Chocolate Orange Sponge Cake

Darkness and Light

A lonely person in the middle of a forest. 

– Henning Mankell in The return of the Dancing Master 

 I stare into my own eyes, at my own face, skin sallow under the glare of lights much too harsh. Age runs her silver fingers through my hair, mocking my every attempt at feigning less years than I actually own. My eyes slide across the stage behind me; men and women scurry about like rats forever chasing after some elusive deed in the simple act of looking busy, following the same old unwritten script they must follow every morning of the year. Poor souls. Those lights with their neon violence bounce off of every surface making the outside pewter gray even drearier yet somehow luminous in its natural softness; the stillness outside more infused with life and light than the living brightness inside.

Early morning haircut, settled into the deep faux-leather chair waiting for someone to come and yank, pull, tug; neck bent back in an unnatural position until the ache is too much to bear, water hot, cold, tepid awakening me from my trance. I leave feeling lighter, a sparkle of elation even as the skies above are drained of their own brilliant light. Where is the darkness that follows me about like a faithful dog at my heels or a secret admirer, always two steps behind?

Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. 

No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness 

has always got there first, and is waiting for it. 

– Terry Pratchett 

I fell asleep in darkness and woke in darkness. The skies pale, a brooding mist hangs from the discolored clouds, and blends with my mood; anger, self-doubt, haunting sadness. This darkness comes and goes without heed to the time of day, with no care as to the cast of the sky. The color black or shades of gray in brushstrokes across my soul. Days monotonous, skies the same monochrome as my spirit. I drag my body from my bed, stumble bleary-eyed, weary into the kitchen to begin my day. Coffee, rolls, jelly cold and sharp. The radio shouting wars and political battles broken only by the aggressive onslaught of music or fervently grinning announcers. I focus on the pages of a paperback and concentrate on the words, the story. Husband pokes me in the ribs, dog bounces around my feet, urging me to pay attention, making me smile. Yes, I can do this. Again. One more day.

A tale of darkness dwelling deep inside, a story of ghosts illuminated, transparent, intangible, as persistent as the devil. Unromantic darkness wrapped around me like clothing, or like a shard of glass buried under my skin. Light when it materializes comes from somewhere else. A sudden thought, a kind word, the face of a friend. My spirit, that eternal eddy of darkness, has a talent to suck the light, drain the skies of even the most minor hint of vibrancy. If I allow it. Sometimes it is easier, less energy, less effort to simply fall backwards into the abyss. We each of us allow ourselves to be lured by the simple luxury of waves of sadness or worry lapping softly, rhythmically against our ankles and miring us in the muck of our lives. Until a sliver of light pierces the surface.

When it is dark enough, you can see the stars. 

– Charles Austin Beard 

And I bake. The darkness of chocolate, a shower of cocoa like earth sliding through a sieve. Egg whites whipped and beaten, thick, thicker, opaque phantoms unwilling to blend easily, putting up a fight, continually bobbing to the surface, imposing themselves. And the light. Bright like a Florida winter sky, radiating a clear, chilly warmth. Oranges. In this season of darkness, we crave the dense, the heavy, the rich. Yet break the spell with something light, moist, ethereal. A sponge cake. The heavenly darkness of chocolate to soothe the soul brightened with the essence of orange to lift the spirit.

Chocolate Orange Sponge Cake

1 ¼ cups flour
¼ cup cocoa powder
1 tsp baking powder
Scant ½ tsp salt and a small pinch for the egg whites
6 large eggs, separated
1 ¼ cups sugar
¼ cup cold water *
¼ cup freshly squeezed orange juice *
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 tsp orange extract (I use Nielsen-Massey) or 1 tsp finely grated orange zest
Couple of drops lemon juice for the whites, optional

* For a slightly stronger orange flavor, use ½ cup freshly squeezed orange juice in all, and no water.

Preheat the oven to 325°F (160°C). Have ready an ungreased 10-inch tube pan with removable tube.

Sift the flour, cocoa powder, baking powder and salt into a small bowl; stir or whisk to blend. Set aside.

Measure out the orange juice and the water. Replace the water with more orange juice for a more pronounced orange flavor.

Separate the eggs. Place the whites in a mixing bowl (plastic is preferable to glass); add a few grains of salt and a drop or two lemon juice to help stabilize the whites. Place the egg yolks in a large mixing bowl.

Beat the yolks with an electric beater on high speed until thick and pale. Add the sugar and continue beating until very thick and creamy. Beat in the vanilla and orange extracts.

