For your edification, shock, and awe, a few links today. Take what you need, want, or like, and leave all the rest.
Start with the execrable Ernest Hemingway who spent a quarantined summer with his wife, his mistress, a sick toddler, and a nanny.
Take a break with Pale Horse, Pale Rider, Katherine Anne Porter’s novel about the 1918 Spanish flu.
Keep going with Luy Irvine’s memoir Castaway (here’s just a sample) or E.M Forster’s short story “The Machine Stops” about a society where people live underground in individual cells and communicate only by screens. Written in 1909.
Console yourself with this one-bowl chocolate sheet cake with fluffy peanut butter frosting (pictured above). CAUTION: This cake requires more than a 9″ x 13″ pan. It overflowed my entire oven and required many minutes of frantic fanning to avoid setting off the smoke detector. The dip in the middle indicates this interrupted baking time (you cannot open the oven mid-bake without consequences), but we are none of us perfect.
But it was, in the end, slathered with frosting and FUCKING DELICIOUS. I made changes, of course. I used my gluten-free flour blend, and the frosting was one stick of butter (really soft), 1/2 cup of peanut butter, a splash of vanilla, some salt, and enough powdered sugar, added a cup at a time. Really, you could use any cake and just add the frosting. Jesus. So good.
And also, before you go, listen to this lovely little song: “I Wish You Love.” The singer might surprise you.
Anyway. Today is Friday, in a long string of what have now become meaningless name markers of days.
What was interesting, infuriating, or rather lovely about your week?
I was about to let this blog go. Not the name, you understand – just the process of writing a blog every month.
But then…cake.
You should know that cake is the world’s perfect food, or at least in a three-way (tie) with watermelon and pizza.
I love it the best and the most and will eat it every day if I can. I believe in the power of cake for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Perhaps most importantly for the purposes of this missive, I enjoy baking cakes for people. I like to see their faces when they open the box, and the whites of their eyes when they take their first bite.
That last little bit is creepy, but I mean it in the nicest way possible.
Additionally, if I made all of the cake I want to make/eat, the fit of my clothing would become problematic.
So, hello, you. Let me bake a cake for you.
I have updated my “Let Me Bake For You” page to list the offerings that are available.
Since I want baking to continue to be enjoyable, I won’t accept more orders than I can make with love (seriously. I know that sounds hokey or saccharine or whatever, but I mean it). If you want a cake, stake your claim early in the month and slap your money on the barrelhead (or the Venmo or PayPal – the 21st-century barrelhead).
If you want to give a cake to a person, I suppose I could whip you up a gift certificate for that person. Get in touch.
And if you want something other than a cake, get in touch. I could maybe work something out for you.
Oh, and hey. Share this post with a friend, using the buttons. I am off the Facebook but still use Instagram.
You can also take pix of your cakes and post on Instagram with my inventive hashtag: #charmcityedibles. That would not suck.
This is about a delicious cake, and the creative life, and how they are intertwined with each other.
It has been almost exactly a month since my last blog in this space, and I think that might just be my rhythm now. I never wanted this blog to be a space where I felt obligated to post – where’s the fun in that?
Such irregular posting does violate the cardinal rules of Building An Audience, though. I also don’t stuff my posts with keywords (long-tail or otherwise) or have ads on my site. I have only just within the last year or so started putting the recipe in the title, but my titles still won’t win any awards (or drive much traffic, if I am honest, which I always try to be).
But here’s the thing: this blog, and the recipes I make and share IRL and in this space, reflect my creative practice as it evolves.
This year has been a bit of a revelation for me in terms of seeing myself, finally, as an artist. Part of that is due to a supportive partner who is, himself, an artist. I have not had a romantic partner who has ever seen me in that way. It would be easy to say that they were to blame, or they were unsupportive, but that’s not it.
It was me.
In the last couple years I have been feeling something beneath the surface, like there was this Thing That Was About To Happen. I thought it might be some breakthrough in this blog, or some incredible opportunity or travel experience. Although I have traveled and made some incredible food and had opportunities arise, that wasn’t it.
You know that feeling when someone keeps telling you something about yourself, and you sort of nod and smile, thinking you are agreeing when you actually are only taking it in on the surface, and the largest part of you isn’t all there, agreeing, even as you nod and smile?
