loaf pan. Fill each pan 2/3 full and bake at 275° until a toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Serves about 25. Old recipe.

Anne Hinkle

Oh, Anne. We had such high hopes, seeing as how your churchly volunteering led you to take a bartending course. One cup of wine hardly seems properly boozy for such a lot of cake. Especially seeing as how the wine is baked with the cake, and so much of the alcohol goes away.

To fix this, I'd suggest basting the finished cake in rum, and then soaking cheesecloth in rum and wrapping the cake up with the cheesecloth and basting it every few days/weeks for a good long time.

My mother, however, prefers her fruitcake boozeless. No, really. She has many other fine qualities, I assure you.

Though the recipe doesn't specify, I'm betting all the fruit in this recipe should be dried and/or candied/glaceed. The cloves should be ground. The nuts can be swapped with other nuts if you're anti-walnut. The wine can be whatever you have -- knowing that it will lend color to the cake if you use red wine. I'd go for a sherry, or a tawny port, likely.

My favorite thing about this recipe has got to be the fact that there are two cake pans in use here. One gives you a big, pretty, take-it-to-the-church-pot-luck sort of cake. The other one is what you keep for yourself, to nibble on next to a cup of tea or a glass of sherry or port.

Santiago Cake and Nostalgia: Tarta de Almendra O Merlo

Christmas is just days away, and I'm filled with a hankering to bake. We had a cookie exchange at work a few weeks ago (I made 7 Layer Cookies), but there's still room in my holiday kitchen for something sweet. Okay, I'll admit it: almost all the cookies are already gone. There was a caroling party! It was raining! People ate cookies!

Getting back to the point, Delicioso! The Regional Cooking of Spain shares a baked good I had at the end of more than one happy meal in Spain.

Tarta de Almendra O Merlo
(Galician Almond Cake O Merlo)

There is hardly a restaurant in Galicia that does not offer the region’s traditional almond cake, often called tarta de Santiago because the cross of Spain’s patron saint, Santiago, is usually emblazoned in the cake with caramelized sugar.

Santiago, known in English as the apostle Saint James, was said to have traveled to Spain to preach the Gospel, and after he was martyred in Jerusalem his body miraculously reappeared in Galicia in a field that gradually developed into the glorious city of Santiago de Compostela (see my Discovering Spain: An Uncommon Guide for the full story). Santiago de Compostela became a place of mass pilgrimage in medieval times as millions of Europe’s faithful made the arduous journey on foot to reach the shrine of the Apostle. On of Galicia’s most enduring symbols is the distinctive cross of Santiago.

Tarta de almendra is a single-layer almond cake, simple and moist. Although served as a dessert in Galicia, we would probably consider it more appropriate as a tea cake. One of the best I have eaten comes from Alfonso Merlo, the owner and chef of O Merlo, in the provincial capital of Pontevedra, a restaurant specializing in tapas that are often meal-size. It is a great place to eat when here to visit the city’s quaint Old Quarter and delightful old squares.

Makes one 8-inch cake

6 ounces blanched almonds (about 1 cup)
6 tablespoons flour
¾ cup sugar
3 eggs
Confectioners’ sugar

In a processor, coarsely chop 2 ounces (about 1/3 cup) of the almonds with the flour. Remove from the processor and reserve. Now add to the processor the remaining almonds and ¼ cup of the sugar, and grind the almonds as fine as possible.

In a bowl, with an electric mixer beat the eggs until foamy. Add the remaining ½ cup sugar and beat until the mixture is light-colored and thick. Then beat in the sugar-and-almond and flour-and-almond mixtures. Pour into a greased and floured 8-inch springform pan and bake at 350°F for about 35 to 40 minutes, or until the cake springs back slightly to the touch. Cool, then remove the rim of the pan and sprinkle the cake heavily with confectioners’ sugar.

To burn the traditional cross in the sugar, heat a thin metal skewer (protect your hand with a pot holder) over a flame until the lower portion is red-hot. Press the skewer over the center of the cake to caramelize the sugar. Wipe off the skewer, reheat, and repeat to form a cross.

I never even once saw the cross burnt into the sugar. Never once. No, instead the cross was stenciled on to the cake with powdered sugar.



Oh, the bakery. This bakery was actually in Santiago proper, just as we were walking down the last hill into the center of town. You can see the full-sized cakes, and the smaller cakes. The apple pies. Oh! The donuts! And, dead center, there's even big empanadas.

The Santiago cake (and, yes, I only ever heard it called tarta de Santiago, and never de Almendra) is so very moist. Moist, and dense, and crumbly. I'd serve it with a dollop of stiff whipped cream on the side, and some raspberries or a sprig of mint. Even with the signature dessert of the region, things are kept best when kept simple.

I'll tell you, this goes fine with cider or wine, but I bet it'd also be amazing with some sherry. Or...some kirsch.

I think the first slice I had was in Palas de Rei, right after we met up again with Mr. and Mrs. Belgium. We knew their real names, but as they'd walked out their front door in Belgium months before and just kept walking, we called 'em Belgium. They thought it was funny. We played a mean game of Uno that afternoon, and a meaner game of Bullshit.



The time walking on the Camino was special; the time together in the afternoons and evenings, tired and sharing a new common set of references... it was amazing. I'm feeling all nostalgic; all the youth who went on that pilgrimage with me have graduated, gone off to college... I hope I get to see them when they come back into town for Christmas.

It's not a bad time of year for nostalgia, served up with a slice of cake.

Not the New Fashion: Old Fashion Pork Cake

I'm hard-pressed to come up with a suitable introduction to today's recipe from Favorite Recipes from Matinicus Island Maine. It's a war-time cake, though would work for any time the cows aren't giving milk or the ferry isn't bringing dairy goods over to your island. Other recipes for cakes like this include dried fruit...you may do so if you wish. In this case, I back down off my "raisins aren't optional" stance.