Add the dry ingredients to the yolk/sugar mixture in three additions, alternating with the cold water in two additions, beating after each addition until blended, scraping down the sides as necessary.

Beat the whites on high speed (start on low speed for 30 seconds, then work up to medium then high speed) until very dense and stiff peaks hold.

Delicately fold the whites into the cake batter: begin by folding in about a third of the whites in order to lighten the heavy batter so as not to “break” the whites (knock out the air). Then fold in another third, then the final third. Make sure there are no pockets or lumps of whites left yet try not to overmix the batter.

Pour into an ungreased 10-inch tube pan and bake in the preheated oven for 55 - 60 minutes until set. Press very lightly on the surface of the cake; if the indentations remain and if the cake “hisses” when pressed – as if the batter is still a mousse and not yet set - then allow the cake to bake for an extra few minutes.

Cool inverted. Once the cake is cool, run a long-bladed knife or cake spatula around the sides and around the center tube to loosen. Lift the tube and cake out from the outer pan. Run a knife carefully underneath the cake to loosen from the bottom of the cake pan all around. Very carefully turn over, lift out the center tube, then upright onto a serving platter.

Serve dusted simply with powdered sugar or drizzle with a chocolate ganache. To intensify the orange flavor, use an orange scented chocolate (such as Lindt Excellence Orange Intense) to make the ganache.
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Chairs

An Object of Desire

Nature is by and large to be found out of doors, a location where, 

it cannot be argued, there are never enough comfortable chairs. 

– Fran Lebowitz 

Winter never does settle in in Nantes. Not really. A midnight flurry, maybe, quite possibly, hidden from prying eyes. Wake to white in the morning and by noon it is gone. The days have been quite temperate, an early spring, and as cabin fever sets in we leave the safety and four walls of home and take to the streets.

Settle in, chair faced out, legs stretched, jutting awkwardly forward, and let the street theater begin. That old French tradition of long lazy moments at a sidewalk café beckons as the sun splatters across the pavement, warming our upturned faces. People scurry through town, in front of us, oblivious. People stroll hand in hand, nonchalantly, swallowed up in their own thoughts.

Each day I discover something new of my town. Look up and see art; scribbles on the walls, crazy mosaics glued to the sides of buildings, a game of hide-and-seek. Or the buildings themselves, architecture gone wild, architects let loose. Vibrant colors and odd shapes crisscross in our paths, sculptures in our line of vision, yelling for attention.

It isn't so much what's on the table that matters, as what's on the chairs. 

– William S. Gilbert 

And then there are all of these chairs. Who thinks of a chair? Inanimate objects, purely functional. Where to place our seat when desiring….a seat? Colors, shapes, living sculptures. Who notices the benches, the stools, the seats and chairs in rattan, wicker, plastic, metal? Slats, woven, wooden, sturdy, rickety? There they sit, pretty as a picture, blocking my path, inviting me, anyone to stop, sit, relax. And do we really need a reason – a coffee clutched, a book opened, a croque-monsieur lying placidly on a plate – to pull up a chair?

A place for quiet reflection, a good book, a crisp newspaper, a shared meal or a lively discussion. Sit facing each other, eyes locked, leaning in across the table, the world shut out, forgotten. Sit side by side, shoulder to shoulder, watching anyone but your companion, watching the world go by, an unobserved observer.

Common sense says that chairs and tables exist independently of 

whether anyone happens to perceive them or not. 

– Charles D. Broad 

I am enthralled. I begin to snap all that I see and there are still more waiting patiently to be discovered.

Sitting quietly, doing nothing, spring comes, and the grass grows by itself 

 – Zen proverb

 

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Assyrian Spinach Pies

THE PERSNICKETY ONE EATS

I had one of each. Our first son, Clem, was a mother’s dream: he ate everything. From the moment our pediatrician gave us the nod, allowing us to feed him petits pots, puréed baby food, we offered him tastes of everything. Propped up on my lap or in his high chair, husband would push a fingertip smeared with fresh goat cheese, chocolate pudding, soufflé both savory and sweet, gravy, dips and sauces and everything and anything we adults happened to be eating at the moment.

