The Daring Bakers: Perfect Party Cake

The primary rule that all Daring Bakers need to keep in mind is that they may not deviate from the month's chosen recipe. Except, of course, when they're told to do so. Morven of Food, Art, and Random Things gave the gift of creativity when she chose Dorie Greenspan's Perfect Party Cake as this month's task. Other than following the basic cake recipe and turning the confection into a layer cake, we were given free reign over how we decorate and flavored our creations.

The main thing that restrains my creativity is my own mind, which is a shame. When trying a new recipe, I like to follow it closely to the suggested recipe so I can form my opinions of it before thinking of ways of improving it, so I knew I'd be sticking to the bulk of what Dorie had written. I did latch on to the idea of cherry jam in my layers and cherries on top, mainly because a cherry on top connotes to me the idea of a special treat, and this being your perfect party cake is a pretty special occasion. I found naturally colored cherries from a UK website selling bulk baking goods, which made a nice and comforting change from the uber-red cherries with they're goodness-knows-what-chemicals-in-them that I grew up eating (they also sold green cherries - green cherries? Green??! I'll stick with natural, thanks very much).

Knowing that it wouldn't be a challenge for this house of two people to eat a whole iced cake, simply a Very Bad Idea, I took all my ingredients, measuring bits, tins and hand mixers away with me over the Easter weekend which was spent with Mr A&N's extended family. The only challenge, then, would be in ensuring that the cake had enough slices for the 15 people who would be there, as well as making sure that I didn't produce such a poor product that I didn't just leave my mother-in-law doubting my cooking skills, but left my husband's Aunts, Uncles, siblings, cousins, assorted spouses and friends shaking their heads in sadness at my lack of skills. Just the relaxing baking atmosphere in which I like to cocoon myself.


I found the cake and icing quite straight-forward to make, with my ancient hand blender (inherited from Mr A&N's grandmother) heating up worryingly as it clocked up the 10 minutes the icing demanded of it. The baking cake smelled wonderful, although working with an untested oven meant that I had to reduce the heat halfway through the cooking since the cake was getting a bit too brown too quickly. The cake fell a bit and pulled in from the sides of the tin as a result which made it look small and unlikely to feed 15, but once it was sliced into its layers its height promised better things.

The cake was a talking point as everyone eyed it up through the afternoon, and everyone dipped in for a slice (with 16 cherries dotted around the edges, serving sizes were partitioned nicely). The general reaction was that this was indeed a fine party cake and reminded most people of childhood birthdays. Most were fans of the icing, but would have liked the cake to have been a bit lighter and springier - the overall effect was more dense than expected. There was one lone slice left which no one felt right claiming, so I was able to get up early and take a photo of the mangled layers before diving in for what was my Easter breakfast, saving that cherry on top for my last bite.

For the recipe, please either have a look on Morven's blog or worship at the altar of Dorie's Baking From My Home to Yours.

Celery and Leek Soup with Truffle Oil

Mr A&N and I found ourselves with a day off together at the end of the Easter break. An extra day off is a prized thing and should be treated differently to your normal weekend day - there should be no cleaning, no grocery shopping, no chores or running about here and there. On my extra days off, I like to behave like I'm a tourist and take my camera and myself out into the city and see what I can find. I've lately been feeling as if I were in a bit of a rut, which isn't uncommon for me at the end of winter (I figure it's better at the end, with spring on its way, than at the beginning). When I'm in this rut, life seems to only move between paid work and house work with no time to do things I enjoy and no sense of taking advantage of the city I live in. Even when I know this isn't actually true, this winter-time fug stays with me. A day out in London, exploring a different area through new eyes, was coming just in time to help me re-charge my dead batteries.

We headed to Notting Hill, a place I've semi-explored a number of times but hadn't been back to in a while. It wasn't until we were there that I remembered a great spice shop in the area, and before I had finished whacking myself in the forehead for being thick and forgetting to copy down its location, we stumbled on the store. Called The Spice Shop (good name, eh?), it's a small but packed space, full of sachets and canisters of all sorts of wonderful things, many of which came home with me.

Across the road from The Spice Shop is another fantastic store, Books for Cooks. Just like the Spice Shop, it's a place that will make anyone cooking-inclined be beside themselves with possibilities. I had wanted some books about the science of baking and cooking, and I was able to scan through a few titles and chat to the staff about what they'd recommend. I also had my eye caught by a cookbook that I've been flipping through without purchase for ages. A Year in My Kitchen by Skye Gyngell was the Cookery Book of the Year winner last year and is another contribution to the seasonal and non-fussy cooking genre. The spirit and place moved me, and into my bag it went.