Old Fashion Pork Cake

2 cups molasses
2 cups salt pork, cut fine
2 cups boiling water, turn over pork
2 cups brown sugar
2 teaspoons soda
2 teaspoons cassia
2 teaspoons cloves
2 teaspoons allspice
2 teaspoons nutmeg
2 teaspoons ginger
3 eggs
8 cups flour

Makes 4 loaves, bake 1 hour, not too hot an oven.

--Mrs. Raynes

Yes. Pork cake. Pork. Cake.

I think one of the reasons this is of the old fashion is the amount of ingredients. See that nice long list of twos? Easier to remember a recipe if you can just say 2, 2, 2, 2, 2; 1/4s and 1/3s and 1/8s and whatnot are much more fussy. I'd be willing to hazard a guess that it was originally two eggs, too; the third egg will make the cake rise a bit more, though, so stick to it.

With this entry, I'm going back and editing the publishing date for Favorite Recipes from Matinicus Island Maine from 1970s to 1960s. See, I found Verna Ames who gave us the Tomato Soup Cake recipe--I love the internet. She wrote back and said that she remembered the book being from the 1960s, and I trust her memory.

Favorite Recipes from Matinicus Island Maine, by the Matinicus Ladies Aid Society; Tomato Soup Cake

I love The Wine Lover's Cookbook but have to admit that after a week of glossy pictures, perfect binding, and lengthy descriptions of every little thing, I'm psyched to go a little more rustic. So, it is with more than a little bit of glee that I present Favorite Recipes from Matinicus Island Maine by the Matinicus Ladies Aid Society.

Matinicus Island is a small island off the coast of Maine, about the size of Rathlin Island in Northern Ireland -- the comparison might not mean much to you, but I had a heck of a wonderful day tromping about Rathlyn last summer. Anywho.

I've never been to Matinicus Island (or any other part of Maine), so have to assume that my friend Jeannette's grandparents went there at some point. I owe much of my cookbook collection to Jeannette's grandmother's pre-move book culling. Many of those books are comb- or spiral-bound fundraiser fodder, and old enough that the regional books still have some regional flair. Too often nowadays, collections from all over are woefully homogenized. Not so with Favorite Recipes from Matinicus Island Maine -- the recipes use both local ingredients and, vital for a remote island, canned goods. Yes, canned goods. Nothing wrong with a canned good or three! And, if you're on an island in New England during a winter storm, when boats aren't going out and ferries aren't coming in, what the heck else are you supposed to use to feed your family. Canned goods, for the win.

Tomato Soup Cake

8 tablespoons shortening
2 cups sugar
2 teaspoons soda
4 cups flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons cinnamon
2 teaspoons soda
2 teaspoons cloves
2 teaspoons nutmeg
1 can tomato soup
1 can water
2 cups seedless raisins and fruit

Cream shortening and sugar; then add soup and soda; then add the water gradually. Bake 1 hour in 350° oven. I use the candied can fruit.

--Verna Ames

We're back in the land of assuming you know how to cook, folks. If you're used to making cakes, you don't need step by step here, just the skeleton to show how and when you're adding the liquid to the mix. I'll step by step it a bit more for you:

Cream the shortening and sugar together in a big mixing bowl. Add the soup and the 2 teaspoons of baking soda -- though the recipe as printed calls for a total of 4 teaspoons soda, we're pretty safe in guessing it's just a misprint. The soup and baking soda are standing in for eggs in this recipe, so they go in when eggs would go in otherwise. Have you stirred in the soup yet? Stir, baby, stir. Then, add the water, and stir some more. Sift all dry ingredients together, and then add the dry mixture to the sugar/soup mixture, but not all at once. Add in a quarter of the dry, stir. Add another quarter, stir. You get the gist. Once that's all come together, add the fruit and stir some more. Ta da! Cake batter. Pour that into a prepared cake pan -- butter and flour it, or spray it with baking spray. Size of pan we'll have to guess at: I say try it in a 9 x 13, but that surprises you not in the least.

I think it bears saying it in its own paragraph: the soda in the ingredients list is baking soda. It is a dry ingredient, and is added with the liquids, not sifted in with the other dry ingredients (unless the aforementioned typo wasn't actually a typo -- if your cake comes out a little flat, add the extra soda to the dry ingredients next time). Baking soda, not club soda. All clear? Good.

This recipe is vegan-friendly, as long as you're grabbing a vegan-friendly tomato soup. No, really! Vegan cake! That will taste good! That you can serve to your vegan friends and make them feel pampered and loved, and you'll still want to eat it, too! If you're in/from the US, you might want to try this out for your Independence Day party this weekend.

Call and Response: Zucchini Bread

I always try to pick a theme for the recipes here. Granted, sometimes the theme is just "what were they thinking?" but there's always an attempt at theme-ing. Usually, during the course of a week, the theme takes a few unexpected twists. I thought that the Cook Book Presented by The Fishwives of Charleston Oregon would be all about the boats and the scrap fish recipes of the southern Oregon Coast. Then, I settled in on baking. But here we are, and it seems pretty clear that the real theme is "My Mom."

Today, we start off with the Fishwives' Zucchini Bread.

Zucchini Bread

3 eggs
1 c. McKay's oil
2 c. sugar
2 c. peeled, grated zucchine
2 tsp. vanilla

In a separate bowl mix:

3c. McKay's flour
1/4 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. soda
1 tsp. salt
3 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 c. walnuts

Beat the eggs until light and foamy. Add next four ingredients; mix lightly but well. Add flour mixture and blend. Add nuts. Divide batter in two greased loaf pans, and bake 325 for 1 hr. or until done. Remove from pan at once and cool on rack. May be frozen for future uses, and it is delicious.

--Kay Wells
--Betty Brown

I wonder what Kay and Betty's story is, why they are both credited with this recipe. Are they sisters, sharing a family favorite? Were they rivals, each claiming the superior recipe, when really they were identical? I also wonder if everyone knows when a quick bread like this is done, as "or until done" is a bit vague. Here's my take: use the toothpick/broomstraw/knife method--insert the pokey tool of your choice into the cake/bread, pull it out, and see if there's any wet stuff clinging to the pokey tool. If so, let it cook a bit longer. If not, it's done. Now we're all on the same page.