That was me when Khristian referred to me as an artist or a creative.
That was me even when I told people I was a writer.
This year, the switch flipped.
I ended 2018 writing a lot for other people. Last year, I wrote the equivalent of five full-length novels for other people (and one novel for myself). This was valuable and good in that it financed some incredible things last year (trips to Amsterdam and Canada, plus a writing retreat and a piece of property in Canada), but at the end of the year, I was tired of writing for other people.
So I cut back, starting in February, and have been working on my own work, my own creative life, since then.
I attended an incredible workshop called Making Your Life As An Artist, set some goals as a result of that workshop, and have been steadily working at them since the workshop.*
I have been working on a real artist mission statement.
I am exploring new media, moving into the visual arts and seeing how that fits with my writing life.
I am submitting to publications, residencies, retreats, and galleries.
I am committing to spending more time IRL with people I care about or want to get to know better, and less time on social media (which sort of screws the whole driving-traffic-to-your-site thing, too, but that’s ok).
I am committing to my work, even as I make less money for other people’s work (but stay open to opportunities there, too).
And good lord. What a difference it has made. I feel energized by my practice and have been pushing past doubt and insecurity. I am still plagued by Imposter Syndrome, but it is a low hum on occasion instead of a daily shout. I find myself trying to figure out a better way to keep track of ideas, and I am exploring how I truly work best (spoiler alert: I am not particularly disciplined).
But let’s be honest (which we should all always try to be). I can still procrastinate like nobody’s business. I still have days when the Call of the Bed is mightier than the Muse. When the roar in my head and the worthless feeling and the anxiety start to creep in the darkness around the edges of my vision, clouding my ability to create much of anything.
Enter procrastibaking (not my word, but apt).
In the last ten days I have felt a bit listless, a bit unsettled. A massive anxiety attack, the first in months, left me feeling wobbly. Even as the visual aspect of my creative practice exploded, my writing has begun to flail a bit.
My simple solution? Bake cakes.
Bake cakes, and give them to people.
Bake cakes, and eat them for breakfast.
Take a long walk with the dog, by the water, then come home and have some cake.
I have made three cakes in the last ten days: a carrot cake, a lemon bundt, and this glorious bastard: the Smith Island cake.
Smith Island cake is Maryland’s state dessert. I blogged about it once on this site but was not impressed by the results of my baking and did not post them (just a blog with some links). Even the person who claims to be THE Smith Island cake master USES A BOXED CAKE MIX (which makes me sick. REALLY? Just makes Maryland bakers look like a bunch of amateurs. But I digress.).
But I was definitely casting about for something to take my mind off of my creative work. And this cake is a good bet. Consisting of eight layers with a nearly-pourable, ganache-like chocolate frosting, it requires, at the very least, a system for baking (unless you happen to have eight, 9-inch layer cake pans. I have two.). You need to time your cakes precisely, and you need to have a little something to occupy your mind in eight-minute intervals while you perform the oven dance of shifting cakes and cooling cakes and lining cake tins. I worked on my artist statement in fits and starts that didn’t allow me to think too deeply about what I was creating (a good thing).
IT IS WORTH IT. This cake was absolutely incredible.
The recipe that inspired it is from Saveur, with some changes. The cake is, as ever, gluten-free, and I swapped out the milk (mostly because I did not have milk and didn’t want to leave the house). Their method seemed ridiculous to me, so I changed that around a bit, too. Read all the way through before you start, then follow the instructions for best results.
Better yet: if you are local, I am now selling a limited number of cakes every month. Made to order and good for at least 12 servings, so you don’t even have to get your hands dirty. Get in touch early in each month, even if you don’t need it until the end, to reserve your spot. More details here.
