(Cake saves the day: here, a Grand Champion Sponge Cake with apricots and cream brings a note of festivity to an otherwise dreary kitchen plumbing emergency.)
When I moved into my new apartment, one of the greatest changes was having a kitchen that is a room unto itself, a way of living I had not experienced since 1978, when we lived in a rambling mansion-like Victorian house near the border of Canada. We had nearly no furniture, certainly not enough to fill the five bedrooms and three living rooms and den and dining room. As befits a house of that scale, the kitchen was not only separate, but had its own porch, and own stairs to the basement and up to the back of the house. (But you shouldn't be thinking me of a grand background- my parents were college professors- this is why we had no furniture- and the house had cost 27 thousand dollars. And there was ice on the inside of the windows all winter long.). It had no bookshelf, but as I was only 11, I had not yet amassed the library I now have. Now, after three and a half decades, I had not only a lot of books, but a place to put them.
Honestly, I have a place to put a third of them- those most worn and tattered. The rest are in the living room- respectable and useful books all, but not necessary. One of the most often consulted of the necessary books is a Junior League cookbooks from the family home state of my dearest friend Sarah, which luckily for us all is Louisiana.
Junior League cookbooks are to commercial cookbooks as a candid snapshot is to a posed formal portrait- vivid, alive, and a little voyeuristic. It's like the best handwritten green index cards all the homes in a community- the recipes of memory, the county fair entries, the legendary cakes- touchingly, the things each entrant is famous for, is most proud to share. Of course, some of them are bizarre (pork sausage cake- that is a sweet, iced, two-layer cake made with a significant amount of crumbled pork sausage. I have not tried it.). Some are breathtakingly practical (and terse!: an alien visiting our planet could safely infer from these alone that our species has two distinct genders)- many of these are in the drinks section : Refrigerator Martini- 2 cups gin 1 cup vodka 1/2 c vermouth. "Mix in an empty fifth bottle. Store in the refrigerator. will keep as long as they last." Still others are nothing less than the distilled wisdom of an entire culture's devotion to quality cake:
Grand Champion Sponge Cake:
6 egg whites
pinch cream of tartar or a dash of vinegar
Beat the egg whites until frothy, then add the vinegar or cream of tartar and a little of the sugar. Keep beating, adding the sugar a little at a time, until they form nice peaks. Not too stiff; you'll want to keep them soft enough so as not to have to work too hard folding them into the rest pf the batter, which is:
6 egg yolks
1/4 C water
1 1/4 C flour
1 C sugar
1/2 tsp. salt
1 1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
We'll blend these quite well with the same mixer- no need to clean the whites from the beaters. It seems like a stiff mixture at first but it will lighten with a little beating. Fold in a third of the whites to lighten the mixture, then carefully the rest, turning the bowl and lifting from the bottom with a rubber spatula. Bake at 170 C/350 F, until a toothpick comes out nice and clean, no crumbs.
I have used this for faux twinkies, Swedish princess cake, mad tea party cupcakes, petit fours, and subdued, subtle nut tortes. It is magnificent. Its pronounced egginess gives a richness of flavor (note we've no butter to rely on for those), and it stands up well to anything I've paired with it (and it loves anything with liquor in it.). There's also nothing pricey or obscure in the recipe- you likely have everything on hand, and you won't be out much.
Most recently (today in fact, as my kitchen wall was being ripped open from the outside), I made this in a large springform pan (26 cm, 10"), which I lined with parchment but did not bother to butter, as it clings nicely to the sides but comes away easily as well with a swirl of a knife. The cake- this size baked for about 35 minutes- rises up impressively. Don't ooh and ah yet though, as this cake- like all of its cousins who also get their volume and height chiefly from beaten whites (chiffons, genoises....)- will quickly fall by about 20%, losing its dome as it does so.
This one I split horizontally (it cools in just 20 minutes, owing to its being made mainly of air), and filled and topped with apricots. (Why apricots? I had lots, but also in contrast I found them more luscious and tangy and dense than the strawberries I generally use) I cut up the apricots (about 20) into pieces and mush in a bowl and mixed them with a little coarse raw sugar (for the taste) and some vanilla and some bitter almond. (Why bitter almond? The stone fruits have a small kernel within their pits that suggests this fragrance, and it marries very well with them). I put half between the layers and half on the top layer. Don't be worried about moving the layers around- they are quite springy and elastic and if one does break it will tear rather than crumble, so it just fits right back together- the cake is a model of behavior. Of course, it could be ready to eat at once. But, if you can spare the time, an overnight in the refrigerator will make it evenly moist all over, and even more delicious. I topped mine with whipped cream sweetened with more raw sugar. The whole ensemble has a very warm look. Here's how to make it come together nicely:
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| Splitting the layers with the help of the removable bottom of a tart pan. |
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| The apricots with raw brown sugar to taste and a splash of vanilla extract. |
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| Pouring the macerated fruit over the layers. |
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| The top layer with fruit, ready for the whipped cream. |
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