White Fluffy Icing

Musings of a reasonably competent home cook.

Posts Tagged cake recipes

A Cupcake for Your Cupcake

Feb 14

Posted by Laura in Baking | 1 Comment

Folks, I have a Valentine’s gift for you: a cupcake.

I’ve explained my feelings about Valentine’s Day before; namely, that it’s an over-hyped quasi-holiday that puts a lot of weird pressure on couples to be romantic.  Isn’t there enough weird pressure in the universe already?  Pretty sure the answer’s yes.

In recent years, however, I’ve been helping a local youth group with their annual Valentine’s Day fundraiser.  They charge admission for a seated dinner, and the yutes serve as the wait staff and entertainment.  Andy runs the kitchen, Jessica assists, and I do the baking.  I daresay that the experience has caused me to quite look forward to Valentine’s Day.  Miracle of miracles!

So I was completely bummed this year when the fundraiser conflicted with a friend’s wedding.  More than just a chance to hang out with Andy and Jessica, the challenge of conceptualizing a dessert for a crowd has been an enjoyable chance for me to grow and improve.

When I emailed Andy to tell him about my scheduling conflict, he jokingly replied, “I think you should make about 40 desserts and drop them off on your way to the wedding.”

So I did… and these cupcakes were born.

Happy valen-times, ever buddy.

Before we get down to business, I need to warn you about a few things.

There’s a huge problem right off the bat: the recipe calls for canola oil instead of butter.  In cake recipe terms, that’s like Queen Elizabeth going commando – it just doesn’t happen.

Second, this imposter fat is “creamed” with the sugar and the eggs. Blasphemy!  Everyone who is anyone knows that you only add eggs after you’ve beaten the tar out of your butter and sugar components, and even then, you introduce them gradually, one at a time.  These poor shy little eggies just get plopped right in.  What in tarnation is going on here?

Third, the batter is really loose.  As in runny.  On the verge of watery, actually.  Heck, I’ve made sweet tea with more viscosity than this cupcake batter.  When I made my first batch of the stuff, my hopes were dashed.  If the oven hadn’t been pre-heated, I probably wouldn’t have wasted my time baking them off.

I am so glad I did.  I don’t think it would be an overstatement to declare these to be the most successful cupcakes I’ve made to date.  The crumb is killer – tender and airy, almost weightless on the tongue – with a definite wallop of chocolate to the palate.

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Now I need tell you something else, and this is very important: You could very well stop after making the cupcakes and no one would blame you.  In fact, it’s probably the smart way to go.  No one is asking you to make curd or scoop cupcake tops or deal with the pain in the neck that is buttercream.  This particular dessert was for paying customers, and I knew Andy’s entrée would be lights out — a tough act to follow.  Plus there’s the whole existential issue of it being a cupcake – the stuff of kid’s birthday parties and backyard picnics, not seated dinners.  I needed to up the ante.

I was inspired my moderate success filling with those triple lemon cupcakes with curd.  And I wanted a dash of pink; ergo, raspberry.  (After all these years, I’m secure enough in my tomboyishness to flirt with a little pink now and then.)

But the true beauty of these cupcakes is that they are a blank slate upon which to doodle.  You could simply dust them with a little confectioner’s sugar.  Traditional chocolate frosting would be terrific, ganache would be superb.  And need I suggest white fluffy icing?  I thought not.

Whether and however you’re celebrating, happy Valentine’s Day, one and all.

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Cupcakes for Your Cupcake

For the curd:
6 ounces fresh raspberries, plus more for an optional garnish
3/4 cups sugar
2 large eggs
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/8 teaspoon salt

For the cupcakes:
½ cup natural unsweetened cocoa powder (I used the plain old Hershey’s stuff)
2 ounces high quality milk chocolate, chopped (I used Lindt)
½ cup boiling water
½ cup buttermilk
1 cup cake flour (spooned lightly into the measuring cup and leveled with a knife)
¾ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
2/3 cup dark brown sugar, packed
½ cup canola oil
½ cup (white) sugar
2 large eggs, room temperature
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

