Chocolate Cake with Coffee Frosting (and a Secret)

25 May

There seem to be as many chocolate cake recipes in existence as there are people who enjoy chocolate cake.  There also seem to be as many names for chocolate cake (devil’s food cake, dark chocolate cake, chocolate layer cake) as there are people who are willing to taste all those chocolate cakes in order to officially prove whether or not those differently named cakes actually taste any different from one another.  You’ve never heard of these official cake-tasters, you say?  You think I just made all that up, you say?  Or did I just create a new job for myself—Official Chocolate Cake Taster—all in the name of finally getting to the bottom of this great chocolate cake mystery, thusly making my new job a selfless and totally essential function aimed at bettering the chocolate cake eating habits of all of humanity?  Think about that for a minute.

Though it seems unlikely, it’s not difficult to make a bad chocolate cake.  Cakes lacking moisture will never be able to taste good enough to allow anyone to forget their sawdust-like texture, but, conversely, cakes suffering from a shortage of true chocolate flavor will never be able to shine to their utmost greatness, no matter how moist and toothsome a morsel may be.  The other side of that coin, however, is the realization that it’s not all that hard to make a really, really good chocolate cake either.  In fact, the most difficult step in making a great chocolate cake starts not with one’s prowess in the kitchen, but rather in finding a standout recipe.  Which is where my new job comes in.

Some recipes stress a particular mixing technique, while others insist on using only oil, not butter, in their chocolate cake, arguing that the neutral flavor of vegetable oil allows the true taste of the chocolate in a chocolate cake to really take center stage.  Some recipes favor buttermilk for achieving an optimal texture, but others prefer that you amend the batter with a simple chocolate pudding made from milk and chocolate heated together on the stove.  Though there are endless tricks and techniques by which people will swear, in my new capacity as Official Chocolate Cake Tester, I feel as though I would be remiss in my newfound duties if I did not reveal to you a bit of a secret: Sometimes the secret to making a flawless chocolate cake comes from the most unlikely source, and that source just so happens to grow underground.

While also welcoming in a not insubstantial amount of both butter and buttermilk, this particular cake recipe utilizes a little-known helper in the world of baked goods.  In an effort to turn out a cake with maximum moistness, the recipe calls for the inclusion of a simple handful of shredded raw beets, an ingredient that is undetectable in taste, but very much evident when it comes to texture.  The shredded beets melt into the cake during baking, resulting in a cake with incomparable moistness and richness.  While I won’t pretend that adding beets to a cake magically transforms it into a healthy and wholesome snack (see: butter, chocolate, and sugar), I will wholeheartedly admit that this cake can be deemed magical in an entirely different, indulgent, deliciously chocolaty way.

I’ve mentioned before my propensity to punch up chocolate baked goods with a bit of coffee.  Rather than adding a dose of coffee directly into the cake batter, I took my love of the chocolate/coffee combination a bit further by covering this cake with a completely immodest amount of coffee frosting.  Even if you happen to be a lukewarm fan of coffee on its own, I cannot recommend enough that you go ahead and put these two elements together.

The two flavors go together like a dream, and they were a perfect pairing for celebrating the birthday of a 33 year-old brother who loves both coffee and chocolate with equal affection.  Just add in some friendly dinosaurs and your consummate chocolate cake is complete.  (Note: Dinosaurs are for decoration only and are not meant to enhance the flavor of the cake in any way.)

Chocolate Cake with Coffee Frosting (and a Secret)

Chocolate Cake

From Cooking School Secrets for Real-World Cooks, by Linda Carucci 

2 cups all-purpose flour

2 cups granulated sugar

1 cup natural unsweetened cocoa powder

2 teaspoons baking soda

3/4 teaspoon baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

4 large eggs, room temperature

2 cups buttermilk

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, melted and cooled to room temperature

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

2/3 cup packed finely shredded raw beets

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.  Position a rack in the lower middle position.

