Carrot Sheet Cake, Part 2

Last time, I laid out the recipe for the carrot sheet cake. (If you didn't see it, it's here.) Now let's ice the thing.

But first, a word about indulgences. Yes. You should have indulgences. But let them be indulgences. A frosted cake like this is not for every day, or even every other day. It's for a celebration, a party, a work, church, or synagogue event.

I guess I feel compelled to say this because Bruce and I do a fair amount of work inside the "wellness" industry. It's work we believe in. Our monthly column at weightwatchers.com ("Sundays in the Kitchen with Bruce and Mark") reflects the way we cook on a daily basis. And frankly, there aren't too many desserts in the weekly routine. We usually finish off dinner with a piece of fruit--or now, in the dead of winter, when even the citrus is getting dodgy, with some incredibly juicy dates from Oasis Date Gardens. (Check them out here.) But once in a while, we go for the carrot cake. Because it's so darn delicious.

So on to it.

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Carrot Sheet Cake, Part 1

I thought about calling this recipe a "simplified carrot cake," since it's not the more traditional layer cake but is instead a sheet cake, baked in a 9 x 13-inch (23 x 33-cm) baking pan. It's certainly easier--but just as moist and irresistible.

Last week, I needed to make a dessert to take to the book group I lead at the Norfolk, Connecticut, library. (It was the first discussion of four over two months on George Eliot's MIDDLEMARCH. We're nothing if not serious!) I thought about this recipe from a long time ago, back when Bruce created it for THE ULTIMATE COOK BOOK. I dug it out and voilà, the American classic, reinvented as a somewhat simpler sheet cake.

We'll do take this recipe in two parts: in this post, the cake; then the frosting, a cream cheese wonder (which you can find here). As you know, carrot cake is a ridiculous indulgence. No, you shouldn't eat it every week. Or even every month. But once in a while, it's nice to dig out an old stand-by and have at it. I hope you'll try this one--and it'll become one of your favorites, too.

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Mexican Wedding Cake with Spiced Buttercream, Part 2

In the last post (find it here), we did the layers to this beauty: a thick, chewy, walnut cake, designed to model the flavors in Mexican wedding cookies.

In this post, it's all about the buttercream.

And not just any buttercream. Yes, spiced. But also real. Too many people think buttercream is just sugar beaten into butter. That's all well and good. Delicious, too. But it's not the old-school, Frenchified, grandmotherly buttercream. Because it doesn't have eggs. Which is the whole key to how buttercream gets so silky. It's not the butter--it's the eggs. So without further ado. . . .

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Whole Wheat Pear Upside-Down Cake

As you may know, Bruce and I have begun working on a whole grain book--all main-courses, quinoa to barley, tritacale to buckwheat. It's not due to the publisher until later this year--and not out until next year. But if you've followed this blog for a while, you've seen the beginnings of the idea for that book in the wheat berry and quinoa salads that have made frequent appearances here.

While there will be no sweets or breads in that book, I've lately become obsessed with desserts made with whole grains. Admittedly, I'll never get the soft, luxurious texture of a cake made with all-purpose flour. But I am getting something else: a big hit of whole grains, something every single one of us needs in our food choices.

As we said in REAL FOOD HAS CURVES, always go browner, whenever you have a choice. To that end, I'm baking up a storm.

One note before we get going: this recipe calls for whole-wheat pastry flour, a very finely ground whole grain flour. It's sometimes known as "graham flour." Bob's Red Mill makes a good one--click here. Do not use whole-wheat flour--which is too coarse. You need a fine-ground soft wheat with the bran and whole-grain goodness intact. If you must make a substitution, use half cake flour and half regular whole wheat flour.

OK, on to the recipe.

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Whoopie Pie Cake, Part 1

You may know that I lead--more like, corral--the book group discussion at the Norfolk, Connecticut, library on select Fridays. Here's our room, ready for the group last week, the fire roaring for these cold winter days. Sort of a New England dream, no? We were set to discuss David Mitchell's THE THOUSAND AUTUMNS OF JACOB DE ZOET, an utterly sublime book, to be savored slowly. (If you want to know more about the group, check out our website here.)

Every time, I bring a treat of some kind. This time, a Whoopie Pie Cake, one of Bruce's original creations for THE ULTIMATE COOK BOOK, our 900-recipe tome. That's the cake right there on the table. It's a layer cake designed to mimick the Southern favorite--dense layers of chocolate cake with a creamy, luscious Italian meringue (no, not Marshmallow Fluff) center.

It was such a hit that I thought I'd share the recipe with you. I wish I could share the cake-- it was certainly a show-stopper. But here goes. I'm going to do this one in two posts. The chocolate layers first.