For the buttercream: ***Warning! Buttercream is a total hassle. And you’ll need a handheld mixer and an instant read thermometer for this exercise.***
10 ounces semisweet chocolate, chopped
7 tablespoons water, divided
4 large egg whites
¾ cup sugar
¼ teaspoon cream of tartar
1 teaspoon vanilla
¾ pound (3 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature

Make the curd: Combine the raspberries, sugar, eggs, lemon juice, butter, and salt in a medium saucepan. Cook over medium heat, stirring, until thickened and bubbly, about 5 minutes (not to worry, it will thicken more when chilled).  Strain into a medium bowl using a fine-meshed sieve, pressing on solids to extract as much of the berry goodness as possible. Refrigerate until cold, at least 2 hours and up to 1 day.

Make the cupcakes: Preheat oven to 350F.  Line 18 standard muffin cups with paper liners (I prefer the paper/foil double liners).  Combine cocoa powder and chopped milk chocolate in a medium bowl.  Pour the ½ cup boiling water over; whisk until smooth.  Add buttermilk, whisk to combine; set aside.

Whisk the flour, soda, and salt in another bowl.  In the large bowl of an electric mixer, beat the brown sugar, oil, ½ cup white sugar, eggs, and vanilla on medium to medium high speed until light and creamy, at least 2 minutes.  Reduce the speed to low and alternate adding the flour mixture and the chocolate mixture in two additions.

Pour the batter into the prepared baking cups.  Bake until they test mostly clean with a toothpick, with a few crumbs attached, about 15-18 minutes.  Cool in the pan on a rack for 10 minutes, then transfer directly to the rack to cool completely.  The cupcakes can be made up to 3 days ahead, stored in an airtight container at room temperature.

Make the buttercream: Melt the chopped chocolate and 5 tablespoons of the water together in a medium bowl (I do this in a microwave, beginning with one minute on full power, stirring, and then proceeding in 30-second intervals).  Set aside to cool to lukewarm.

Combine the egg whites, sugar, remaining 2 tablespoons water, and cream of tartar in a stainless steel bowl (steel is important for heat conduction).  Set the bowl in a large, deep skillet, and then add water to the skillet to come up around the sides of the bowl at least as high as the egg whites.  Remove the bowl, then bring the water to a simmer on the stove.

Set the bowl back into the skillet of now-simmering water and beat the egg whites with a hand-held mixer on low speed until the mixture reaches 140F.  (If you can’t check the temperature while you’re mixing, remove the bowl and quickly take a reading – if you stop beating while the mixture is in the water, you run the risk of cooking the eggs solid.  No bueno.)  Once you achieve 140F, switch to high speed and beat the  mixture just until it reaches 160F, which will take just a couple of minutes, five at most.

Remove the bowl from the skillet, add the vanilla, and continue to beat on high speed until you have big glossy peaks of meringue nirvana.

In another bowl, beat the butter until light and creamy.  Add about a cup of the meringue to the butter and beat until well combined.  Repeat, adding half of the total meringue by the cupful and beating until combined.  Add the second half of the meringue and beat until smooth. 

You now have buttercream — time to make it chocolate buttercream!  Switch to the whisk attachment, then curse my name when you realize that every piece of kitchen equipment you have is dirty.  Add half of your melted chocolate mixture to the buttercream in small dollops, then beat on medium high speed until combined.  Add the rest of your chocolate, and beat again until you have smooth, fluffy, chocolate buttercream.  Taste it, then take back everything you said about me.

You may need to let the buttercream set up for a bit before it will hold its shape for piping.  Personally, I was in a hurry and just dolloped it onto my cupcakes, which I think is kind of messy and romantic and homemade in a finger-lickin’ good kind of way.

To assemble: (why yes, I did copy this straight from my last post!):  Scoop out the center of each cupcake using a melon baller, spoon, 1-inch biscuit cutter, or whatever tool you have on hand that will do the trick. Fill each cupcake center with the curd. Top each cupcake with frosting, either piping through a bag (you can use a regular old zip-top bag with one of the corners snipped off) or by dolloping in on with a spoon and smoodging it around.  Top with a fresh raspberry or two and perhaps a mint leaf.