As soon as Clem graduated to more complex foods, we handed him lemon wedges, garlic cloves, thin slices of spicy merguez and he happily tasted, sucked and gobbled it all up. As he grew, Clem was truly a happy eater. He may not have been drawn to fruit, sticking to banana and strawberries with the occasional pear, and may have turned up his nose at fish and seafood, but everything else was a go, no matter how exotic, no matter the ingredients. He adored vegetables, whether raw, sautéed, roasted, baked or simmered. Ratatouille, baba ganoush, couscous heady with carrots, zucchini and pumpkin, stews, gratins, salads, well…anything. What a joy to cook for this boy! What a pleasure to accompany him to a restaurant. A happy, adventurous, generous eater.

And then there was Simon. Yes, I had one of each.

I remember the day that Simon stopped eating. Clamped those 2-year-old rosebud lips shut and that was that. White rice, pasta “in bianco” or with a plain red sauce, swordfish quickly grilled pfshhh pfshhh and placed in front of him with the merest drizzle of olive oil. Oh, fried he would eat and pizza received a nod of the head, even fruit of any color was accepted, but vegetables were henceforth relegated to the back burner and someone else’s plate. From there on out, one had to be very creative indeed to get this sweet little boy with the angel’s face to eat. He was incredibly wary, picking apart each dish with the patience, concentration and skill of a surgeon. He noticed the microscopic specks of carrots in my carrot cake; he spied and questioned the flecks of green in my zucchini cupcakes. To this day, young adult that he is, he stares at whatever food I place on his plate, whether savory or sweet, with suspicion. He eyes me with cynicism and distrust, finally asking, eyes narrow slits, lips pressed together, “what did you put in it?” My “Nothing!” does nothing to reassure him and often he simply responds with “I’m sure you put something I don’t eat in there….”

* sigh * It breaks a mother’s heart.

Yet…. Yet… I have succeeded twice or thrice, patting myself proudly on the back for pulling one over…. um, making my child eat a vegetable. A generous grating of freshly Parmesan over steamed broccoli was the first surprise. But shhhhhh don’t breath, don’t make a noise, don’t point anything out or make a stink or the spell might be broken. Do not under any circumstance make him think that you won! Just bite your tongue and carry on, mom.

And spinach. Well, feta works wonders, like magic it is! Spanikopita, Spinach-Feta Triangles in their crunchy phyllo shell. And this.

Assyrian Spinach Pies are more than just spinach in a marvellous, tender yeast dough triangle. Plenty of feta cheese gives it that salty, tangy kick; pomegranate seeds or dried cranberries sweeten it up. Chopped nuts, lemon juice and bits of caramelized onion make for a flavorful hand pie. And every boy – and their mother – quite happy. Serve with a salad, a glass of wine and dinner is served.

Assyrian Spinach Pies are the February Bread Baking Babes’ challenge. Our Babe and Kitchen of the Month Tanna of My Kitchen in Half Cups had us bake these marvelous savory Syrian Sabanrhiyat pies. I followed the recipe, only changing the pomegranate seeds with chopped dried cranberries, the walnuts for pecans (I had planned to use pine nuts but the cupboard was bare) and cardamom for the mahleb. I changed the procedure just a little and it turned out a great dough, easy to work with even when rolled out very thin, light and fluffy when baked. It is a little fiddly and fussy to form the triangles around the slippery dough as bits of spinach, feta and berry try to escape between your fingers, but it is easier than you can imagine. And the results are worth the time and one I’ll make again. Even your finicky eater will eat his spinach.

Visit all the Babes and see how their Assyrian Spinach Pies turned out! If you would like to bake with us as a Bread Baking Buddy, visit Tanna’s post and find out how!

Bake My Day – Karen
Bread Baking Babe Bibliothécaire – Katie
blog from OUR kitchen – Elizabeth
Feeding my enthusiasms – Elle
girlichef – Heather
Lucullian Delights - Ilva
Living in the Kitchen with Puppies – Natashya
My Kitchen In Half Cups – Tanna
Notitie Van Lien – Lien
Paulchens Foodblog – Astrid
Provecho Peru – Gretchen

Happy 5 year anniversary, Bread Baking Babes!

I will be sharing the Assyrian Spinach Pies with Susan of Wild Yeast for Yeastspotting!