Otherwise, here’s the recipe for Smith Island cake that will inspire swoons. #Trust
Smith Island Cake
Ingredients
Cake 3 sticks butter, melted and cooled 3 1⁄2 cups all-purpose gluten-free flour 4 teaspoons baking powder 1 1⁄2 teaspoons kosher salt 2 1⁄4 cups sugar Milk: 1/2 cup evaporated milk and 1 1/2 cups oat milk (or just 2 cups whole milk, see Recipe Note) 1 tablespoon vanilla extract 6 eggs
For the Icing 2 ounces unsweetened chocolate 2 ounces semisweet chocolate (I used chips. Hey now.) 2 cups sugar 1 cup evaporated milk 6 tablespoons butter 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
Super helpful special tools: parchment paper, baking scale, cake turntable, offset spatula
Method Get ready: Get out two 9-inch cake pans and trace their bottoms on parchment paper. Cut out eight parchment paper circles and set aside. Preheat oven to 350°.
In a large bowl, combine flour, baking powder, and salt. In another large bowl, combine cooled butter, sugar, milks, vanilla, and eggs. Whisk to combine all wet ingredients well.
Add dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and use a whisk to get most of the lumps out of the flour (some will remain).
IMPORTANT: If you use regular flour (not gluten-free, do not overmix. You will develop your gluten, and the cakes will be tough and awful. Whisk until just combined, no more, than proceed).
Allow batter to sit and collect its thoughts for 15 minutes. While it sits, spray your pans with cooking spray, line the bottom with parchment, and spray again. Alternately, you could butter and flour but WHAT A PAIN IN THE ASS.
Stir batter until smooth.
Here’s where it gets technical. I used a baking scale to accurately measure the total weight of the batter and then divided it by eight. This makes your layers even and ensures you actually have eight layers (fewer than that and it’s technically not a Smith Island cake). If you don’t have a scale, each layer has a little over one cup of batter.
Move each cake pan around so the batter spreads evenly over the bottom. Bake for eight minutes, then swap pan position in the oven (left moves right; right moves to the left), and bake for another seven minutes (or until the cake is lightly browned).
Remove from oven and place in the freezer for 10 minutes. Remove cake from pan, and place on a wire rack to cool completely. Re-spray and re-line cake pans, then re-peat for remaining batter. I gave my cake tins a wash and dry after the second layer in each.
Let the layers cool completely before frosting. I started my frosting as I started my 7th layer.
Make the icing: Place chocolates, sugar, evaporated milk (should be the remainder of the can), butter, and vanilla in a high-sided, heavy-bottomed saucepan. Bring to a boil, stirring often and watching carefully.
I sort of forgot mine a little and neglected the stirring, but that forgetfulness was brief. I used a whisk to beat until it was smooth and shiny. Remove from heat and cool. I did not find this frosting to thicken much at all, which was absolutely fine. Don’t expect a buttercream texture, but it should be thicker than a glaze.
Cake assembly: Use a cake turntable if you have one. Place one layer on the turntable and top with 1/4 cup of frosting. Use an offset spatula to spread all the way to the edges – the layer of frosting will be thin. Repeat with all layers but leave the top bare (for now).
Place cake in ‘fridge for about 15 minutes, then finish icing. If the icing has gotten too thick to pour, heat slightly, then pour over the top of the cake and use your offset spatula to smooth the sides. The icing on the sides will be thin, but that’s ok. #Trust
Chill cake completely before serving. Serves 12.
Recipe Notes
I am a big fan of using what you have and avoiding excessive trips to the store. I had oat milk and used it rather than buy milk I would not drink. I have not tested this recipe with other milks.
I did not test this recipe with regular flour. As long as you are careful with the mixing, you should be fine.
*Making Your Life As An Artist is a part of ArtistU, and I encourage any creative people out there to take advantage of the class if it rolls into town. Even if you don’t go, they offer their materials for free – a free book and a free workbook. Check them out.
This recipe inspired by the Great Canadian Baking Show.
I just watched The. Dumbest. Movie. about unicorns on Netflix.
Call it boredom. Call it curiosity. Call it straight-up avoidance, but I clicked “play” and watched the whole thing. There goes 90 minutes of my life I will never get back.
Part of my clicking “play” on a really stupid movie is me floundering about a little, trying to figure out whatthefuck is next. After a month off of social media and with a few important deadlines looming, deadlines that have nothing to do with mercenary writing and everything to do with my own personal creative practice, my brain and body just don’t really know which end is up. It’s like riding a horse backwards, a little. Possible, but ill-advised.