Note: You might be wondering what to do with all those scraps of cake.  If you live alone, this might be a problem, in which case I suggest a parfait.  If you don’t live alone, set out a glass of milk and wait.

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Friendship (Through the Narrow Aisles of Pain)

Jan 7

Posted by Laura in Baking, Food of Love | 2 Comments

A friend is a second self. –Aristotle

Planning a funeral is a lot like planning a wedding, only on three days’ notice. For Dad’s funeral, I needed a church, a priest, lectors, altar boys. Instead of groomsmen, I needed pallbearers.

I needed something to wear. I needed something for Dad to wear. I needed four thousand tissues and a metric ton of makeup.

When I took Dad’s best suit to the funeral home, I forgot to include a rosary to be placed in his hand. I intended to bring one to the wake service, but in the sad chaos of it all, it slipped my mind then, too. It was a small detail — nothing more than a symbol, really — but praying the Rosary was an important part of both my parents’ lives. Burying each of them with one was meaningful.

Thankfully, I remembered to bring it to the church on the day of the funeral. There were unending details to attend to that morning, but I managed to find five minutes that would allow me this indulgence, this one moment of closure. The funeral director wasn’t anywhere nearby; he was coordinating bigger pieces of our somber ritual, probably in the back of the church with the priest. I could have spent my precious five minutes tracking him down (and been diverted seven times in the process), or I could figure it out myself and know with certainty that it was done.

In our thirty five years together, Dad and I shared a lot of moments in that little church. During Mass, he would always offer me his hand, and I would always take it – a silent gesture of affection that we’d share during the Bible readings and through the homily.

Looking down at our clasped hands, it was almost comic how different they were. Mine are pale with transparent skin that shows a highway system of bluish green veins beneath.  Dad’s hands matched his dark complexion and were rough from a life spent working on tractors and cars. My hands are fairly long and slender; his, thick and compact – like the jaws of a vise. A gentle vise. A gentle vise that liked to be held and examined.

I don’t know how many Masses we attended together, holding hands, but that was our routine. Our little routine in this little church.

I was in robot mode when I walked over to place the rosary with Dad, more focused on all the remaining things to be done than on what I was actually doing. I was looking at his hands, trying to remember how a rosary is supposed to look, and then… I saw his hands. I snapped to the moment, and I really saw them. They were handsome, bordered by the cuffs of his suit jacket, those gentle calloused hands I had held so many Sundays and countless other times. His hands. Tears stung my eyelids; I thought my knees might buckle.

I tucked the rosary in as best I could, threading the beads through his palm and letting the crucifix lay gently across his knuckles. My fierce intent to make it look natural was ironic, given how entirely unnatural it all was. I hovered, staring, overanalyzing. Suddenly, Aunt Denise was standing next to me, saying that it looked perfect, just perfect. I felt reassured.

My work was done, but I wasn’t ready to leave him. I reached out and touched his hand again. It was ice cold — much colder than I had expected — but I didn’t care. It was still his. I examined it, for the last time. His calluses were still there, his skin still weathered and tough. His hands.

I felt feminine, nurturing – a woman looking after her father. I was making sure he was comfortable, while acutely aware that he wasn’t actually there. I was nurturing the shell of a man that I had known well and loved deeply.

I could have stood there for hours with him, but it was nearly time for the funeral to begin.  The priest and the family were waiting. I took a deep breath, turned — and literally walked into my friend Meredith. She’d been standing behind me when I thought I was all alone.

I looked up to explain, but her soft eyes told me she understood. She wrapped her arms around me and I lost my composure for a brief moment as she held me close.

We both knew it would be the last time I would see my father.

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When the ceremony was over, our family shuffled out of the church behind the priest, ahead of everyone else. We were suddenly standing in the sunshine; a beautiful day.

I felt a little lost, unsure of what to do next.

I turned and saw Lisa standing in the church yard with her infant son. She must have had to step outside to change him, or shoosh him, not realizing that she was planting herself exactly where I would need her a few moments later.