Assyrian Spinach Pies
Adapted from the original recipe from A Baker's Odyssey: Celebrating Time-Honored Recipes From America's Rich Immigrant Heritage by Greg Patent

Yield: 24

For the dough:

2 1/4 tsps (8 g) active dry yeast
2 cups (500 ml) warm water (105° to 115°F)
1/2 tsp ground mahlab or cardamom
5 cups (675 – 700 g) unbleached all-purpose flour, plus more as needed
2 Tbs granulated sugar or granulated light brown sugar
2 tsps salt
1/3 cup (85 ml) olive oil

For the filling:
2 Tbs extra-virgin olive oil
1 large yellow onion, chopped
1 pound (500 g) cleaned baby spinach, squeezed dry and coarsely chopped
1 cup (4 oz, 110 – 115 g) chopped walnuts or pecans coarsely chopped or pine nuts
1/3 – 1/2 cup coarsely chopped dried craneberries
1 cup crumbled feta cheese (about 4 ounces/110 g) or fresh goat cheese
1/3 cup (85 ml) lemon juice
2 Tbs olive oil
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
Salt
Olive oil for brushing
Plain yogurt or dip for serving

Prepare the dough:

In a small bowl, measure out 1 teaspoon of the granulated sugar and add the dry yeast. Add ¼ cup (60 – 65 ml) of the warm water and let rest for about 10 minutes until the yeast is dissolved and the liquid foamy.

In a large mixing bowl, combine the flour, remaining sugar, the salt and the ground mahleb or cardamom and stir just to combine. Once the yeast is frothy add it to the flour mixture. Add the remaining 1 ¾ cup (about 435 ml) warm water and the olive oil to the bowl. Stir with a wooden spoon until all of the dry ingredients are moistened and the dough gathers into a mass. Let stand for 5 minutes.

Scrape the dough onto a lightly floured work surface and knead vigorously for 6 minutes until soft and elastic, flouring the work surface as necessary to keep the dough from sticking. This is a very soft dough and will still be slightly sticky at the end of the 6 minutes kneading. Place the kneaded dough in a large, clean and oiled (olive oil) mixing bowl, turning the ball of dough to coat with oil. Cover the bowl lightly with plastic wrap and a clean kitchen towel and let the dough rise until it has doubled in size, from 1 to 1 ½ hours. When the dough is pressed with a finger, the depression will remain once the finger is removed.

Scrape the risen dough onto a lightly floured work surface. Divide the dough into 24 pieces (a scant 2 ounces/ 56 g). Shape into balls, arrange on the floured work surface and cover loosely with the plastic and the kitchen towel. Let rest for 30 minutes.

Prepare the filling:

While the balls of dough are resting, heat the 2 tablespoons of olive oil in a medium skillet over medium heat. Add the onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until tender and golden, 8 to 10 minutes. Remove from the heat.

Put the chopped spinach into a large mixing bowl. Add the nuts, the chopped dried cranberries, the crumbled feta, the lemon juice and drizzle with 1 - 2 tablespoons olive oil. Toss. Pepper to taste and toss again. Taste again and salt as needed, keeping in mind that the cheese is salty.

Prepare the pies:

Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C) and place the oven rack in the center position of the oven. Line 2 large cookie or baking sheets with cooking parchment. Have extra parchment ready for more cookie sheets if needed.

Shape the pies: roll each ball of dough into a thin 6-inch (15 cm) circle, flouring the dough and work surface lightly as necessary to prevent sticking. Pile about ¼ - 1/3 cup of the filling, loosely measured, onto the center of each circle, leaving about 1 inch of dough exposed all around. Brush the exposed dough lightly with water. Shape each into a triangle (think Hamentaschen): imagining the circle to be a clock, lift up the edges of dough at the 10 o’clock and 2 o’clock positions to cover the top part of the filling and pinch firmly to seal, going all the way to 12 o’clock. Lift the 6 o’clock position of dough to meet in the center and pinch the two edges firmly to seal, using one finger to push the spinach and filling back inside. The seams will look like an inverted Y. Set the pie on one of the prepared sheets. Working quickly, form 7 more pies, placing them on the cookie sheet with a little space between them.

Line up the pies on the lined baking sheets; brush each pie lightly with olive oil or half olive oil-half melted butter. Bake in the preheated oven for 25 to 30 minutes until golden top and bottom.

Remove from the oven to cooling racks.

Serve warm or at room temperature (or take on a picnic!) with Greek yogurt, red or green salsa, or your favorite avocado dip.

Leftover pies can be easily frozen. Place the try in the freezer until the pies are frozen and then transfer to heavy-duty, resealable plastic freezer bags for up to one month. To reheat, thaw the pies and then place on a lined baking sheet and bake in a preheated 350°F (180°C) oven for 10 minutes.
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Vanilla Bean Panna Cotta & Amaretti Brownies

Valentine’s Day. Again.