I pawed through the cookbook over lunch and one of the first recipes to make me go 'Oooh' was a celery and leek soup, topped off with truffle oil (which I had, conveniently, just picked up from the Spice Shop). We already had a large celeriac from the previous week's vegetable box and had more celery arriving that day, so any plan to get rid of it all was a good one. Potatoes and cream helped thicken it out, and it tasted like a deeply flavored, grown-up leek and potato soup, particularly with the touch of truffle oil. I'll be looking through the cookbook more this weekend, since I'm already enticed and want to find out what else is possible.



Celery and Leek Soup with Truffle Oil, from Skye Gyngell
serves 4

• 400 g celery (or celeriac - we used a combination of the two)
• 2 leeks, mostly white parts
• 50 g unsalted butter
• 2 medium or 1 large potato, peeled and chopped
• 2 bay leaves
• 2-3 thyme sprigs
• a couple of flat leaf parsley stems
• salt and pepper
• 1 liter chicken or vegetable stock
• 150 ml double cream
• truffle oil, to drizzle

1. Separate the celery stalks and peel them finely, then chop roughly. If using celeriac, skin and chop into small cubes.
2. Melt the butter in a large pot over a low heat. Add the celery and leeks and cook gently for 15 minutes or so, until the celery is soft but not colored.
3. Add the potato, bay leaves, thyme and parsely and season with a bit of the salt and pepper.
4. Pour in the stock and bring to the boil, then lower the heat and simmer gently for 20 minutes.
5. remove from the heat and discard herb.
6. Puree the soup in small batches in a blender so it is quite smooth. Pass through a chinois before returning it to the pot so that the soup is very smooth.
7. Pour in the cream and reheat gently.
8. Check the seasoning and serve with a small drizzle of truffle oil.

Veggie Burgers

I've been enjoying the long Easter weekend in the UK, topped up by me with another couple of days off to detox from work. Part of my relaxation regime was to spend the weekend with Mr A&N's immediate and extended family at a house in the middle of the countryside.

The weekend was put together by Mr A&N's mother in order to draw the scattered strands of the family together at a central point to everyone. "There's going to be walking involved" Mr A&N complained before we even got there. "Why does everyone in my family seem obsessed with walking?". Perhaps because it's an enjoyable and healthy alternative to sitting around on your ass all day, I suggested. "Bah" he replied.

To organize the weekend, Mr A&N's mother wrote letters to everyone explaining what foodstuffs they should bring and when their cooking duties would be. We were assigned Saturday lunch (soup) and Saturday dinner (roast night), and were instructed to aim to feed six. With 15 of us gathering, though, we felt that we should cater for more than six people so that no one was left with an empty plate and a half-filled stomach. We weren't the only ones pondering how to locate and fit half a side of a cow into the oven; Mr A&N's lovely-but-slightly-nervy Aunt sent a message to all declaring she was 'v v stressed figuring out the menu' and wondered if others felt the same.

We decided to take artistic license with our instructions and bought supplies for hamburgers for all. Except that among the 'all' were a few vegetarians, and though we knew that we would probably not be expected to put food together for them, we also didn't want to leave them out. Luckily, veggie burgers slotted into the theme quite easily.

The burgers were a huge success, although it did mean that Mr A&N had to stand over the small frying pan cooking the burgers in batches and queuing up hungry hordes until the next burger was cooked. The meat version was made with beef (though lamb would have been even tastier), chopped chili, coriander, and a bit of lime juice, while the veggie version was a bean and vegetable medley. The veggie burger had the same warm, comforting, soft and squidgy qualities that make a normal hamburger so luscious, but it was simply minus the meat. The recipe Mr A&N found for Mexican veggie burgers included chopped almonds which came through a surprising amount in both taste and texture, and had the added bonus of using up the fennel from our veg box.

It has only been at weddings that we've been able to see all the cousins and aunts and uncles, and with no more of those on the horizon it's only weekends like this past one that bring us all together. Understandably for a family who genuinely enjoys each other's company, there is talk of making our group weekend a yearly thing. Of course, Mr A&N would have to keep his hiking boots in a polished state - as he feared, there were daily 3-hour treks through fields and forests, despite driving winds and blizzard-like snow. He did have my sympathy, really, as we were at one stage blinded by horizontal snow and almost couldn't move forward, but as his mother would say: it's character forming.