Her eyes were big, brimming with tears. I can’t imagine, her eyes told me, silently. But when I try, my heart aches and the tears come and I just really hurt for you.

I went to her and she pulled me in tight, her strong embrace having plenty of room for both me and her sweet boy. She touched my hair; it was invigorating to be loved like that, in that moment.  The rest of the day, including the burial, stretched out before me, and I was more than willing to borrow her strength.

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I can recount a dozen more stories of how my friends rallied around me when Dad died.

How Leah instantly grasped the grief I was too shocked to yet feel.

How Andy held my hand that day.

How Jamie inspired me to somehow find paradise in the midst of my sorrow.

How Shana talked with me about things that only daughters who have lost their fathers too soon can really understand.

In the opening lines of her poem Solitude, Ella Wheeler Wilcox wrote, “laugh and the world laughs with you; weep and you weep alone.”  I love that piece for its harrowing insights about grief, but bless her heart, Ella must not have had friends like mine.

I weep, but I do not weep alone.

My second selves weep with me.

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Solitude
By Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow it’s mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life’s gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.

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I learned from my mother about the importance of having deep, meaningful friendships.  All her life, she maintained a wide and varied circle of people that she loved, and they loved her right back.

There’s a story about Mom and a lemon cake she encountered while on an outing with a group of girlfriends.  She and her friends loved the cake, and she vowed to replicate it when she got home, which she did.

Linda, one of the friends that was there that day, contributed the recipe for the lemon cake to our church’s 100th anniversary cookbook, in Mom’s honor.  She called it “Girlfriend’s Lemon Icebox Cake,” which makes me smile every time I see it.

I was inspired by this story of friendship to make mom’s icebox cake, but it calls for lemon cake mix and lemon instant pudding, which I don’t keep on hand.  What I did have on hand was a raft of Meyer lemons from my neighbors Joe and Janet — so I made these cupcakes instead.

Triple Lemon Cupcakes

(Adapted from Peace Meals, a gorgeous cookbook published in 2008 by the Junior League of Houston, a copy of which was given to me by my good friend, Jamie)

Cupcakes:
3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup (2 sticks) butter, softened
1 1/2 cups sugar
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
3 eggs, room temperature
16 ounces sour cream, room temperature
2 teaspoons finely shredded lemon zest

Lemon Curd:
5 egg yolks
1 cup sugar (if you’re using Meyers, taste them — if they’re sweet, you may want to cut the sugar back to 3/4 cup)
4 lemons, zested and juiced
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, cut into pats and chilled

Frosting:
1 cup (2 sticks) butter, room temperature
3 cups powdered sugar
2 tablespoons Coffee Mate powdered creamer (it cuts the sweetness!)
3 teaspoons milk
1/4 cup Lemon Curd

For the cupcakes:
Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line 24 standard muffin cups with paper baking liners (I prefer Reynolds brand double layered liners, foil with paper inside). In a medium bowl, whisk or sift the flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt. In the large bowl of an electric mixer, beat the butter on medium high speed until creamy, about 30 seconds. Gradually add the sugar; beat on high speed until lightened in color and texture, at least 2 minutes and up to 5 minutes. Add the vanilla and then the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Add the flour mixture in three parts, alternating with the sour cream in two parts, beating on low speed after each addition just until combined, creating a thick batter. Stir in the lemon zest. Spoon about 1/4 cup of the batter into each prepared cup. Bake about 20 to 25 minutes or until a wooden toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool completely.

For the lemon curd:
Combine the egg yolks, sugar, and lemon zest in a medium stainless steel or enamel saucepan. Whisk until smooth lightened in color, about 1 minute. Measure the lemon juice and, if needed, add enough cold water to reach 1/3 cup. Add the juice to the egg mixture and whisk again until smooth. Add the pats of butter, then cook over medium heat, whisking, until the butter is melted. Continue to whisk constantly until the mixture is thickened, allowing it to simmer gently for a few seconds. Scrape the curd into a clean bowl. Let cool, then cover with layer of plastic wrap directly on the surface of the curd. Refrigerate for up to 2 weeks. (It will continue to thicken when refrigerated.)