Love is the condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own. 

- Robert Heinlein 

Valentine’s Day. This evokes a great philosophical debate chez nous year in and year out. Do we or don’t we? To Valentine’s Day or not to Valentine’s Day? I am led to believe by those willing to convince me that this day is no day at all, that if I surrender, give in to the commercial greed and false proclamations of so many admen, I somehow put our love at risk, laugh at the seriousness of the glue that holds our couple together, relinquish our passion to someone else who dares dictate how and when we declare our love. The sceptics surround me on every side, closing in, yet I glance up and smile sweetly, nodding in ostensible agreement all the while dreaming romantic dreams of my man.

Go ahead, just try and convince me. I surrender to your words. Wrap me in your arms and tell me that the day means nothing to you at all, that no one can put limits or restrictions, obligations or rules on the expression of your feelings. Tell me that you desire me every day and you need no one at all to hand you an opportunity to show me just how much. But (just this once) recognize this day with a gift or a sign, no matter how small, just because you know what it means to me, a single sentimental gesture to acknowledge the expectation that flutters in my heart, and I promise you that in return I will agree with you about the nothingness of Valentine’s Day every single day for the rest of the year.

Ah, Valentine’s Day. Who knows just precisely how or when or where you began, who proclaimed this as the day of love, billets doux, sweet nothings, gentle whispers and fervent glances. And to what import? Did Mark Antony need Valentine’s Day to pull Cleopatra into his lustful embrace? Did Romeo need Valentine’s Day to inspire him to declare his passion for the young Juliet hovering breathlessly above in the moonlight? Did Valentine’s Day stir Napoleon’s amour for Josephine or elicit Darcy’s throwing himself at Elizabeth’s feet? No, I dare say not. It is true that one does not need this day to be a lover, to express desire, to recount unhesitatingly, ardently, passionately one’s undying love. No, not at all.

And as far as famous lovers go, we may be more Lucy and Ricky, our couple that quirky balance of fiery and comical, or George Burns and Gracie Allen, a little bit like some zany old-fashioned sitcom. Or even Julia and Paul Child, playful and creative and standing out from the crowd like two rare and exotic creatures, more intellectual than glamorous, more ordinary than star crossed, more frivolity and heartfelt emotion than dark, brooding vamp and suave Casanova. But whoever or whatever the influence, we have never needed Valentine’s Day as a pretense to offer each other gifts, pop open the Champagne or snuggle up together. Yet…. yet… there is still something about Valentine’s Day that stirs up my womanly desires, lights the fire within, brings out the fluttering young girl in me again.

Like a faded romance novel or timeworn love story, I want him to smother me with kisses, shower me with baubles and sentimental gewgaws; I want to feel his soothing caress and his warm breath on my cheek as his love washes over me. But he is right. No exuberant display of emotion is necessary, not even diamonds and rubies are required, just his loving glance, my hand in his, a gentle squeeze, a careful, graceful acknowledgement of my frivolous desire to be pampered on this of all days and then we can move on to all the rest of the days of the year.

For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. 

It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul. 

– Judy Garland 

* It’s the same story every year, and this Valentine’s Day is no different. Although he offers to take me out and bring me a voluptuous bouquet simply to make me happy, he believes none of it. Yes, it is the same story every year so I decided to republish an old Valentine’s Day post from 2011, only slightly altered, a bit like us.

Vanilla Bean Panna Cotta & Amaretti Brownies

Recipe Vanilla Bean Panna Cotta can be found here:
Changes: the seeds scraped out of one vanilla bean/pod replaced the liquid vanilla extract. Add the seeds with the 2 cups cream and the sugar to the warm cream/gelatin mixture in the pot and finish the recipe as indicated.

Make the Panna Cotta the day before making the dessert. Either divide the panna cotta evenly among 6 or 8 dessert glasses or ramekins or pour into a large, shallow baking dish if you want to add a layer of the panna cotta to a layer of brownie. Chill overnight in the refrigerator.

Recipe Amaretti Brownies can be found here:
Changes: The Amaretto can be replaced with 1 teaspoon vanilla extract or ½ teaspoon vanilla extract + ¼ teaspoon almond extract.

Allow the brownies to cool completely in the pan.

For the Valentine’s Day dessert, serve the glass of Vanilla Bean Panna Cotta with a dollop of very lightly sweetened or unsweetened whipped heavy cream and raspberries with a small round of Amaretti Brownie.

