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.

Regarding Raisins

  A SERIES OF CONVERSATIONS ABOUT RAISINS

[Monday morning]

Mum: Do we have any raisins? 

Me: Yeah, why? I thought you hated raisins. 

Mum: No I don't hate raisins. I wanted some on my granola. 

Me: Well yes of course we have two different kinds of raisins actually but I thought you hated them. 

Mum: Thanks. And no. I don't hate them. I like raisins. 

Me: [now standing on a stool with my head in the baking cupboard] So whenever I suggest Oatmeal Raisin cookies or putting raisins in soda bread or tea bars or anything you're just joking when you say "I don't like raisins I think it would be better without them?"

Mum: I just don't like Oatmeal Raisin cookies because they're always too soft and sweet. I like raisins in YOUR cookies and things. 

Me: [handing her the carton of raisins] I think you're lying, frankly. But here. 

-------

[Tuesday morning]

Me: So I was thinking that maybe I'd try to make Chewy Ginger Raisin cookies. A really dense chewy gingersnap with golden raisins in it. How do you think you'd feel about that? 

Mum: I think I'd feel fantastic about that. I think you should make them right now. 

Me: I haven't suggested it yet because I never know how you feel about raisins and I always think you hate them in things but since you had them yesterday I was thinking about it. 

Mum: I don't hate raisins. I don't know why you think I hate them. I like raisins. And I think they'd be really good in the ginger cookie things. 

Me: Ok. I will make them. 

-----

[Wednesday evening]

Me: Ok here. Try these. I made super dark gingerbread cookies from Martha Stewart and put raisins in them. 

Mum: Ooo. They smell fantastic. 

[pause]

Me: Yes? 

[pause]

Mum: [chewing and swallowing and looking pensive]

Me: You look less than totally on board with this. 

[pause]

Mum:  . . . They're good. They're really good. 

[pause]

Mum:  . . . I think they would be better without the raisins. 

[pause]

Me: Are you freaking kidding me right now? 

-----

[Thursday afternoon, driving]

Me: So do you think the LL's will like the cookies? 

Mum: Yes. I absolutely do. 

Me: Even though they have raisins in them? 

Mum: The raisins aren't BAD. I just think the rest of the cookie is so nice that they don't really need them. I guess I just don't like raisins in cookies. 

Me: Because we had a conversation about this, several actually, where you specifically said that you liked raisins and that you thought they would be good in these cookies. And when pressed about your previously stated dislike of raisins you assured me that you did, in fact, like raisins, moreover raisins in my cookies and bars, and that you thought they would be a good addition. And that's kind of why I went ahead and made them. And now I'm worried that the LL's won't like them because I screwed them up by adding raisins. 

Mum: You didn't screw them up. They're good. They're good cookies. 

Me: Except for the raisins. Which you may or may not like. 

Mum: I don't dislike raisins. 

Me: Except in oatmeal raisin cookies. And ginger raisin cookies. Or maybe you like raisins on Tuesdays but not Wednesdays? Is that how this works? 

Mum: [no comment]

Me: So what you're telling me is that you're a Raisin Schizophrenic? You have multiple raisin personalities? 

Mum: Watch the road. 

Me: Whatever, I have the right of way plus he's from New Hampshire so he sucks. 

-----

[later that afternoon]

Me: So what's the verdict? 

Mum: Success. They liked them. 

Me: Even with the raisins? Did anyone say anything? 

Mum: No, everyone said they were good. And I even ate another one at work so there. 

Me: Did you pick the raisins out first? 

Mum: That was below the belt. 

-----

[Friday evening, mid-argument about the European Parliament]

Me: HOW THE HELL WOULD YOU KNOW? YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW IF YOU LIKE RAISINS OR NOT. THAT DOESN'T INSPIRE MUCH CONFIDENCE IN YOUR OTHER SLIGHTLY MORE COMPLICATED PERSONAL AND POLITICAL CONVICTIONS.

-----

[Saturday evening]

Mum: So. Um. 

Me: Yes? Can I get you anything? I'm just making more tea. 

Mum: No, thank you. I just wanted to tell you something. And I don't want you get upset. 

Me: I love when things start that way. What? 

Mum: Um. Well. 

Me: What. 

[pause]

Mum: Well. I sort of like the raisins now. 

[pause]

[pause]

[pause]

Me: Sucks for you I haven't written up the post for it yet. 