Adding to the mental fog, this week has been a wild ride in other important ways.
Started off by putting my stressed out kid on a plane to Paris for a month.
Then I picked up my dog’s ashes and pawprint, which sent me back into grief, not just for the loss of the dog but also for every bit of loss from the past decade and a half – a long series of just having something or someone I love ripped away on a regular basis. In no particular order: A baby. A houseful of belongings. A parent. A house. A school. A husband. A horse. More belongings. A dog.
It’s a lot to deal with on a random Tuesday.
So I baked some things. It doesn’t really matter why or how, but a month ago I committed to donating four dozen sweet things to a writing conference my friend organized for Baltimore City College, and the due date for those sweet things was this week.
Two of the four dozen were Fondant Fancies, fiddly little things that required several hours of baking and fussing over. In conjunction with the other two dozen sweet things (individual Chocolate Covered Cherry Cream Pies), this baking occupied enough time and mental space to get me to the end of the Tuesday of Loss Remembrance.
And then after I delivered them on Wednesday morning, I took the remaining dog for a five-mile walk. As we got back to the car, sweaty and thirsty, I felt an overwhelming sweep of gratitude, even among all of the Lost Things, that I could bake all day for a friend, and then go out on the first truly beautiful spring day and walk through the woods with my dog. It’s a privilege and a blessing that I do not take for granted.
If you are feeling the need for making something special or avoiding something or just want to distract yourself with something other than a really, really dumb movie, give these a try. I didn’t find them too technically challenging – just time and patience-intensive.
p.s. If you want the recipe for Chocolate Covered Cherry Cream Pies, comment below the recipe.
p.p.s. Oh, and hey, if you like what you read, think about subscribing to this blog. You get one email when I post – that’s it. No ads, nothing more.
Dark chocolate, chopped (optional, for decoration)
Equipment: parchment paper, 8″ square cake pan, cooling rack, rolling pin, ruler, two rimmed cookie sheets, piping bag, squeeze bottle.
Method
For the cake: Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Butter an 8″ square cake pan and line with parchment paper, then butter the paper, too. Set aside.
Place butter and sugar in a stand mixer and cream with a paddle (this paddle is the best – not a sponsored post!) until light and fluffy. Add eggs one at a time, mixing to combine thoroughly after each egg.
Combine flour, baking powder, salt, and grated lemon rind in a bowl and mix to combine. Add to butter mixture and mix to combine, scraping down the side of the bowl. Batter will be pretty thick – this is ok.
Tip batter into prepared tin and level the surface with an offset spatula.
Bake for 30-40 minutes or until the top is light brown and springy and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Do not open the oven while it’s baking or it will sink in the middle.
Cool in the pan for ten minutes and then cool completely on a rack. You can make the buttercream while you wait.
For the buttercream: Add softened butter, powdered sugar, and vanilla extract to the clean bowl of your stand mixer. Use the whip attachment to beat until light and fluffy. You want frosting that is completely smooth and easy to spread. If it seems stiff, add some milk, just a teaspoon at a time, and whip thoroughly in between additions.
When the cake is completely cool, cut it into two horizontal layers. Spread a thin layer of raspberry jam evenly on the bottom layer, then place the top layer back.
Spread an even layer of buttercream on the top of the cake only and place in the ‘fridge.
Note: You will have leftover buttercream. Place it between graham crackers. Eat all the time.
Dust the clean counter liberally with powdered sugar and roll your marzipan paste to an 8″ square that is 1 /16″ thick (or thereabouts).
Place the marzipan on top of the buttercream and press down very lightly, then chill for another ten to 15 minutes. Have a coffee. Check your email.
Once chilled, remove the cake and, using a ruler, cut squares that are 1 1/2″ by 1 1/2″. Try to keep your cuts straight and neat, and remove any stray crumbs to keep the sides clean.
Set on a cooling rack over a rimmed cookie sheet (like a jellyroll pan). Place in ‘fridge while you prepare the candy melts.
Melt the candy melts in and coconut oil in a saucepan (or in the microwave if you have one – I do not), then transfer to a squeeze bottle with a wide opening (I cut mine wider).