Okay, with one detour: yes, I've been known to use an actual broomstraw to test my baked goods. If it disturbs you, well, more baked goods for me. You're safe for right now, though, as our broom didn't survive the Snowpocalypse we had this winter. Anyway.

So, what did Momma have to say about Kay & Betty's Zucchini Bread? Nothing directly--she didn't annotate the page.

She did, however, slide in a slip of paper, upon which she wrote:

Zucchini Bread

1 hr. at 350°

5 eggs
1 1/2 oil
3 c sugar
5 tsp vanilla
3 c zucchini
4 1/2 c flour
1 1/2 tsp salt
5 tsp cinnamon
1 1/2 c soda
3/4 tsp Baking powder

I've got to assume Mom meant 1 1/2 cups of oil, and 1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda; it doesn't make any sense otherwise. For assembly, I'd follow the order listed by Kay & Betty. But, oh, it makes me smile to think of Mom rewriting this.

Momma had a recipe box. There's no reason that she would have to put a favored recipe into a cookbook. So, she chose to put it here, between pages 180 and 181. Take that, Kay & Betty.

I have only the vaguest memories of the kitchen in Coos Bay. Most of those are probably false, just the mind putting in placeholders of imagined kitchens and homes; we left Coos Bay when I was 3, after all. But I remember Momma baking. It would be grey and damp and cool out--it was Coos Bay--and she had two little ones under foot. I think I remember where the loaf pans were stored. I think I remember where the oven was, opposite the sink. I remember Don Quixote (our cat) looking in through the screen door from the back stoop. And once again, the theme takes a turn, and it becomes more about the shadowy memories of childhood.

What will it be come tomorrow?

Mom's Emphasis: Dump Cake and Oatmeal Cake

I love thumbing through a cookbook and finding that the cooks before me have annotated the recipes. Still, it is always a little bit of a shock to see my mother's handwriting in the margins. We live 3000 miles apart, and yet, there's her handwriting, as nun-trained as ever, telling me what I should know. In the Cook Book Presented by The Fishwives of Charleston Oregon, her guidance marches across the baking section like "JMJ" used to march across the corners of her exam papers. (Nun-trained, I tell you.) Today's recipes are both on the same page, both with Momma-notes, and both some variety of "good."

Let's start with what will come to be known as "damned with faint praise."

Dump Cake

1 1-lb. can crushed pineapple
1 1-lb. can cherry pie filling
1 pkg. white cake mix
1 cube McKay's margarine
1 c. chopped nuts

Place entire can of pineapple and pie filling in square baking pan. Sprinkle dry cake mix evenly over top. Cut cub of margarine in small pieces over the top of cake mixture. Sprinkle nuts over all. Bake 45 min. at 350 or until done.

--Dorothy Kerns

Momma's comment: "Good but Very Rich." This would be high praise, indeed, if only it weren't for...

Oatmeal Cake

1 c. oatmeal
1 1/3 c. boiling water
1 c. white sugar
1 c. brown sugar
1 c. McKay's margarine
2 eggs
1 1/3 c. McKay's flour
1 tsp. soda
1 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. vanilla

Add oatmeal to boiling water; let stand for 20 minutes. Mix sugars and add to margarine, cream. Add eggs, beat after each addition. Add oatmeal to creamed mixture, sift dry ingredients; add to creamed mix and stir just enough to blend. Add vanilla, pour into greased and floured 9x12 pan. Bake at 350 for 35 to 40 minutes.

Topping

1 c. brown sugar
4 tbsp. McKay's margarine
1 c. coconut
1/3 c. cream or evap. milk
1/2 c. chopped nutmeats

Cream margarine and sugar, add coconut, moistened with cream. Spread on top of warm cake, sprinkle nuts on topping. Return to oven under broiler until topping bubbles. Serve warm.

--Miriam Landers

My mom would have you know that this is "Very GOOD" (if only HTML had a way to double-underline...the "GOOD" is double underlined) and that it "STAYS MOIST."

So, sorry there, Dump Cake. You only merit a single-underline, and that's under "rich" not "good." You are nowhere near as Mom-pleasing as the Oatmeal Cake (even though I balk at the 9x12 pan, when a 9x13 would be the logical, wholesome, wonderful choice).

Ingredients notes: Yes, I grew up using margarine for everything, butter for nothing. Feel free to substitute butter; I know I would. For the oatmeal, use Quaker Instant (or other instant); the illustrators helpfully drew the cannister of oatmeal on the page, so we're pretty safe assuming that we needn't find some coarse-ground groats.

"Very Good": Lemon Jell-o Cake

I mentioned yesterday that I hadn't realized how many of my family's recipes came from the Cook Book Presented by The Fishwives of Charleston Oregon, and then I posted a recipe that I'd never tasted. Time to remedy that, boys and girls!

My older sister, Kelly, is a bit of a picky eater (okay, that's an understatement, but she's slowly becoming more of a foodie). There's one food, though, that she's always, always loved: Lemon Jell-o Cake. And, we've the Fishwives to thank for introducing us to what would be come the birthday cake in our family.

When I say "Lemon Jell-o Cake," most people think I mean some sort of poke cake, where you have red dribbles of Jell-o going into a white cake. Now, I love me some poke cake, I do. But Lemon Jell-o Cake is a different beastie altogether.

Lemon Jell-o Cake

1 pkg. lemon jello
1 pkg. lemon cake mix
4 eggs
3/4 c. McKay's oil

Icing:
1 c. powered sugar
3 tbsp. lemon concentrate

Dissolve lemon jello in 1 c. boiling water in mixing bowl. Cool, add the cake mix, eggs and oil, beat well, and bake at 350 for 40 min. While baking make icing, mix sugar and concentrate thoroughly. After removing the cake, stick with fork several times and spread icing on while hot. Will glaze.

--Elsie McDonald

Momma has written in the margin: "Very GOOD." "Good" is underlined twice; it really is that tasty.