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Coffee Stout Gingerbread

Well, the gingerbread isn't stout. But it's made with stout.

I made this last week to take to my book group. Yep, I lead a book discussion group at the library in the town next to ours. It's a gorgeous, old-school library. And a gorgeous group, to boot. I've led book groups many times in my life (in Madison, in Austin)--and I believe this is the smartest, most convivial group I've seen in many a year. If you want to know about us, check it all out here.

Be that as it may, I always bring a treat to our discussions. This past week, I wanted to come up with the ultimate gingerbread. As you know, Bruce is the cook and I, the writer. But as you may also know, every once in a while I roll up my sleeves and come up with an original recipe.

Which always scares me. I'm not the one who went to chef school. I'm the keyboard guy. Anyway, I thought out this gingerbread recipe, made it, took it out of the oven only 30 minutes or so before the book group, brought it warm--and everyone fell upon it. No, I didn't have any sweetened whipped cream on the side (a hint, perhaps); but I brought my own thermos of coffee. Just because.

So here's the recipe, as well as some testing notes:

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Apple Cake

Apples are in! (At least around us in New England.) They're appearing by the bushel and the peck, despite the drought we've experienced for the past several months.

Natch, it's time for Bruce's apple cake. I can't believe I haven't shared this recipe with you before. It's a staple in our house--even a great breakfast cake, as you'll see.

It's also an old recipe, one he got from his grandmother. In fact, the beat-up, stained recipe card calls it "Israeli Apple Cake." I don't know about the Israeli part (are there apples in Israel?), but I do know she used a tasteless oil for the batter. Blech. If we know anything about real food, we know there's no satiety there. So Bruce has morphed the recipe with walnut oil. Yum.

As you know, we're nuts about nut oils. But one warning: they don't move off the supermarket shelves quickly. If you get a bottle home and it smells rancid when opened, take it back for a full refund! Or consider buying nuts oils from sites like amazon.com. You can find the whole La Tourangelle collection there. Check this out for a three-can supply. Plus, it's lots cheaper than at the grocery store. And if you look up the six-can packs, it's even cheaper. Just make sure you store them in the fridge before and after opening--because all those omega-3s and polyunsaturated fats go whangy pretty fast at room temperature.

Enough with the blather. On to the cake. Did I mention it's a one-bowl wonder? Indeed.

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Banana Upside Down Cake

OK, tell me you don't want it: a dense, buttery cake with bananas sitting in caramel.

Well, OK, maybe you don't. If September is truly the start of the new year, you might have a resolution or two up your sleeve. I want to bone up on my French. I've lost it since we moved to the country four years ago. I don't get into too many conversations about the proper use of the subjunctive with my neighbors.

But I digress. I'm supposed to be writing about banana upside down cake. How it got mixed up with the subjunctive is. . . .

Right. Resolutions. The best thing about calling September the new year is that you don't have to make any. No French, no gym memberships. Those are all well and good. But you don't have to. You can just celebrate this thing called time. (Or not. At fifty, I can't decide which.)

I warn you, real food lovers: this cake is a also a celebration of butter. Without a doubt, it's empty calories. Probably eight servings in this thing. But butter is a real fat. Better that than some fake stuff. And yes, there's sugar involved. Even corn syrup. We'll get to that. On to the cake:

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Almond Cake

Now that you've got the Crème Anglaise on hand, you've got the "frosting" for this moist almond cake, with no standard frosting, but sandwiching a layer of blueberry jam. The custard sauce will get poured onto the plates, the slices of cake then set on top. Gorgeous, no? But I have to tell you: you might just want to try this cake on its own. It's one of Bruce's best confections from THE ULTIMATE COOK BOOK. (There are others in that tome. Ah, the Inside Out Black Forest Cake with Chocolate Whipped Cream Frosting. That's something for a celebration indeed.)

One culinary note before we get started: there's no added fat to this cake, other than the almonds and the egg yolks. Strange, eh? (And you know I'm not opposed to fat!) But the lack of butter or walnut oil or what have you allows the cake to become a very light sponge, still quite moist, but almost Twinkie-like in texture. (I can't BELIEVE I just wrote that.)

So here goes.

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Almond Semolina Cake

And I mean really old-fashioned. Because Bruce found this recipe in a cookbook originally printed in the 1880s. He had to adapt it a bit--especially the amounts (anyone for "two pennies and a half of semolina flour"?)--but this light, fantastically-moist cake is an incredibly puddling-like affair, pretty straightforward, but rich and satisfying. Best of all, there's breakfast involved. Twice. You'll see.

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