Veggie Burgers, adapted from The Veggie Table
makes 6-8 burgers

• ½ C almonds, finely chopped
• 1 tsp ground coriander
• 1 clove garlic, minced
• 1 bulb fennel
• ¾ C coriander/cilantro
• 1½ C black beans or black-eyed peas, cooked or canned
• 1 C bread crumbs
• ½ red bell pepper, seeded and minced
• 2 Tbs toasted wheat germ or untoasted rolled oats
• ¼ tsp ground cloves,
• ½ tsp salt
• black pepper
• 1½ t olive oil
• flour for coating

1. Heat almonds and ground coriander in dry frying pan over medium-high heat, stirring or shaking constantly, until almonds are lightly toasted, about 1 minute.
2. Food process garlic, fennel, and coriander/cilantro until finely chopped.
3. Add beans, and pulse repeatedly until chopped but not liquidized.
   
4. Transfer to bowl and mix in almond mixture, bread crumbs, bell pepper, wheat germ, and spices.
   
5. Taste and adjust seasonings.
6. Shape into six -eight patties with floured hands, adding more bread crumbs if necessary.
7. Lightly sprinkle flour onto a plate, and gently press each side of the burgers onto the flour.
8. Fry the burgers in the 1½ Tbsp oil (topping up if needed) over medium-high heat until crust forms, about 3 minutes per side.
   

Blood Orange and Rosewater Sorbet

One of my more trusty restaurant companions, Amanda, has had to step down from her dining-out duties temporarily since she has more important matters to look after in the shape of her 3 month old son. Any time out together is precious, and in order to make things easier I travel across town to see her. It's hardly a chore to see a good friend, but in London traveling to different parts of town can be seen as a feat akin to traveling across the arctic with nothing but a chocolate bar and one spare pair of dry socks to keep you going.

"I'm going down to Hammersmith to see Amanda" I told one friend.
"What, tonight? You have to go to work tomorrow - are you going to stay overnight?"
Bravely, I would be returning home the same night. From east to west London and back east again, all within 24 hours. Amazing.

Matters are made more difficult by where I live, since London Transport has decided to exercise their right to disrupt your travel plans and is closing the tube line I need to get home by 10pm. Each night. Until November. Hooray.

Knowing that I was spending the evening out across town and had to get on the tube by a given time meant that we had to be efficient with our fun. We tried, and despite the two of us being the fastest takers that Mr A&N knows, fun took precedence and it was a rush to the tube. And so, with this evident pressure to get on the train and get home, what do I do? Why, my eye catches site of a small grocery store and I wander in like a loved-up fool, just to browse the shelves in case there's something marvelous in there.
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And what happens but I do find a wonderful thing: essence of rose water and orange blossom water. I've had some wonderful cakes and desserts flavored with each of these things, and had intermittently tried to track some down for myself. They're both regular features of middle eastern cuisine, but cooking with floral essences was also used quite a lot in medieval european cooking. I'm intrigued by why once-common flavors fall out of fashion, and am looking forward to experimenting with them in my cooking.

One of Mr A&N's most memorable desserts was eaten at Moro, and combined rosewater and cardamom in an ice cream. Although it would be difficult to make ice cream without an ice cream maker, I turned to the Moro cookbook to see if there was any inspiration or guidance for how to use my prized flower waters. In there, I found a recipe for blood orange and rosewater sorbet, which appealed for it beautiful pink color and use of the short-seasoned blood oranges. It was a beautiful palate cleanser, hinting at spring things to come with the tang of citrus and the hint of the rose garden.

And the tube on that night? I leaped on the last train home, feeling ever so triumphant - until that tube stopped two stations away from home and declared it was going no further and we'd all have to find other ways home. Nuts.



Blood Orange and Rosewater Sorbet, from the Moro Cookbook

• 200g/7oz caster sugar
• 100-150ml/3½-5fl oz rosewater, to taste (I would tend toward the higher amount of rosewater, just so you can be sure to taste it)
  
• 600ml/1 pint blood orange juice
• ½ blood orange, zest only
• squeeze of lemon

1. Place the sugar and rosewater in a small saucepan over a low heat until the sugar has dissolved. Simmer for a couple of minutes until a thin syrup has formed. Allow to cool.
2. Add the syrup to the orange juice along with the zest and a squeeze of lemon, to taste.
3. Churn in an ice-cream machine, or place in the freezer, stirring the sorbet by hand every half-hour for the first two hours to prevent crystallisation.