For the frosting:
Cream the butter on medium speed until light and fluffy. Gradually add the powdered sugar and powdered creamer, then add the milk and blend until smooth. Add the Lemon Curd and mix until well blended.

To assemble:
Scoop out the center of each cupcake using a melon baller, spoon, 1-inch biscuit cutter, or whatever tool you have on hand that will do the trick. Fill each cupcake center with the Lemon Curd. Top each cupcake with frosting, either piping through a bag (you can use a regular old zip-top bag with one of the corners snipped off) or with a butter knife.

Note: You might be wondering what to do with 24 little scraps of cake.  I had plans to make a parfait from mine, but my husband and my kiddo swiped them before I had a chance.  I imagine you won’t have a problem disposing of yours, either…

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The @#$%! Cake

Oct 15

Posted by Laura in Baking, Cover Recipe Results, Food of Love | 10 Comments

Friends, have I got a story for you.

It’s a story of tenacity.  Perseverance.   Winning.

It’s a story of a street-wise Chicago teen who moves to a small repressed town where dancing and rock music are illegal.  Against all odds, he… oh, sorry.  Wrong story.

It’s a story about me and a @#$%! chocolate cake.

You know the one.  The one on the December cover of Bon Appetit magazine.  The one I tried to make last December and failed miserably.  Yeah, that one.

The truth is that I was doomed before I began, and it was all Matt’s fault.  He happened to be piddling in the kitchen while I prepared my mise en place. I distinctly remember buttering and flouring the cake pans and telling him, “You know, I’m amazed that I haven’t had to make any of these Bon Appétit cover recipes twice.”

I actually said that.  Out loud.  To another human being.

I thought I had it in the bag.  How many cakes have I baked in my life?  After my inaugural turkey, surely this would be a no brainer, right?  I mean, can I get an amen?!

Now, Matt’s a stoic guy.  He doesn’t always have something to say.  In fact, about half the time he replies to me with a “Humph.”

Literally, “Humph.”

In MattSpeak, that translates to, “I have understood and acknowledged your statement; however, I have nothing further to contribute to this topic.”

On occasion, though, he comes up with a perfect little quip, chock full of simple wisdom.  This was one of those occasions.

Let’s rewind a bit and get the full effect:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Laura [buttering and flouring a cake pan, quite satisfied with herself]: “You know, I’m amazed that I haven’t had to make any of these Bon Appétit cover recipes twice.”

Matt [piddling, aloof]: “Seems like you’d wanna wait until you’ve actually finished all twelve of them to make a statement like that.”

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Do you have ANY idea what it’s like to live with someone who’s nearly always right?

Or, for if you’re the superstitious type: Can you BELIEVE he jinxed me like that?  Gah.

And so it began.  The batter came together easily enough, went into the pan easily enough, slid into the oven easily enough.  So far, so good.

But when the cake layers were done, I thought it might be fun to drop one of them on the floor.  You know, just to remind myself what startled and horrified feel like when experienced simultaneously.

Buttercream: spackling of champions.

The good news was that I dropped the pan right side up, where it landed completely flat on its bottom, like a brick.  The poor cake, piping hot from the oven, scrambled like eggs inside the pan.  After the requisite muttering under my breath, I told myself that it was nothing that an advanced cooling technique and some buttercream spackling couldn’t hide.

No problem.  I got this.

Speaking of buttercream, it had its share of issues too — it separated while beating in the butter.  It was looking a little iffy there for a minute, but I warmed and whisked it a little and managed to recover.

No problem.  I got this.

Then came the glaze.  Ohhhhh, the glaze.  I made it twice, and failed twice, which is kind of amazing considering that it requires all of one step: melt stuff.  The first time, I melted the stuff, and then waited for it to thicken, which the recipe said would take about 5 minutes.  After 30 minutes, I tried chilling it, to no avail. It was the roughly the consistency of water.