Butter and flour the sides and bottom of 2 8-inch round cake pans with 2-inch sides.  Line the bottoms with parchment paper.

Sift together the flour, sugar, cocoa powder, baking soda, baking powder, and salt into a large bowl.  Stir to combine, then make a well in the center and set aside.

In a medium bowl, whisk the eggs to combine.  Whisk in the buttermilk.  Add to the dry ingredients all at once, and stir to combine completely.  Slowly whisk in the butter.  Add the vanilla and stir to combine.  Stir in the beets.  Transfer to the prepared cake pans and spread evenly, using a rubber spatula to pull the batter away from the center of the pans and out along the sides.  (The recipe claimed that this act would ensure flat, rather than domed, tops, and, I’ll admit, I was dubious, but still did it.  To my complete surprise, it totally worked.  I didn’t have to slice off the tops of either of the cakes whilst in the pursuit of non-crooked layers!  Who knew?)

Bake until the center of each cake springs back when lightly touched and the sides of each cake just begin to pull away from the pan, 30 to 35 minutes.

Allow cakes to cool on a wire rack, still in their pans, for 10 minutes.  Invert each cake onto another rack and remove pans.  Carefully peel off the parchment paper and cool the cake completely, upside down.  Make sure your cake layers are completely and totally cooled before frosting, lest your frosted cake end up a dripping, melted mess.

Coffee Frosting

From The America’s Test Kitchen Family Baking Book 

3 sticks unsalted butter, cut into chunks and softened

2 tablespoons instant espresso

3 tablespoons milk or heavy cream

2 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract

1/4 teaspoon salt

3 cups confectioners’ sugar

Beat the butter, espresso powder, milk or cream, vanilla, and salt together in a large bowl with an electric mixer on medium high speed until smooth, 1 to 2 minutes.

Reduce the mixer speed to medium-low, slowly add the confectioners’ sugar, and beat until incorporated and smooth, 4 to 6 minutes.  Increase the mixer speed to medium high and beat until the frosting is light and fluffy, 5 to 10 minutes.

Tags: , , , ,

Meyer Lemon Whiskey Sour

20 May

While I would not classify myself as a collector of cookbooks, it cannot be denied that at least one of our dining room bookshelves has been noted to contain more cookbooks than books of a non-recipe variety.  Most of these cookbooks have been procured during the years that my husband and I have been married, with a few notable exceptions.  I brought into our marriage a half dozen or so vegetarian cookbooks and a couple of copies of Joy of Cooking, and my husband entered our union with this:

Ladies and gentlemen, I am here to tell you that, were there points awarded for most useful and interesting books brought into a dual partnership agreement, the tally of points at the end of the inaugural round would look something like this:

Me: 15 points

Husband: 1,000,000 points

This book is, in short, fantastic.  In addition to containing nearly 800 classic cocktail recipes, the book also contains a hefty 100 or so pages dedicated to the history, lore, and usage of different liquors, wines, beers, and accompaniments, and how those different items can be used to complement one another (totally useful). There is also an added hors d’oeuvres chapter, which includes separate sections on both caviar and foie gras (slightly less useful, but still appreciated).

Best of all, this book, written by Playboy’s longtime food and drink editor and culled from previously published articles dating back as far as 1955 (the book’s original publication date is 1971), reads like an instruction manual for those looking for tips on how to be a consummately urbane gentleman of the world—five decades ago.  You enjoy vodka and clear turtle consommé.  You serve daiquiris on your cabin cruiser, and precise and masterly cocktails at your June bachelor dinner.  You are a man of all seasons.  Not a conspicuous fusspot, the book clarifies, but a man of refined tastes.

Admittedly, not everyone will enjoy this book as much as I do, especially if one is offended by references to Canadian whiskeys having a strong appeal for the distaff side (it’s sweet and soft, you know, for the ladies), or is annoyed by a drink being classified as perfect “for unwinding after 18 holes on the fairway.”  While it’s true that those statements are mildly obnoxious, I have no problem reading past them.  Then again, any book that cautions a fellow against drinking for quantity rather than quality, and also takes the time to distinguish a drink as being a “postprandial” fit, is always going to be a winner by me.