To create the layered dessert, using a round ring mold or cookie/biscuit cutter, cut out a round from the Amaretti Brownies per serving; carefully twist the mold and lift out brownie round and place on a dessert plate. Very carefully, using the same ring mold, cut out a round from the Vanilla Bean Panna Cotta and lift up using a spatula pushed underneath to lift it up and onto the brownie. Carefully but quickly slide the spatula out from under the panna cotta, aligning the ring mold over the brownie and lift. Serve immediately with a dollop of whipped cream and raspberries. If desired, place the ring mold with the slice of panna cotta over the brownie round and slide the ring down onto the brownie and reserve in the refrigerator in the ring mold to chill until ready to serve.

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CRANBERRY ORANGE PECAN MUFFINS

HUMBLE BEGINNINGS

The sky was dark and gloomy, the air was damp and raw, the streets were wet and sloppy. 

The smoke hung sluggishly above the chimney-tops as if it lacked the courage to rise, 

and the rain came slowly and doggedly down, 

as if it had not even the spirit to pour. 

– Charles Dickens, The Pickwick Papers 

While the wild, furious winter carpets the northeast with snow, as my distant friends awake to yet another morning of white silence, backyards and front stoops buried beneath glorious mounds of icy brilliance, I stand in the rain under gloomy, sluggish gray skies. Again. Not one to let that hamper my mood, I channel my inner housewife and decide that nothing sparks the baking flame like a rainy day.

Inner housewife aside, there is nothing that brings out the child in me quite like homebaked cranberry muffins. Delicate cakey muffins, just sweet enough (but not too much), dotted with deep garnet berries that burst on the tongue in a clap of fruity tartness much like the anticipated yet unexpected clap of thunder that shivers the skies. I pull out that long-ago recipe learned in the Girl Scouts or junior high Home Ec, a recipe that made me utterly once and for all fall in love with baking. And succeeded in mortifying me, making me feel completely incompetent. You see, a recipe perfectly executed under the watchful eye of teacher or Scout leader, a treat so perfect that I wanted nothing more than to rush home and duplicate the recipe for my family, somehow got flipped and shuffled around in my soft and tender young head once on my own. That original recipe, still stuck away somewhere among my youthful jottings, scratched down in my loopy grade school cursive, called for three tablespoons of Crisco. Yes, you see it coming, don’t you? By the time I gathered the ingredients and found a free afternoon to bake, in my eagerness and enthusiasm, overflowing with self-confidence, those three tablespoons became three cups.

 Years of Innocence

I pulled the tin from the oven and, much to my horror and dismay, discovered tiny muffin tops floating in a sea of grease. Alas. The experience dampened my enthusiasm, much like the weather that rages outside my windows. My brother – the brother with whom I spent Sunday afternoons pulling taffy across the kitchen expanse or pouring boiling sesame-studded caramel into parchment-lined pans for candy, the brother with whom I baked my first yeast breads - peered at the mess over my shoulder and comforted me in his own brotherly way. He told me not to give up, he urged me to just start the whole project over again.

Over the years, I have reconstructed the recipe, searched and adapted new recipes and developed the one I now make every single winter season, come rain or come shine. Oddly enough, this is one treat that all three of my men, each one more persnickety than the next, absolutely love. The tender cake is not too sweet, and this one I kicked up with the fragrance of winter’s orange. I added a handful or two of coarsely chopped pecans for the bite and doused the whole with a cinnamon-sugar topping just before sliding the tin into the oven. And once the scent of those homely, fabulous muffins fills the house, the men stop what they are doing and wander into the kitchen, expectations high. And we forget the rain and gloom, forget the endless chain of dreary days, forget the misery and boredom of being stuck inside the house, huddled together in front of the tv or laptops.

In the country, the rain would have developed a thousand fresh scents, 

and every drop would have had its bright association with some beautiful form of growth or life. 

In the city, it developed only foul stale smells, 

and was a sickly, lukewarm, dirt-stained, wretched addition to the gutters. 

– Charles Dickens, Little Dorrit 

CRANBERRY ORANGE PECAN MUFFINS
Makes 12 muffins

8 Tbs (115 g) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
1 cup (200 g) sugar
2 large eggs
1 tsp vanilla
Finely grated zest of 1 orange
2 cups (260 g) flour
2 tsps baking powder
½ tsp salt
½ cup (125 ml) milk
1 ½ - 2 cups fresh cranberries, thawed if frozen
½ - 1 cup coarsely chopped pecans
Tbs sugar + 1 tsp ground cinnamon mixture for topping, optional

Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Line a 12-muffin tin with cupcake papers or grease them well.