The Jell-o keeps the cake moist for a long, long time. It does, however, also start setting up if you're not quick about things. So, don't think about using this as a cupcake recipe unless you're blessed with an oven (or set of ovens) that is big enough to do all the cupcakes at once. The batter won't wait 15 minutes.

So, if not in cupcake tins...in what?

That's right.

You know what I'm going to say: A 9x13 pan.

It's a classic. Ideally, you'll use a clear Pyrex 9x13, but whatever you have will work. If you want to fancy it up, the recipe neatly fills one Bundt cake pan; you'll just have to adjust your cooking time.

I've picked a theme for this week with the Fishwives: baked goods. We'll look at the fish dishes later on, but for now, it's 1970s classic cakes all the time.

Cook Book Presented by The Fishwives of Charleston Oregon; Good Cake

When I was a very small creature, my family moved to Coos Bay, Oregon. My dad was a forester for the state, my mom was raising my sister and I. We lived on a slough. We had a really dumb dog, an Irish setter named Millicoma (after the river & forest in southern Oregon) (and, no, it is nothing like "melanoma") who would eat dying fish out of the slough. There was a bramble patch, and I would hack at it with a hoe while making up songs in the grey gloomy happiness of youth. We left Coos Bay for more temperate climes when I was just a smidge over three years old, so my memories are piecemeal, fragmented, and not to be trusted. Aren't all our childhood memories?

When I was home in Oregon a few years back, my mother gave me her copy of
Cook Book Presented by The Fishwives of Charleston Oregon, published by the Commercial Fishermen's Wives Association of the Port of Coos Bay in 1972. Mom came by her copy in '73, a gift from a friend at St. Monica's. I remember looking through the book and loving the hand-drawn ads, and the drawings of all the fishing boats comprising Charleston's fleet.

What I didn't remember or know was just how much this cookbook guided my meals growing up. So many recipes that I think of as "our" recipes, "family" recipes are all from the fishwives. That being said, there's no way I'll ever limit myself to a mere seven recipes from this book. My love for it seemed a good way to kick this blog back into gear.

Good Cake

1/2 c. McKay's margarine
1 c. sugar
1 1/2 c. McKay's flour
2 tsp. baking powder
2 eggs or whites of 4
Flavor to suit yourself
GREAT GRANDMOTHERS

Mix well, bake at 350 till done. This recipe comes from an old old cook book. I double the recipe and then make 3 9-inch layers, very good frosted with 7 minute icing topped with coconut.

--Pat Loomis

McKay's is still open, so if you find yourself in Coos Bay, and you want to bake a cake, by all means, use the specified brand. Otherwise, embrace the fact that McKay's was a big advertiser in the cookbook, and so you can probably substitute your favorite brands in good health.

I'm not at all sure why "GREAT GRANDMOTHERS" are a part of the recipe, or, at least, why it's in the recipe where it is. "Great Grandmother's Good Cake" would make a good title, and is probably what this receipt is really about.

For the flavor, you could go basic vanilla, or (if you're using coconut) how about some rum?

I know you're shocked; I'm suggesting booze.

I do not think I ever ate "Good Cake." See, there's a little hand-written note at the end of the recipe...

Bake 30 min--It falls if oven door is opened. Not to good. JB

"JB" is the woman who gave Momma this cookbook. All spelling is hers.

As we explore Fishwives of Charleston, I'll post some of the (really quite cool) art work. This cookbook was a labor of love, and feels very different from the more formulaic fundraiser cookbooks you find at jumble sales. There's a sense of time, a sense of the authors, and boy golly, a sense of place.

So. Many. Fish. Recipes.

But that can wait until tomorrow.

Listen To Your Big Sister: Kentucky Jam Cake

I take my cues from my big sister. Really, little sisters are advised to do that whenever possible -- big sisters being notoriously nasty and wicked things. In this case, however, I think the nasty wicked Kelly can be forgiven, because she said "Southern" and "Dessert" for today's post. So come along to Marion County Country Ham Days in Lebanon, Kentucky! For two days in late September, you can celebrate the local products, including, of course, ham, ham, and more ham. The County Fair Cookbook kicks off it's coverage with Mrs. Moraja's Country Ham Stuffed With Greens, which sounds delicious but doesn't suit my big sister's request. Let me know if you need to know how to stuff a country ham like Mrs. Moraja, and we could get a bonus post up. Until then, "Southern!" "Dessert!"

Kentucky Jam Cake
Jam cakes are a Kentucky tradition. Obviously, this is a grand cake for a special occasion.

Makes 1 large (4-layer) cake

3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon ground allspice
1 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1 teaspoon ground cloves
1 cup blackberry jam
1 cup strawberry jam
1 cup peach preserves
1/2 pound (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
2 1/2 cups sugar
6 egg yolks, lightly beaten
1 cup buttermilk
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
2/3 cup seedless raisins
1 cup chopped pecans
6 egg whites
Caramel icing (opposite page)

• Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
1. Prepare four 8-inch cake pans: cut 4 rounds of parchment paper to fit the bottoms of the pans. Butter the pans liberally and position the parchment liners.
2. Sift together the flour, salt, allspice, nutmeg and cloves. Set aside. Push the blackberry and strawberry jams and peach preserves through a sieve into a bowl. Set aside.
3. In the large bowl of a heavy-duty mixer, cream the butter and sugar together until light and fluffy. Add the egg yolks and combine well.
4. Put the buttermilk in a 2-cup measure and stir in the baking soda.
5. With the mixer on low speed, add the flour and buttermilk mixtures alternately, beginning and ending with flour. Beat until batter is smooth. Stir in the jams, raisins and nuts.
6. Beat the egg whites until they form stiff, unwavering peaks. Scoop the whites over the batter and gently fold them in with a rubber spatula. Pour the batter into the baking pans, dividing it evenly and smoothing the tops with a spatula.
7. Bake in the middle of the oven 30 to 35 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Let cool 10 minutes on wire racks, then turn out on racks to cool completely. When completely cool, frost the cake with caramel icing.