Earlier this week, when the temperature hit 70 degrees for only the fourth time this year, I, fortified with knowledge about the mature American drinking man, and in possession of some dashing and petite Meyer lemons, decided to unearth the cocktail shaker and take my first step towards entering the “method school for the modern man at his drinking cabinet.”

Not surprisingly, my education started with me completely blowing the recipe apart.  Not having blended whiskey or the required number of lemons, I improvised a bit.  When I found a nearly empty bag of frozen sour cherries in the freezer, there was no way I couldn’t include them.  The more ridiculous things I did to the standard cocktail, the more delicious it looked.  And, in the end, it was a delicious drink, though not exactly what I think Mr. Thomas Mario had in mind.

Meyer Lemon Whiskey Sour

Inspired by Playboy’s Host and Bar Book

I am not a huge fan of sweet drinks, so my version of this drink is on the tart side.  If you wish to make a sweeter drink, increase the amount of sugar as directed.  Alternately, I’ll bet that if you used all Meyer lemon juice, as opposed to the half-lemon-half-lime combination that I used, you’d end up with a drink that is much less tart (Meyer lemons are not nearly as sour as their standard lemon counterparts).  If you do this, dial back the sugar initially and see if your all Meyer lemon juice drink is sweet enough.  If it’s lacking the sweetness you desire, go ahead and add a bit more sugar, ¼ teaspoon at a time, then re-shake and re-taste until you find the drink acceptable.

1 large or 2 small Meyer lemons

1 lime

½ to 1 teaspoon sugar

3 sour cherries, fresh or frozen

2 ounces whiskey

ice

Juice your Meyer lemons and lime until you have a combination of ¾ ounces of freshly squeezed juice.  Combine juice, one half of an already squeezed Meyer lemon, your desired amount of sugar, and 2 sour cherries in a cocktail shaker.  Using the handle of a wooden spoon, muddle the citrus, sugar, and cherry mixture for roughly 10 seconds, until the sugar has been pulverized into the other ingredients.  Add whiskey and a handful of ice to the shaker, cover, and shake vigorously.  Taste to adjust sweetness.  For a less tart drink, add more sugar, re-shake, and taste again.

Strain into a short glass filled with ice.  Garnish with 1 sour cherry.

Makes 1 drink.

Tags: , ,

Blueberry Biscuits

17 May

I am going to tell you a story about what it’s like to live in Portland, OR.

Last week, an absolutely lovely family moved in down the street from us, taking the place of the absolutely lovely family who lived there before them.  When I stand at my kitchen sink, I have a direct sight line down the street to the house that was being inhabited by the new family.  After I had spent the better part of a day going back and forth to the kitchen sink (you may wonder why I visit my sink so much, and my only answer to you is this: I have a preschool-aged child), watching the new family’s moving fan becoming emptier and emptier, I made the decision to bring the new family a little breakfast treat to greet them the next morning, their first morning in their new house.

Not being a huge fan of eating anything tooth-achingly sweet first thing in the morning, I opted to hunt down a recipe for a nice savory biscuit.  Thinking of the children in the house, it seemed as though something would be needed to make the biscuit a bit more enticing.  I settled on adding blueberries to the biscuits, and began to assemble my ingredients.

I measured, I mixed, and I cut.  As the biscuits were just about to go into the oven, I made the mistake of asking my husband whether or not he thought blueberry biscuits were an acceptable welcome-to-your-new-house gift for a young family.

“Sure,” he said.  “Who doesn’t like blueberries?”

I was about to nod along in agreement when it occurred to me that, you know, someone in that house might not like blueberries.  I hesitated slightly before putting the biscuits in the oven.

“Do you think they might not like blueberries?” I asked him.

Sensing that he may have mistakenly set the terrible wheels of my mind into high gear, my husband backpedaled.  “No.  Everyone likes blueberries.  Everyone.  They’re good.  Always good.”