Coarsely chop the pecans. Pick over the cranberries and discard any rotten berries; slice any large cranberries in half. Zest the orange.

In a mixing bowl, cream together the softened butter with the sugar until light and fluffy. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Briefly beat or stir in the vanilla and the orange zest.

Stir the flour, baking powder and salt together. Add the dry ingredients into the creamed batter in 3 additions alternating with the milk added in 2: dry-wet-dry-wet-dry, beating briefly but well after each addition. Do not overbeat.

Using a large spatula, fold the cranberries and pecans into the batter until evenly distributed.

Spoon the batter evenly into the 12 muffin cups. Don’t worry if they are mounded above the edge of the cups, this batter is firm enough that they will rise up and not spill over. Sprinkle the top of each muffin with the cinnamon-sugar mixture if desired.

Bake the muffins for 30 minutes until risen, the top golden; a tester inserted in the center of a muffin should come out clean. Remove from the oven and carefully lift each muffin out of the pan and transfer to a cooling rack to cool. (Use a small sharp knife or kabob spike to lift them up out of the tin so as to avoid burning fingers)

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VANILLA BEAN CINNAMON SPONGE BIRTHDAY CAKE

Writing … frees us from the mass identity we see in the making all around us. 

In the end, writers will write not to be outlaw heroes of some underculture 

but mainly to save themselves, to survive as individuals. 

– Don Delillo 

Salty, sour, bitter, sweet projects lined up on my desktop, teasing, taunting, mocking my laziness, the disorganization of my muddled mind, the disarray of my life. One story down, how many to go? Another birthday come and gone in the madness that is our life with nary a cake in sight. As I get older, I wonder if I get wiser or just crazier. But one thing I do know and can swear by; the more work that piles up on my desk, the more deadlines close in, menacing with their drawn claws and bared teeth, the more I am stimulated, the better and faster I write. I feel like Mike Mulligan and his trusty old steam shovel Mary Anne.

Meanwhile, I spend my days at my desk weaving tales, yet no time for my lonesome little blog. I shut down social media and close myself in a bubble of words and visions. Topics historical, political, personal crowd together, elbowing each other for space, surging forward to be the first out of my fingertips and onto a virgin page.

I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, 

what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means. 

– Joan Didion 

Yet, yet, I finally had the time to bake my birthday cake; better late than never. The day after, I began pulling out flour and sugar, cinnamon and my box of fragrant vanilla beans, stacking them all up on the counter under my kitchen window. As the hours flew by, and then another day, I would occasionally pause in between words, sentences, paragraphs and forage in the cupboard for one more thing I had forgotten, bars of chocolate, baking soda and cocoa powder. A box of heavy whipping cream. Ah, yes, the jar of jimmies, the chocolate sprinkles. I rifled among the pots and kitchen equipment and found my round layer cake tins and added them to the increasing mountain of supplies on the countertop. And then son appeared.

“Will you bake a chocolate layer cake for a friend’s birthday party tonight? I’m invited and offered to bring a cake.”

Well, am I simply a nice mother willing to bend over backwards to help my child? Or am I just thrilled when one of my sons asks for something homemade? Tickled pink that they are proud enough of my baked goods to bring them to friends, no matter how often they themselves spurn a slice of cake or a cookie themselves? My son coming home after the party and telling me that the cake was eaten in seconds flat, that the birthday girl, when asked a day or two later how the party went could only repeat over and over again “You missed an awesome cake!” is reward enough.

And so a day later, I finally made mine. It has been ages since I made this wonderful sponge and knew that I wanted to flavor it with seeds from a vanilla bean rather than the usual liquid extract and a dash of cinnamon. I paired it with my son’s favorite Simple Chocolate Buttercream and with a drizzle of Orange-Chocolate Ganache. But as I found the sponge too delicate for the buttercream, I will make it again and sandwich the layers with stabilized (a bit of gelatin) whipped cream, the whole topped with the ganache glaze. And I also think that this perfect sponge would make a wonderful 3-layer cake instead of two.
 

Writing is my way of reaffirming my own existence. 