Remove the cakes from the ‘fridge, and carefully coat each square with candy melt mixture. Periodically transfer the cakes to another pan and scrape the candy melt mixture that has dribbled off into the pan under the cakes and put it back in the squeeze bottle (use a funnel).
Make sure each square is fully coated.
If you’d like, allow the candy melt mixture to set (not in the ‘fridge – on the counter is fine) before melting some dark chocolate, placing it in a piping bag with a tiny opening, and drizzling all fancy-like over the squares.
Pro-tip: You can make this cake over several days, and finished squares are delicious for about a week (although the cake is not as springy).
Recipe Notes
Marzipan paste can be homemade, but I wanted to control some of the variables and so used pre-made paste. It can be found in the baking aisle. I have made my own in the past, and it’s worth the effort if the marzipan is the star.
Technically, fondant fancies use something called pâte à glacer as a coating. This is very, very similar to Wilton candy melts, and candy melts are widely available and much, much cheaper. I used vibrant green candy melts, but I also experimented with Mary Berry’s suggestion to use powdered sugar thinned with milk and tinted with food coloring. MISTAKE. Thin, too sweet, and flavorless. The coconut oil added to the candy melts makes the glaze more supple and adds a delicious flavor that complements the lemon, raspberry, and vanilla. If you want a neutral flavor (no coconut) you could use vegetable oil instead of coconut.
On Saturday, I had, as my particular friend called it, a visceral reaction to the suburbs.
We had dropped Khristian’s daughter off at the movies with a friend and planned a drink and some food at the least offensive of the chain restaurants in Hunt Valley (which turned out to be California Pizza Kitchen).
Things started out fine, as they usually do, and we ordered drinks and food at the bar.
After these diversions were settled I was able to look around.
The customers next to us were unhappy with something and a perfectly nice manager came over and soothed them.
The incoming male bartender, clearly an annoyance to our outgoing female bartender, overpoured for a lone male customer and mentioned that he (the bartender) would prefer some Rumplemintz. It was clear that the male customer was not really interested in the extra booze, but it was delivered in such a way that refusal would have seemed odd, so the male customer pretended it was fine.
It wasn’t really fine. I could feel it. The gesture of the extra booze came off as the “everybody’s doing it” kind of knuckle-dragging peer pressure one experiences around the beer funnel at a backwoods party.
Then we heard the same bartender mention Rumplemintz again at the other end of the bar. Soon after we watched him stick his finger in the neck of a bottle of some kind of juice mixer to unclog it before adding it to a waiting tray of drinks which was then, presumably, delivered to an unsuspecting patron.
Right around this time I started to feel…off.
I am not sure the last time I have been in a “fast-casual” dine-in chain restaurant, but I do remember saying that I didn’t want to do it again, and as I watched the people at the bar eating and listened to the modest din of their conversation or watched them staring into space or at the NCAA women’s basketball on the TVs over the bar I started to feel worse.
We finished our pizza and kale salad and paid. With time to kill, we boarded the escalator and descended into the belly of the beast: Wegman’s.
Don’t get me wrong. I love Wegman’s. And the Hunt Valley Wegman’s is legendary.
But the second I walked into the store I knew it was a mistake. It was hot, and it smelled strongly of food and people at the same time, in equal measure. Whole families were doing the weekly shopping, which translated into hordes of people, all with a determined look on their face and little regard for the people around them. We headed to the back of the store and perused the gluten-free section for a bit, and then I started to realize that the rest of our lovely day, the day that started with a walk to the Waverly farmer’s market for asparagus, a Blacksauce Kitchen biscuit, and a bag of Michele’s Granola, was not going to end well for me.
Anxiety is visceral. It may originate from a few random firing synapses in your brain, but the second those electrical impulses begin, the physical sensations are unmistakable with sensory detail that is clear, odd, and particular.
I could taste the last bite of kale salad in the back of my throat, where my breath lodged and came in short, shallow gasps. I was hot, and my clothes started to squeeze me. My mouth dried out. My heart beat in my chest, and I could feel the pulse in my belly, the one that connects to the vagus nerve, the transmitter of butterflies and anxiety and fear in a straight shot to the base of the skull.