Really, when I saw a recipe for a 4-layer cake, with three different kinds of jam, I was sure there'd be a different jam between each layer. Color me completely wrong! I was also going to wax lyrical about the absolute best blackberry jam in the world, and how you should use only that (but you can't, because my mom used to make it, and doesn't anymore), but then I grew to understand that all the jams are being combined.

Now, I like mixed fruit jams and jellies. (This is where I'd include a reference to being too tired and punchy in the Tastee Diner during college, and really raunchy things we used to say about mixed fruit jelly were I not so very, very tasteful.) I do. But I'm not taking the very best homemade anything and mixing it up willy nilly. So, use that which you have, as long as it passes muster when you eat it plain.

The caramel icing in question is a seven-minute frosting with light brown sugar, white sugar, cream of tartar, salt, and egg whites. If you're lacking a recipe and want this one, shout out and I'll post, or you could pick up a copy of The County Fair Cookbook and turn to page 101. If you do, then be sure and flip the page to read about "The Varmit Roast," and "How To Judge a Country Ham." Hint: Aroma is worth thirty points -- more than any other attribute!

Cooking the Books: Bacardi Rum Cake

I said it was Cake Day, and Cake Day it is! I decided it was high time to make a Bacardi Rum Cake. I had all the ingredients in-house, including some lovely eggs from Washington's Green Grocer. Though I normally prefer to make a cake from scratch, I honored the original recipe and used a mix.

...Okay, I didn't honor it all the way...

I used half a cup of walnuts, not a full cup, and I'd feel free to omit them entirely if you have concerns about nut allergies (or if you don't know for absolutely sure that your cake audience is allergy-free).

I nabbed a box of cake mix that did have pudding included, and yet, rebel that I am, I added a box of pudding, used 4 eggs not 3, and had a full half cup of oil.

My oil was not Wesson.

My rum was not Bacardi.

And, believe it or no, I used a Bundt pan. I live in a 1937 apartment; my oven is TINY. As much as I love 9 x 13 inch pans, the narrower footprint of a Bundt just works better in my oven -- the heat can actually circulate.

The cake went together easy peasy. It filled the house with amazing scents. I had no problem getting the cake out (my Bundt is non-stick, and I buttered it liberally). And the glaze... well! I've never cooked a butter/sugar glaze before -- most cake glazes I do are water and confectioner's sugar. This took more time and stirring, but turned out beautifully. I poured it slowly over the cake, trying to let it all soak in, but there was still a pool of glaze when I was done -- you can see the pool in the picture above.

No worries. Just keep going back as it cools further, and use a spoon to, well, spoon the glaze from the pool over the cake. The glaze thickens as it cools; after a few times going back to lacquer the cake, there'll be nothing left to spoon.

The cake is gorgeous. It smells wonderful. And I can't wait to try it.

Cake Day!: Rhubarb Cake

It's Cake Day here chez Take One Cookbook. I've got a Bacardi Rum Cake baking away in the oven as we speak, and the scent is heavenly; it's distracted me utterly from all things non-cake. So, let's delve for the last time into the Spratt/Bachman & Mellberg/McKenzie Family Cookbook 2008, and go for something seasonal and cakey from Aunt Agnes:

Rhubarb Cake
Agnes Bachman Pengilly

1 1/2 c. packed brown sugar
1/2 c. butter
1 egg
1/2 tsp. salt
1 c. sour milk or buttermilk
1 tsp. soda
2 cups flour
2 cups rhubarb

Topping - 3/4 c. white sugar, 1 tsp. cinnamon. Put on top of cake. Bake 30-35 minutes.

Get the feeling that, in my family, one is just expected to know how the heck to bake? Let's break this down for the non-Spratts/Bachmans/Mellbergs/McKenzies out there:

Pan: Use a 9 x 13. Yes, I know.
Oven temp: 350°F
Method:

• Cream the butter and sugar together.
  
• Beat in eggs.
  
• In a separate bowl, sift together dry ingredients.
  
• Alternate adding flour mixture and sour milk or buttermilk to the butter/sugar/egg mixture.
  
• Toss the cut up rhubarb in a bit of flour (so that it disperses nicely in the cake, or so my mother always told me).
  
• Top as directed.
  
• Bake as directed.
  
• Cool in pan.
  
• Serve hunks of cake topped with Cool Whip, whipped cream, or, heck, warmed up in a bowl and then topped with ice cream or whole milk.

Rhubarb cake...it's so darned moist, tangy, and tasty! I remember lots of rhubarb in the family, growing up. I never even thought to try buying it in the grocery store, though, as everyone back home seems to have it in their gardens -- well, assuming their house was built and garden established by someone in my Grandpa's generation. But, yes, it's purchase-able in grocery stores, and it's in season, so, get yourself some! Eat it raw, dipped in sugar; or make a compote, if cake-baking seems too much for you. Or, mmm, try it in a strawberry-rhubarb pie... I love late spring!

If you want to go the sour milk route, take 1 tablespoon of lemon juice or white vinegar, and put it in your 1 cup liquid measuring cup. Top off with enough milk to make 1 cup. Let stand for about 10 minutes, and voila! Soured milk. Don't just use milk that's past date in your fridge; you don't want spoiled milk. If this sounds too chemistry-class for you, just buy some buttermilk.

This cake is great warm, or at room temperature. It's, of course, a good dessert, but it's equally tasty for a homey breakfast. Go get a couple stalks of rhubarb (which is a vegetable, even though normally eaten as a fruit), and enjoy the tang.

Setting A Man Trap: Blueberry Boy Bait

Okay, okay, once you see the size of the pan required, you may not believe that I chose this recipe based on the name and not the pan. But, really, when I found "Blueberry Boy Bait" in The Fruit of the Spirit: 100th Anniversary of Bittinger Lutheran Parish, I first started giggling madly, then started thinking that I hadn't watched Gidget or Tammy and The Bachelor in far too long, and then that I really needed to post this recipe.