But then, the path horribly, unrelentingly forged, I began to wonder about other possible problems with the biscuits.  What if someone in the family was gluten intolerant?  Or allergic to dairy?  Or what if the family was vegan?  I could definitely start over and make a vegan biscuit (I’ve lived in Portland for 15 years, so it’s almost a given that I’ve learned how to make delicious vegan biscuits by now), but what if they were non-gluten-eating vegans?  Or what if they only ate organic food?  I had organic blueberries, but I didn’t know if I would be able to find organic non-gluten flour.  This was getting complicated.  I should head to the store and check out the gluten-free flour selection.  I would also need to buy soy milk.  But what if they were allergic to soy?  Okay, I’d buy almond milk.  But what if they were allergic to nuts?  Rice milk?  Hemp milk?

It was right about then that the oven timer went off, effectively causing the hamster wheel that is my brain to come to an abrupt stop.  I took the biscuits out of the oven, admiring the lovely golden-hued tops that were studded with plump indigo berries.

The biscuits were as delicious as they looked, a fact that our new neighbors, unfortunately, never had the chance to learn.  I have a feeling it will take a few more weeks before I am comfortable bringing them any surprise baked goods.  Weeks that I will no doubt spend trying to work subtle food-related questions into everyday conversation without sounding like an absolute loon.

“Yes, the weather is lovely today.  It’s a good day for ice cream.  Ice cream made with milk and cream and probably even eggs.  Real ice cream.  Wouldn’t you agree it’s a good day for real ice cream?”

Blueberry Biscuits

Adapted from Beth Hensperger’s The Bread Bible

2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

1/4 teaspoon baking soda

1/4 teaspoon salt

2 tablespoons sugar

6 tablespoons (3/4 stick) cold unsalted butter, cut into pieces

1 large egg, lightly beaten

3/4 cup cold buttermilk, or cold soured milk

finely grated zest of 1 lemon

3/4 cup blueberries, fresh or frozen (unthawed)

Preheat oven to 425 degrees F.

Line a baking sheet with parchment paper, or grease a baking sheet and sprinkle it lightly with 1 tablespoon of cornmeal (to prevent biscuits from sticking).

In a large bowl, combine flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and sugar.  Whisk to combine.  Alternately, you can combine the dry ingredients in the bowl of a food processor and pulse a few times to aerate.

Using a pastry cutter, two knives, or in the bowl of the food processor, cut the butter into the dry ingredients until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs and there are no large butter pieces remaining.  This will take a minute or two if using a pastry cutter, but only a handful of pulses if using the food processor.

Add the buttermilk or soured milk, the egg, and the lemon zest to the flour mixture.  Stir just enough to moisten everything, until the batter just begins to stiffen.  Gently fold in blueberries.  If using the food processor, add the milk, egg, and lemon zest through the feed tube, and pulse just until the dough comes together and it begins to form into one mass.  Knead in the blueberries once the dough has been removed from the food processor.  It should go without saying that you should not pulse the blueberries in the food processor.

Turn the dough out onto a floured work surface.  Gently knead a few times until the dough just begins to come together.  The dough will still be slightly sticky, but do not handle the dough too much or add too much additional flour, lest you make the dough tough.  Pat the dough into a rectangle roughly 3/4 of an inch thick.

Cut the dough into 2 1/2 inch rounds, using a floured biscuit cutter.  Gently pat scraps of dough together to continue cutting, eventually yielding 12 biscuits.  My cutting sequence produced 7 biscuits from the first rectangle, 3 from the first batch of scraps, then 2 final (slightly misshapen) biscuits from the last of the reformed scraps.

Place biscuits on the prepared baking sheet about 1/2 inch apart.  Bake in the center of a preheated oven for 15 to 18 minutes, until tops have turned golden brown.  Eat hot or slightly cooled.

Makes 12 biscuits.

Tags: , , ,

← Older Entries
Newer Entries →