Thinking to maybe head off the inevitable, I left my particular friend holding our few groceries and went to the restroom. Sometimes the quietness of the bathroom gives me space to collect myself. It may seem impossible that a public bathroom could become a refuge, but sometimes it’s the only quiet, peaceful space to go to when anxiety fires up.
The bathroom was rank-smelling and unclean. Loud music piped through the store, the kind of saccharine pop music that sounds like Christian rock but isn’t and involves no real instruments, reverberated against the oddly terracotta walls here. The bathroom was no help. I couldn’t breathe through my nose. My mouth was completely devoid of moisture, foul-tasting and pebbled with tastebuds that felt every particulate-filled, unrelenting morsel of inhaled air.
I will spare you the details of the next 45 minutes or so except to say that I visited that bathroom once more, plus a Peet’s coffee and tea bathroom and the movie theater bathroom (three times) before the girls finished their movie. I had taken an anxiety pill, then another half, and then another half. It’s hard to know if the medication sticks when you can’t keep it down. We made it home, where I took another pill, spent some more time in my (mercifully quiet and clean) bathroom, put on thick jammies (for the shivering when it came), and got into bed.
It’s not like I am unfamiliar with the trappings of the suburbs.
I spent 13 years in the suburbs of Atlanta. Without knowing it, in those 13 years, I lost bits of myself. It was subtle at first. Weekend shopping and meal planning on Sundays. Casual acquaintances who never really knew me (or cared to, really). Weekends consumed at the softball field, my child the center of the universe.
I kept the house, bossed my husband (Dane, for those who are just joining in) around, swore he couldn’t live without me (even went on strike once, like a total douche), and fully developed the raging anxiety that first surfaced when I was young. Every moment was gogogo, working for the weekend, taking care of business. The joy of teaching I experienced in Seattle evaporated in Georgia under a domineering boss who spent faculty meetings yelling at us.
We bought a farm. We lost a baby. I quit my job and started a school. Dane lost his job. We lost the farm. Dane died.
Sicily and I fled the suburbs for Baltimore.
Forgive me.
The vacuous homogeneity, the forced joie de vivre, the conspicuous consumption, and lack of individuality of the suburbs nearly killed me.
The low-key unhappiness that no one will admit to. The women complaining constantly about their husbands, who continue to ask forgiveness, not permission, of their wives.
The soul-killing lack of creativity, a hole that women attempted to fill chock-a-block full with Mason jar crafts, Pinterest boards, and wine painting party girls’ nights out. The insistence on calling each other “girls” in the first place.
The apathy towards politics, or the overwhelming conservative nature of the politics they did participate in.
The sheer size and number of SUVs and the callous, blatant disregard for fellow humans who are not in the inner circle, as evidenced by the lush green lawns and huge bags of garbage.
The subtle once-over every time you walk in someone’s door.
The endless evenings and weekends driving to activities or playdates or else keeping up the lawn, the house, the charade.
Forgive me.
It’s small wonder that in terms of volume and sheer violence, most heinous crimes are perpetrated not in rural areas or in the darkest parts of the urban jungle but just outside the beltway. School shootings happen in the suburbs, most often carried out by deeply unhappy people with startlingly easy access to guns.
But I digress.
I didn’t realize how miserable I was being the person I was never meant to be until I didn’t have to be that person anymore.
I shared these thoughts with Sicily the following day. We were walking across a parking lot, and when I told her my thoughts, her chin quivered and she lowered her sunglasses to cover her eyes.
“Do you regret it?” she asked me. “Being a softball mom?”
I stopped in the parking lot and looked her full in the face. I reassured her that she is the joy of my life. She made me understand the unfathomable depths of love and has given me the most blissful moments I have yet experienced in this incarnation. I am who I am today because she was born – she has made me a better person.
In truth, as much as my flight from the suburbs was about excavating the person I buried for so many years, it was also about being someone my kid could look up to. To show her that even from the shadow place of grief and through years of feeling unworthy, there is a way to come back. That it’s a sad and hard and joyous and exhausting and frustrating and hilarious and angry-making journey filled with ten tons of bullshit but also an equal measure of tears and laughter and the full range of emotion.