GINGER RAISIN CHEWS

(in which raisins are of course optional)

As stated, I used the Martha Stewart recipe for "Chewy Gingerbread Cookies" which looked appropriately chewy, dark, and spicy (I don't hold with these namby pamby ginger confections - if you're gonna call it "ginger" it had better be strong.) This recipe, intriguingly, has two tbs of unsweetened cocoa powder in it, which led me to believe that it meant business. Below is the bowl of flour and spices. As you can see, this one is taking no prisoners. 

I followed the recipe to the letter, just adding a 1 1/2 cups of golden raisins at the end. The dough was almost black, which I consider a good sign.

And I normally don't, but this time I went ahead and included the final step of rolling them in granulated sugar before baking. 

I was feeling indulgent, I suppose. 

I pulled them at 10 minutes (it's 10-12) so that they'd be extra chewy, and I gotta be honest with you there are few things better in life than the smell of ginger molasses spice THINGS baking in your oven. I'm convinced that if safety and happiness has a smell, this is it. 

Can someone bottle it and use it for world peace already? 

Just leave the raisins out. Otherwise who knows what might happen. 

BONUS BEETLE BREAD

I realised I hadn't made soda bread in a long time so I threw together THIS experiment on Wednesday that actually turned out pretty well. It's a Beetle tweak on the Joy of Cooking basic Irish Soda Bread, subbing the flours and the seeds and also honey for the sugar. It's a much deeper-tasting soda bread than the traditional one (which I feel can be quite bland when not done properly) and according to Mum is equally good toasted with butter and jam for breakfast, or spread with cheese for dinner. 

WHOLE WHEAT HONEY ANISE SODA BREAD

• 2 cups whole wheat flour
• 1 1/2 tsp baking powder
• 1/2 tsp baking soda
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 2 tsp anise seeds
• 1/4 cup (half a stick) butter, melted
• 1 egg
• 2/3 cup buttermilk
• 1/4 cup honey

Mix the flour, baking powder and soda, salt, and anise together in a large bowl. In a smaller bowl, beat the egg into the melted butter and add the buttermilk and the honey. 

Butter a 9 x 5 loaf pan. I would say "pour" the batter in but it's sticky and stiff and it's not so much "pour" as "heave out of one bowl to another with a mixing spoon and flatten it all down."

Bake in the pan at 325 for 45 - 50 minutes, until the top is brown and it's starting to pull away from the edges. Cool five minutes in the pan before turning it out and letting it cool completely. 

And yes, those are Mayflowers because we went Mayflowering last weekend.

Yes, we did go mother/daughter Mayflowering in the woods. With baskets. And headscarves.

Sometimes I wonder if we do actually live in an Astrid Lindgren novel. 

I bet Pippi Longstocking likes raisins. 

"May Day Emergency Cake" or "Why I Now Flinch at the Smell of Coffee Extract"

I had plans, dear reader, for a May Day cake of delightful and epic culinary proportions. It was going to be SO good. SO inventive. SO delicious. I had even picked out the descriptive phrase for it. I was going to call it "like a spiced cafe latte, but in cake form."

What I had NOT planned on calling it was "I guess I'll just throw it away." 

This "Spiced Cafe Latte Cake" met its tragic end on Wednesday night, never to return to this world. It was totally my fault. I took an idea from Country Living UK and transferred it to a recipe from Beatrice's Scandinavian Feasts, doing my usual takeouts, add ins, and yeah-I'm-sure-that-will-work's. 

IN MY DEFENSE

The Country Living recipe was a "Coffee, Cardamom, and Banana Cake with Coffee Icing." I felt that I could take that idea and make it, how shall I put this delicately, not contain banana because really why God why. I was also completely mystified by the inclusion of raisins because, how shall I put this delicately, why in God's name would you combine coffee and raisins I know it appears to be a common thing but honestly to me it's beyond delusional and a waste of raisins and/or coffee. 

Therefore, I decided, happy thus far in Beetle land, to remake the Cardamom Cream Cake (Beatrice's) that I'd made (to great success) last May Day, which a) contained no banana and b) contained no raisins and c) included not only cardamom but CREAM which is always a nice addition. But (and here's where it went lopsided) I would take the coffee idea from Country Living and add THAT to the Cardamom Cream Cake and cover it in coffee icing. 

FOR REAL, WHAT COULD POSSIBLY BE WRONG WITH THAT? COFFEE. CARDAMOM. CREAM. COFFEE ICING. LOTS OF ALL FOUR. SPICED CAFE LATTE CAKE SHOULD BE A THING BECAUSE IT SHOULD BE ABSOLUTELY FREAKING DELICIOUS. 