Blueberry Boy Bait
Ethel Buckel

2 c. all-purpose flour
1 1/2 c. sugar
2 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. salt
3/4 tsp. nutmeg
2/3 c. softened butter
1 c. milk
2 eggs
1 c. blueberries
1/4 c. sugar
1/2 tsp nutmeg

Cream butter and 1 1/2 cups sugar. Add eggs. Combine flour, baking powder, salt and nutmeg in a separate bowl. Add milk, alternately, with combined dry ingredients. Pour into 9 x 13-inch pan. Top with blueberries, 1/4 cup sugar and 1/2 teaspoon nutmeg. Bake at 350° for 40-50 minutes.

Despite the off-putting lack of serial commas, this is just a delightful recipe! I particularly like that instead of saying "1 3/4 c. sugar, divided" in the initial recipe list, they break it out for you, in order and volume of use. Some folks may prefer it the other way, but for me, a serial ingredient list is as important as a serial comma.

Serial commas: they're good enough for the U.S. G.P.O., they're good enough for you.

Back to the title. It seems like this is going to hav eto be something simple enough for a novice cook to whip together on her own (yes, "her"... I think it's safe to say that whomever came up with this recipe was pretty much trying to help a girl get her boy, though I wholeheartedly support boys using it to bait girls and girls using it to bait girls and so and so and so forth) without much supervision from her mother (yes, "mother" ... for the sake of the rest of this post, let's just role play and think that Mrs. Lawrence is trying to help Francie/Gidget to ensnare Jeffrey/Moondoggie -- embrace your 1959 teen romance). It should also be incredibly tasty. I'm surprised there's no vanilla or cinnamon to up the smell of the bait, but nutmeg -- so linked with pumpkin pie -- is going to bring a lot of good baking spice to the man trap.

We're in season for blueberries in the US, and I've seen some great buy-one-get-one-free specials at the grocery store. The pick-your-own farms around DC aren't open for blueberries yet; maybe later this summer I can cook the book on this one, with freshly-picked local (false) berries.

Even if you've already sprung a perfectly serviceable trap, why not try out the boy bait when next you need a 9 x 13 baked good? At the very least, file it away for Independence Day, where the blue will play nicely with some cut strawberries and vanilla ice cream.

Only Enough To Act As A Preservative: Bacardi Rum Cake

Yesterday, I shared my love of the 9 x 13-inch pan. Growing up, all cakes were made in this venerable dish. My sister's must-have birthday cake (Lemon Jell-O Cake, which I'll post when I do the Fishwives cookbook) was always the friendly rectangle. It was only much later in life that I read the full recipe and realized that the cake was supposed to be baked in a Bundt pan. Today's recipe from The Fruit of the Spirit: 100th Anniversary of Bittinger Lutheran Parish says to use a Bundt, too -- but out of cakely familial loyalty, I'd be tempted to use the tried and true 9 x 13.

Bacardi Rum Cake
Linda Thomas

Cake:

1 c. chopped pecans or walnuts
1 pkg. yellow cake mix
1 sm. pkg. vanilla instant pudding
4 eggs
1/2 c. cold water
1/2 c. Wesson oil
1/2 c. Bacardi rum

Glaze:

1/4 lb. butter
1/4 c. water
1 c. white sugar
1/2 c. rum

Preheat oven to 325°. Grease and flour tube or bundt pan. Sprinkle nuts over bottom of pan. Mix all cake ingredients together over nuts. Pour batter over nuts. Bake 1 hour. Cool. Invert on serving plate. Prick top. Spoon or brush glaze evenly over top, allowing cake to absorb glaze. Glaze: Melt butter in saucepan. Stir in water and sugar. Boil 5 minutes, stirring constantly. Remove from heat. Stir in rum. *If using cake mix with pudding already in the mix, omit instant pudding, use 3 eggs instead of 4, use 1/3 cup oil instead of 1/2 cup.

Pudding: the great moisturizer of cake. I like the substitution hints here, as I bet they can be used for lots of other cake-doctoring recipes.

Some of you may not keep rum around the house. If you're one of those people, you might want to know how much, really, you need to buy. Well, a fifth of rum is 750 ml, which is about 25 ounces, or just over three cups. So, one regular-sized bottle of Bacardi is going to get you through this cake and two others (or this cake and several Cuba Libres). Should you go for a light rum, or a dark rum? I leave it to your personal tastes. If you don't think you have personal tastes when it comes to rum, then I suggest going for a light rum, so that your cake color is still light and lovely. You can up the amount of rum you use in the glaze (1/4 cup of rum brings more flavor to the cake than 1/4 cup of water, after all) if you want to have really rummy cake.

I remember my first rum cake (eating, not making). I was over at the Schrader's house, and Martha had made an apple rum cake. It was delicious, and I probably ate too much of it, especially considering that I was a kid. Remember: alcohol can cook out of dishes, and probably does cook out of the cake. However, it's NOT cooking out of the glaze. There's active, boozy rum here; do not serve to those who have medical, religious, or other reasons to avoid, well, Demon Rum.

Not to sound like a complete lush, but a rum cake (be it in a 9 x 13 or a Bundt) would be a great dish to take to your Memorial Day barbeque/picnic/potluck/what have you, if you're going to be around mostly-grown-ups. The pudding guarantees a moist cake, the Bacardi guarantees a delicious one.

Deep Dark Stout Gingerbread

Chefly Husband and I went to Ireland several years ago, and, while in Dublin, went to the Guinness museum. One of the exhibits was meant to give you the sensation that you were in a ginormous pint glass that then got filled with the dark, fabulous stout.

This recipe from Christmas 101 is as close as you can get to that outside of Dublin, on your holiday table.

Deep Dark Stout Gingerbread

Makes 12 servings

Make Ahead: The gingerbread can be prepared up to 2 days, covered tightly with plastic wrap and stored at room temperature.

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons ground ginger
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 1/4 cups packed light brown sugar
2 large eggs plus 1 large egg yolk
1 cup unsulfured molasses
3/4 cup flat stout, at room temperature
Confectioners' sugar, for garnish

1. Position a rack in the center of the oven and preheat to 350°F. Lightly butter and flour the in side of a 12-cup fluted tube pan, tapping out the excess flour.

