In which I coffee-shock-baking-therapy myself

You know that saying that when you fall off the horse, you get right back on?

I GOT BACK ON THE HORSE, YOU GUYS.

I GOT RIGHT BACK ON THE COFFEE HORSE. 

AND I DIDN'T FALL OFF THIS TIME.

I EVEN BROUGHT WALNUTS WITH ME.

Mind you, there's enough coffee in this that even if you DID fall off the horse, you'd probably bounce right back up, and probably challenge the horse to a race across the dessert, but hey, the metaphor stands.

BAKING WITH COFFEE HAS BEEN RECONQUERED.

[INSERT KARATE CHOP OF TRIUMPH]

I have to say that for the most part, being able to eat approximately 5% of the food available to the rest of the world doesn't actually bother me that much. I'm so used to what I eat on a daily basis, and my tastes have been so accordingly adjusted, that it's very rare I think something along the lines of "Holy Jesus I wish I could eat that."

This is one of those times.

When you take the cake lid off this baby, and you inhale a glorious faceful of coffee and nuts and cream . . . it just smells so gloriously decadent and delicious that I must admit I did sort of consider eating a slice whilst driving myself to the emergency room just because it would have been worth it for 10 amazing minutes.

But then I remembered that we are going to go see GODZILLA today (for which I have only been waiting, oh, YEARS) and I wouldn't be able to make the matinee with Mum if I was hooked up to an IV-drip after getting my stomach pumped.

I ate some hardtack instead.

[beetle sigh]

BUT. For those of you who are NOT gastrically challenged. I present.

COFFEE AND WALNUT CAKE WITH COFFEE BUTTERCREAM

There is a delightful woman named Felicity Cloake at The Guardian who writes something called "How to Make the Perfect . . . " It's a truly spectacular column that breaks down the components of classic recipes, weighs ingredients and amounts against each other, pulls in various other chefs, food writers, and cookbook authors, and eventually arrives at the so-titled "Perfect" recipe. Even if I don't want to make whatever she's featuring, it's still totally fascinating. (Example: I have no immediate plans to make "the perfect steak and ale pie" and yet I followed the debate on tomato puree vs. vinegar and brown sugar with an almost comic intensity.) Anyway, I highly recommend it. PLUS. She gave me this cake. So. Yeah. Again. I present.

COFFEE AND WALNUT CAKE WITH COFFEE BUTTERCREAM

After comparing Nigella Lawson, Dee Drummond, and Nigel Slater's recipEs, I went with the "Perfect" recipe at the bottom, Felicity's own.



I followed it pretty much straight, below are the only small changes:

1. I used Gevalia ground espresso instead of instant coffee (after the CEF I'm deathly afraid of anything but pure coffee).
2. Added THREE tablespoons of it instead of two to the cake batter (go big or go home, eh, Beetle?).
3. Used dark brown instead of light brown sugar (purely because that's what I had).

I took a walnut shortcut too, and instead of pre-toasting and then chopping them (SIDE BEETLE NOTE: for those of you who don't know, the last time I tried to chop something, three weeks ago, I cut the top of my middle finger off. No fancy knife work for a while. Also if I want to use my middle finger for . . .  shall we say . . .  "conversational purposes" there's nothing like a huge piece of gauze and tape to really hammer the point home.) I used pre-chopped, un-toasted walnuts. From a store. From a plastic bag in a store.

Apparently this did not have a significantly negative impact. Good to know.

BEETLE NOTES





Felicity notes, delightfully, that the batter should "drop reluctantly from a spoon" when poured into the cake pans, and this definitely did. I was actually a bit worried at first that I should have added a bit of milk to make it more liquid, I had to spread it out in the pans with the aforementioned spoon, but it rose really nicely in the oven and was not in any way dry or too cakey.

 Note the post-baking rise.

My cake was much darker because of my sugar use. But hey. Walnuts. Dark brown sugar. We're all friends here, right? 

Right. 

The buttercream is a REVELATION. Even I know that, and I can't eat it. The reason, you ask? Well. On top of your standard "ingredients of awesome" that go into buttercream frosting, this one has FOUR TABLESPOONS OF HEAVY CREAM IN IT. (or "double cream" if you're British and weird.)

I know. I KNOW, YOU GUYS. But honestly, even from a purely technical standpoint, this the best buttercream I've ever put on a cake. It's so spreadable, it doesn't catch the cake and smear crumbs everywhere, and it doesn't get that crust that buttercream always does after an hour or so. It stays gooey and soft probably forever, if you can wait that long. Also, with two heaping tablespoons of espresso, the cream cuts any resulting acidity or bitterness. You get the depth and strength of the coffee but still keep the sweetness and whippy-ness. And the coffee itself returns the favour and keeps the heavy cream from pushing the whole thing over the edge. 

It's a symbiotic relationship for the ages, is what I'm saying. Coffee and cream. MAGIC. 

This cake is meant to be CAKE. This isn't one of those "I'll just have a tiny slice oh no that's way too much" cakes. This is a "SECONDS YES PLEASE HAND IT OVER" cake. 

Again, I say: GO BIG OR GO HOME. Make it, eat it. Wait a year. Repeat. You'll be happy you did.

Also consider the possibility that due to the coffee content, the resulting 72 hours of manic wakefulness will probably negate any bad caloric side effects.

AND walnuts are good for your brain.

I think the success of Coffee Walnut Cake can be summed up by the conversation I had with Mum yesterday afternoon before I picked her up from work. The cake was so pretty I had insisted it be delivered, uncut and pristine, to the LL's, and as such I had not set aside any for Mum. I called her to see if she wanted me to bring a tupperware thingy so that she could take a piece or two home for the weekend.

(I should note that at the time of this exchange the cake had been at the library for all of 4 hours.)

Me: Do you want me to bring you a tupperware thingy for the cake?
Mum: There's no more cake.
Me: What do you mean there's no more cake? I sent you in with an entire flipping two layer cake.
Mum: It's gone.
Me: THEY ALREADY ATE THE WHOLE THING?
Mum: Yep.
Me: Oh . . . well . . . cool.