That feeling the full range of emotion – the crevasse of the depths and the universal height of joy – is the necessary thing. It’s the thing I couldn’t feel for 13 years. It’s the thing that came surging through me as we wandered the chaos of a strip mall in suburban Hunt Valley on a Saturday, only this time it came like a coiled snake, snapping out of a clay pot.
I want my beautiful daughter to know that it doesn’t have to be so for her. She can be who she is, just as she is. The Wiccans express it thus: “An it harm none, do as thou wilt.” And so I say now to both myself and my daughter.
As my anxiety receded, I felt like eating. Usually, I don’t eat for the rest of the day after an anxiety attack, and today was no different, but my cravings are always specific – sweet, comforting things, usually in the form of cake. I am possibly cake’s biggest fan.
In light of the burgeoning spring that has begun to sprung outside my bedroom window, and to honor my heart walking around outside of my body as we both continue to move towards who we are, I present to you this lovely, easy, unfussy carrot cake. I made carrot cake for Sicily’s first birthday. She ate it with a fork, no sticky fingers for her, and I knew, even in the middle of the suburbs, that she and I would somehow get to be just fine.
LouAnn’s Carrot Cake
Sicily, a.k.a Muffin Girl and Lovey LouAnn, maybe would have chosen a different cake for her first birthday, were she given a choice. I made this to try to reconcile her steady diet of organic, handmade meals and snacks with my deep love of sweet, sweet birthday cake. This recipe is a mash-up of several different recipes I have made over the years, with tweaked spices and a new technique that is shamelessly stolen from Cook’s Illustrated. After making cake in this way, I may never return to the round.
2 2/3 cups shredded carrot (about 3 large carrots – this measurement needn’t be exact)
Frosting and decoration
12 ounces cream cheese, softened
1 stick butter, softened
Optional: 1/4 cup buttermilk powder
2 teaspoons lemon
3 cups powdered sugar
Optional: milk, as needed
2 cups pecans, toasted, cooled, and chopped
Method
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line a 13″ x 18″ rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper (allow overhang at the ends) and set aside.
In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, brown sugar, baking powder, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves.
In a larger bowl, use the same whisk to combine eggs, oil, bananas, and vanilla. Whisk thoroughly until egg and oil are completely incorporated.
Add flour mixture to egg mixture and stir until combined (note: if you are using regular AP flour, do not overmix). The batter will seem fairly thick, closer to brownies than cake.
Fold carrots into the batter.
Pour batter into prepared pan. Use an offset spatula to even the surface and make sure it is level.
Bake for 15-20 minutes or until the top is dry. You can use a cake tester or toothpick to test also; no crumbs should stick to either.
Cool in pan for five minutes, then carefully life with the edges of the parchment paper and transfer to a wire rack to cool completely before frosting.
To make the frosting, place cream cheese, butter, and buttermilk powder (if using) in a large bowl. Using a hand mixer, beat until smooth. Add lemon juice and powdered sugar (sift if you are particular; I am not), one cup at a time, beating well between additions. If your frosting is too thick, add a teaspoon of milk at a time, beating well, until it achieves a smooth, spreadable consistency.
To assemble, use a sharp knife to cut the cake into four pieces: one big cut across the longest part of the cake and one on the shorter side (you will end up with four rectangles that are about 6″ x 8″ each).
I use a rotating cake stand to frost, but since this is a round cake that is not entirely necessary. Frost and fill, allowing plenty for the top. If some crumbs show through on the sides, that’s okay.
When the cake is frosting, press handfuls of pecans into all four sides until covered. Pro tip: DO NOT DO THIS OVER THE SINK (don’t ask how I know). What happens is you waste a ton of pecans, which are very expensive. Complete this by holding the cake in one hand over the same rimmed baking sheet it was cooked in, using the other hand to press a handful of pecans into the sides at a time. Whatever is leftover can be used in another application.
Try not to eat it all, but remind yourself that since there are carrots in there it’s practically a vegetable.
Recipe Notes
You can substitute applesauce OR drained crushed pineapple for banana in the same amounts.
Buttermilk powder is not strictly necessary, but it’s nice to have around and lasts forever. Find it in the baking aisle near the canned and powdered milk.
You could also add currants to the batter…if you were a MONSTER.