2. Sift the flour, ginger, cinnamon, baking powder, baking soda, and salt onto a piece on wax paper. Set aside.

3. In a large bowl, using a hand-held electric mixer at high speed, beat the butter until creamy, about 1 minute. Add the brown sugar and beat until the mixture is light in texture and color, about 2 minutes. One at a time, beat in the eggs, then the yolk. Beat in the molasses.

4. Reduce the mixer speed to low. In three additions, beat in the flour mixture, alternating with the stout, scraping down the sides of the bowl as needed, until the batter is smooth. Scrape into the prepared pan and smooth the top.

5. Bake until a toothpick inserted in the center of the cake comes out clean, 50 to 60 minutes. Cool on a wire cake rack for 10 minutes. Invert the cake onto the cake rack. Transfer to a serving platter, sift confectioners' sugar over the top, and serve warm. Or cool completely and serve at room temperature. (The gingerbread can be prepared up to 2 days ahead, covered tightly with plastic wrap and stored at room temperature.)

Don't have a 12-cup fluted tube pan? Don't worry. Use a Bundt-pan. Use a 9x13 pan. Use any cake-cooking vessel that can hold 12 cups. Not sure of the volume? Really, this is easy: get out your liquid measuring cups. Fill 'em up. Pour into the pan you want to use. Count how many cups it takes to fill the pan.

...yeah, it really is that easy. When I first read that, I slapped my face down into my hands, wondering why I'd never thought of that. It's so much easier than measuring the pan and doing math. I save my math for increasing or reducing recipes, not for calculating volume in fancy Bundt pans.

The author of Christmas 101 suggests that you open the stout an hour before making the cake so that you can encourage the beer to go flat. Stir it, too, every once and a while. That's all good advice. However, when he starts talking about what to do with the left over beer, and his first tip is to cover the top with plastic wrap and stick it in the fridge? I call foul. Drink that stout. Unless you can't for health or religious reasons, there's just no reason to leave perfectly good stout to go flat in the fridge.

Yes, you can use stout in your beef stew. Or plum pudding. Or many other yummy things. But, for the love of all things holy, don't just chuck it in the fridge to go flat and vaguely fridge-y.

This is the first near-duplicate recipe on Take One Cookbook; back in September, we looked at Kentish Gingerbread; if anyone has the inkling to try them both, I'd love side-by-side comparison notes.

Paradise Cakes

Today with the The Women's Institute of 650 Favourite Recipes, we enter the Prizewinner's section. Happily, we skip past "Kate's Surprise", which contains (surprise!) gelatine, anchovy essence, prawns and cottage cheese. We also miss out on "Secret Salad", which will alas remain a mystery, and we hastily hasten past "Hasty Fish Pie", which appears to actually take about an hour and a half. Hasty, no; tasty, perhaps not given the addition of 600ml/1 pint parsley sauce, AKA Tasteless White Goo With Green Bits In.

No, today our rural repast will be Paradise Cakes, with apologies to John Milton.

First, though, a glossary, because the fruit of that forbidden tree is probably called something different where you live, because the words for ingredients, clothed in reason's garb as they are, differ across the world.

Sultanas are dried white grapes: white raisins. Glacé cherries are crystallized. Currants are not red- or blackcurrants, but are small raisins. (Incidentally, did you know that the currant is named for Corinth, the Greek isthmus and city-state?) If you can't find the precise dried fruit, do just use whatever you have, although plain raisins won't taste of much. Caster sugar you may not be able to find; superfine should do it if you can't. Oh, and I never use margarine for cakes, so butter is fine. And a Swiss roll tin looks like this.

On to the recipe, sadly unaccompanied by a picture today because the cats are both outside and unwilling to assist.

Paradise Cakes

Makes 25-30

175g/6 oz margarine
150g/5 oz caster sugar
3 eggs, beaten
100g/4 oz ground rice
75g/3 oz ground almonds
50g/2 oz sultanas
50g/2 oz glacé cherries
75g/3 oz currants
shortcrust pastry, made with 100g/4 oz flour
caster sugar to dredge

Cream the margarine and sugar together until pale and fluffy. Gradually beat in the eggs, then mix in the ground rice and almonds. Fold in the fruit.

Roll out the dough and use to line a Swiss roll tin. Spread the fruit mixture over the dough. Bake in a preheated moderate oven (180°C/350°F, Gas Mark 4) for 45 minutes.

Cool, then cut into fingers and dredge with caster sugar.

The thing I love about the sound of this recipe — and the way it fits into our gift-giving theme — is that I'd imagine that one could easily cut them into festive shapes (trees, stars, crescents, bright consummate flowers, Flying Spaghetti Monsters) and decorate the tops as desired. I'd imagine that a good stiff Christmas Cake icing would be particularly delicious with a layer of marzipan. Plus, the shortcrust pastry and the adhesive effect of the baked dried fruits will almost certainly make it shippable.

Quaff immortality, or perhaps tea, and enjoy!

On a personal note, sharing a WI cookbook is particularly poignant for me today, because my dear Great-auntie Helen, a lifelong member and keen blancmange-maker, died this morning. So long, Auntie Helen, and thanks for all the cake.

Political Cookery: Watergate Cake

I love a good cake, baked from scratch. True confession time: I also love a decent cake, baked from a mix. I do not turn up my nose about using a mix as a base, and adding in other ingredients to make it sing. In fact, I'm pretty darned fond of that. So are the contributors to the Milwaukee Ward Relief Society Cookbook.

Watergate Cake
Celia Vogl

1 pkg. instant pistachio pudding
1 pkg. white or yellow cake mix
1 c. oil
1/2 c. chopped nuts
3 eggs
1 c. club soda

Mix all above until mixed well. Grease a 9x13 inch pan. Bake at 350° for 45 minutes.

Frosting:

1 pkg. instant pistachio pudding
1 pkg. Dream Whip
1 1/4 c. cold milk

Beat until spreading consistency.