– Gao Xingjian 

 

VANILLA BEAN CINNAMON SPONGE LAYERS
This is a classic sponge, light and ethereal, to which I have added the seeds from one vanilla pod/bean and a dash of cinnamon which I know will work so well with the chocolate and orange of the buttercream frosting and the orange-chocolate ganache.

3 Tbs milk
2 Tbs (30 g) unsalted butter
¾ cup (150 g) sugar
1 vanilla bean or ½ tsp liquid vanilla extract
3/4 cup (95 g) flour, lightly spooned into measuring cups and leveled
1 tsp baking powder
¼ tsp salt
½ tsp ground cinnamon, optional
5 large eggs
A few grains of salt + drop or two of lemon juice to stabilize whites

Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C). Butter and line two 8-inch (23 cm) round cake tins (measure along the bottom of the tin) with parchment paper.

Prepare the ingredients:

Place the butter and the milk in a small saucepan. Over very low heat, gently warm the milk and butter until the butter is almost but not completely melted. Remove from the heat and swirl the pan until the butter is completely melted. Set aside to cool slightly.

Measure or weigh out the sugar into a small bowl.

In another small bowl, measure or weigh out the flour, baking powder, salt and cinnamon and stir together.

Using a small, sharp knife, slice the vanilla bean down the center and scrape out the seeds.

Separate 3 of the eggs, placing the 3 yolks in a large mixing bowl. Add the 2 remaining whole eggs to the 3 yolks in the large mixing bowl. Place the 3 whites in a small to medium mixing bowl, large enough to hold the yolks when beat into a meringue. Add a few grains salt and a drop or two of lemon to the whites.

Make the cake:

With an electric mixer, beat the 2 whole eggs and the 3 yolks together with 6 tablespoons of the sugar and the seeds from the vanilla bean on high speed, for 4 to 5 minutes until the batter is very thick, light and fluffy and the batter drops off in a slow ribbon when the beaters are lifted. Beat in the vanilla if using the extract.

Using very clean beaters (wash the beaters if you only have one pair), whip the egg whites on low speed for 30 second, then increase the speed to high and continue beating until foamy. Once the whites go from foamy to opaque, gradually begin adding the remaining sugar about a teaspoon at a time. Beat until all the sugar has been added and the meringue is thick and glossy and soft, moist, shiny peaks hold.

Gently fold in a third of the creamy egg white meringue into the cake batter to lighten it, then fold in the remaining beaten whites in two more additions. Sift or spoon half the flour mixture over the batter and gently fold it in before adding the remaining flour and folding in just until incorporated, making sure that no pockets of dry ingredients have formed. Do not over mix.

Make a well on one side of the batter and pour the warm melted butter/milk mixture into the bowl. Gently but thoroughly fold this mixture into the batter. Again, do not over mix.

Divide the batter between the 2 prepared pans, gently smoothing the tops. Bake for about 20 minutes, until the top is light brown and springs back when gently touched in the center. Remove the pans from the oven onto cooling racks and immediately and carefully run a shapr knife around the edges to loosen the cakes from the sides of the pans; this will keep the cakes from ripping as they cool and shrink slightly. Invert the cakes onto wire cooling racks, pull off the parchment paper then invert back, right side up, onto the racks and allow to cool completely before frosting.

SIMPLE & EASY CHOCOLATE BUTTERCREAM FROSTING

12 ounces (350 grams) powdered/confectioner’s sugar
8 ½ tablespoons (120 grams) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
1.76 oz or scant 7 Tbs (50 grams) unsweetened cocoa powder
4 tablespoons very hot water

Using an electric hand mixer, cream the butter and the powdered sugar until light and fluffy. Add the cocoa powder and the hot water and beat, scraping down the sides as necessary, until well blended and fluffy.

ORANGE CHOCOLATE GANACHE DRIZZLE
Once the cake is decorated, save the remaining ganache to spoon over ice cream or even chill and form into truffles or use in the center of molten lava cakes.

Orange Chocolate Ganache (this recipe can easily be halved):
3.5 oz (100 g) Lindt Excellence Orange Intense or equivalent orange-scented 70% dark chocolate
½ cup (125 ml) heavy cream

Chop the chocolate and place in a small heatproof bowl. Bring the cream just to the boil and pour over the chopped chocolate. Stir until the chocolate is completely melted and the ganache well blended, smooth and creamy. Leave to thicken at room temperature, stirring occasionally, until drizzling consistency. If you like, allow to get very thick and then thin with a bit of Cointreau.
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