Well. Tell that to the entire cake that it now sitting in a ziploc freezer bag (so the raccoons won't smell it and rip into the trash, of course) in a large Hefty Pail in the barn. 

What happened? What made this cake completely incapable of crossing the boundary between theory and reality? I'm gonna go with the coffee extract. 

IN MY DEFENSE AGAIN. The coffee extract was TOTALLY called for in the Country Living UK recipe. So when I thought "hmm, Cardamom Cream Cake with coffee extract added to it" I was not without warrant. There was totally a precedent. And, really, it seems like it would work. I've had such good luck with extracts that it never occurred to me as I happily splashed it in that I was, in fact, ruining a perfectly good cake. Or destroying a perfectly good icing. 

The verdict was delivered over the kitchen sink Wednesday night: It smelled. And apparently tasted. Like burning. Caustic. Sulfurous. Hellmouth-ish. The icing in particular. It was compared to industrial waste.

Thank god we still had Lemon Curd Thumbprints in the cookie tin because after Mum spat out the piece she tried she needed something to counteract the impression that she was dying of a full body hemorrhage. 

IF. And this is a big IF. IF I ever attempt to make this again (I revert to my original plea that theoretically this should be delicious) I will try using freshly brewed coffee instead. I'm placing full blame on the extract, because I can't imagine where else that chemical burn would come from. I was just surprised at the extent of the failure. 

Also, if we notice really hyper raccoons over the course of the next few days, I'll know the ziploc trick didn't work. 

HOWEVER. 

It was still the night before May Day. And I was bereft of cake. WHAT TO DO? 

Once again, I thank the heavens for Nigella Lawson. Because only she could give me a cake not only possible to make after the gym but before coffee but also possible to make out of what's in your baking cupboard without a second thought. Further, a cake that would be yummy and indulgent and please the LL's on May Day and not make them think they were dying. 

And I've made the executive decision that as far as I'm concerned there is NOTHING WRONG with celebrating spring and rebirth and flowers and buds and sunshine and warm weather by eating dark, dark, DARK bittersweet chocolate cake still gooey from the oven and drenched in vanilla icing. So there. 

LOOKS LIKE SPRING TO ME.

CHOCOLATE MAY DAY CAKE

aka

EMERGENCY CAKE BECAUSE I THREW AWAY THE LAST ONE BECAUSE IT SMELLED LIKE A CHEMICAL PLANT AND MADE US WANT TO DIE

As I said, this is the "Dense Chocolate Loaf Cake" from Nigella's Domestic Goddess cookbook. 

I give you the melted glory of an entire bar of Bittersweet Chocolate. 

Only the smell of THIS baking in the oven could completely eradicate the hellish stench of coffee extract.

Which I swear to God is going to make me wince for YEARS. 

I'm not kidding I kept smelling it yesterday long after I'd scrubbed the kitchen clean and it was AWFUL.

Under ideal (aka non emergency cake) circumstances, this would sit overnight and get cool and solidify somewhat. Nigella even indicates that. Technically speaking you are supposed to give it time to "rest" before tucking in. But I was working under a pretty specific deadline (try "we have to leave in 20 minutes") and needed to get this May Day show on the road, overly gooey or not. 

I made the icing SUPER thick for minimal drippage down the sides, which makes eating easier.

Slicing the cake, I had to keep wiping off the knife, because, well, it redefined "squidgy."

One thing I hadn't anticipated was the icing fusing with the still-warm top.

It formed a kind of "Wonder Crust of Awesome"

Which is also totally the name of a future cat. 

So even though I spent most of yesterday deliberately sniffing perfumes and room-fresheners and candles and generally trying to pretend the whole Coffee Extract Fiasco (hereafter to be known as CEF) never happened, at least I can rest in the knowledge that my Lovely Librarians were a) not killed and/or disgusted and b) did not have to go through a May Day without a treat. 

Because when you wake for the gym at 4am, and you yell RABBIT RABBIT across the hall, and then you realise that what you're hearing is NOT the cat at the door but TORRENTIAL RAIN ON THE ROOF, and then you realise that it's May 1st and what you are hearing is FREEZING DOWNPOUR RAIN and that THOSE ICY THINGS UNDER THE COVERS ARE ACTUALLY YOUR OWN FEET, what you need, and really, what the whole world probably needs, is chocolate cake. 

Happy May, dear reader! Here's to a spring and summer of baking and sunshine and gainful employment.