Pistachio! A flavor I never really encountered until I moved away from home. No pistachio ice cream. No "lipstick" from red shells. No pistachios.

This cake did not originate at the Watergate. No, nor did Watergate Salad, another 1970s dish with pistachio pudding mix. So...why Watergate? Let's go to The Food Timeline:

"A new Watergate crisis is sweeping the Washington area, but this time only homemakers and a few business men seem to care... The crisis stems from the growing popularity of a recipe for a concoction called "Watergate Cake," which demands large quantities of powdered pistachio pudding mix, both in the layer cake and in its light green icing. Apparently, only one firm, Royal Pudding, a division of Standard Brands, Inc., distributes pistachio pudding in the Washington area. Supermarkets haven't been able to get enough to cope with the demands, which began around Thanksgiving time and was very heavy at Christmas. Store shelves have been regularly stripped of the mix the same day it is displayed...If the sales spurt is not directly attributable to the popularity of Watergate Cake... "The we don't know why this product has suddenly taken off. It's been just phenomenal..." Barry Scher, a spokesman for Giant Foods, placed the blame not only on the recipe, but also on a coincidental shortage of pistachio nuts. "That was about five months ago, the spokesman said, "And as it ended, this recipe began circulating around. We were bombarded. We hate to admit it, but we just can't keep the mix on the shelf. The onset of Watergate cake mania--and the resulting effort to close the supply-demand gap --has tested old friendships and challenged the ingenuity and competitive instincts of many a Washington-area homemaking... No one, meanwhile, seems able to pinpoint the origin of this Watergate, the recipe for which has appeared in a number of newspapers, including the Washington Post. Nor can anyone explain how the cake got its name or why pistachio is the main flavoring. One current explanation leans on the presence of crushed walnuts in the cake--"bugs" in the parlance of kids. Like the Giant spokesman, Harold Giesinger, proprietor of the Watergate Pastry shop, had no thoughts on where the recipe originated-- except that it was not with his bakery. "We haven't invented anything to which we'd attach a name like that," he said. Nor, he added, does his shop rely on pistachio as a key ingredient in any of its products. "A private source may have put it together, " he said of the recipe. Wherever Watergate Cake started, the pudding firm would like more more problems like it. Gagan suspects some people have been buying more pistachio pudding mix than they'll ever use, simply because it's hard to get...Further relief is in sight. Another manufacturer, General Foods, scanning the Watergate-assisted pistachio market, has decided to jump in. Its version is expected to hit the supermarket shelves in March..."
---"A Watergate Cake Mania," Alexander Sullivan, Washington Post, February 26, 1976 (p. B2)

Read more to learn about other (more believable) theories of how the name came about.

I'm just gobsmacked that one cake recipe could cause a run on one flavor of pudding...and then fade into such obscurity.

Have you ever had a Watergate Cake?

I Need Eggs: Gingerbread

After yesterdays' shocking lack-of-eggs post, I have to say, I need some eggs in this house. I need eggs, and baked goods made from same. Take, for example, this recipe from Favourite Kentish Recipes:

Gingerbread

2 large eggs
10 oz. black treacle or a mixture of golden syrup and treacle
3 oz. brown sugar
3 oz. margarine
8 oz. self-raising flour
1-1 1/2 teaspoons ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon ground mace
Grated rind of 1 lemon

Set oven to 325°F or Mark 3. Heat the margarine in a pan until just melted but not too hot. Whisk the eggs until they are very frothy. Keep whisking whilst gradually adding first the treacle, then the sugar and lastly the margarine. Fold in the sifted flour, together with the spices and the lemon ride. Grease thoroughly a tin approximately 9 inches x 7 inches x 2 inches and line the base of the tin with baking parchment. Pour the mixture into the tin and bake for approximately 40 minutes. Cool on a wire rack.

2 large eggs. That's all I need, and the rest will surely spring together...

I love the fact that this recipe uses the word "whilst." It seems to fit in with the treacle and the golden syrup and the hesitancy to say "just use the full 1 1/2 teaspoon ginger, fool, it's gingerbread!"

I've been craving gingerbread lately (though specifically a gingerbread made with Guinness); this weekend's going to be a rainy, stay-at-home sort of affair, so I may well set myself to baking. I wish I could remember the name of the place in Oregon where I first had gingerbread served as cake and not as cookie... it's so much better as a soft and spicy cake...

Pantry Baking: Vinegar Cake

Sometimes, I get hit with a need to bake, but find my fridge is letting me down. How's a person to make a cake if the eggs have gone...or gone off? Favourite Kentish Recipes offers this option:

Vinegar Cake

12 oz. self-raising flour
4 oz. butter or dripping
8 oz. mixed fruit
2 oz. candied peel, cut fine
8 oz. demerara sugar
1 teaspoon mixed spice
1 teaspoon bicarbonate of soda
3 teaspoons vinegar
1/2 pint milk

Set oven to 350°F or Mark 4. Rub the fat into the flour until the mixture resembles fine breadcrumbs. Then add the rest of the dry ingredients except the bicarbonate of soda. When well blended add the bicarbonate of soda mixed with the milk and vinegar. Put into a greased and lined 8 1/2 inch cake tin and bake for approximately 1 3/4 - 2 hours.

A cake suitable for those who do not eat eggs.

Also suitable for those who can not keep proper groceries in their fridges. Dribs and drabs of things, thrown together with the remnants of a junior high science fair volcano, somehow creating a cake?

Why not?

I will let my prejudices show. I am perfectly fine using suet in mincemeat or a pudding, but the idea of using drippings as my fat in a cake makes me wince. Thankfully, there's never a time I don't have at least one stick of butter in the freezer, so I don't think I'll ever be so hard up for cake that I whip out the drippings jar.

Shameful confession: I do not keep a drippings jar. My family taught me to keep my drippings, they did, but I've fallen off that traditional wagon. It's a shame, too, as meat drippings are the best for cooking up eggs. Of course, I've already admitted to not keeping a ready supply of eggs in the house, so perhaps this cake has just got my brain fizzing like bicarb and vinegar.