After checking, I realized that the recipe states “1 ½ sticks,” but I read it to be 1 ½ cups, which is 3 sticks.  Twice as much.  No wonder.

So I made it again.  The second take thickened enough to go on the cake, but something was still off.  It was thick, but kind of gloppy and didn’t spread well.

I decided to move on.  The chocolate ribbons would distract the eye and cover all my sins.

No problem.  I got this.

Well, the @#$%! ribbons didn’t turn out to be the @#$%! panacea I’d been counting on.  They were floppy and flimsy and structurally unsound.  I added powdered sugar.  I froze them.  I tried everything I could think of, but there was no three-dimensional bow in this cake’s future.

Uhhhh, problem.  I don’t got this.

I had a bona fide cake wreck on my hands.  (Before you ask, all photographic evidence has been destroyed.)

So, what happened?  At first, I wasn’t sure.  I checked the recipe’s comments on the Bon Appetit site, to see if there had been a misprint or some such.  I grumbled as I read how easy and fabulous it was for everyone else.

I mulled it over.  I re-read the recipe.  I couldn’t figure it out.

Then, two nights later, I sat bolt upright in bed out of a deep sleep.  I knew the answer.

I had incorrectly measured the chocolate.

Mise en place, Take Two.

I had used a different brand of chocolate than I normally do.  My usual brand comes in 1-ounce squares, but the brand I used came in ½-ounce squares.  So, while I counted out what I thought was the correct number of ounces, in reality I had only used half the necessary amount of chocolate – in both the @#$%! glaze and the @#$%! ribbons.

It was a total rookie mistake.

That’s the thing I like about baking – it’s a personal barometer.  If my head isn’t clear, I make mistakes.  I drop things.  I mis-read recipes.  I lose stuff.

Once I realized the chocolate problem, and stopped to think about all the other things I’d done wrong, I realized how cluttered my mind was, how stressed I’d been.

You may have noticed that I started posting fewer entries about that time – I needed to regroup, relax, get my head on straight.  It took a while, but it worked – and then my world kind of blew up.

Once again, I needed to regroup, relax, get my head on straight.    And once again, life settled down.

By then it was September.  Yikes.  Not sure how that happened, but I never lost sight of the @#$%! chocolate cake I wanted to remake. My birthday of my lovely mother-in-law, Eileen, is in September, and I saw my opportunity.

I made the cake.  Again.  This time, with my head on straight.

It was a bit of work, but each step was pretty easy, especially when you measure correctly and aren’t burdened with having to recover from, say, dropping the @#$%! thing.

And I have to say, it was quite lovely.  Dense and highly spiced, it was a sneak preview of the flavors of Christmas.  I felt vindicated.  Victorious.  Redeemed.

Two weeks later, my world blew up again when my dad died suddenly.  (That might be the understatement of the century, actually – but you get the idea.)

I’m learning a hard lesson: this is life.  Up, down, sideways.  Sometimes backwards.  But the important thing is to keep putting one foot in front of the other, no matter how strong the headwind.

Why?  Because I’ve seen the alternatives.  They aren’t pretty.

And they don’t get you any cake.

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When Life Gives You Broken Cake, Make A Trifle

Aug 26

Posted by Laura in Baking, Food of Love | 4 Comments

Subject Line: Cake. "Call me."

I’m normally an optimistic, go-get-‘em type of person. I read somewhere once that we should count our blessings, not our troubles, and I try my best to live that way.

But sometimes I need to sit down and have a good cry.

I was recently on an elevator with a middle-aged woman. During our ride, which spanned about 25 floors, I caught a long glance of her. She was exhausted.

I don’t mean college-hell-week exhausted, or I-stayed-out-all-night-partying exhausted, or parent-of-a-child-under-age-two exhausted. She was trim and well-dressed, but she gripped the rail in the elevator a little too tightly. She sighed a little too deeply. Her eyes blinked a little too slowly and stayed closed a little too long.

Just hang on, she seemed to be thinking, the day is almost over. How many times had she given herself that pep talk? What weight was she carrying? Her load seemed heavy.

I don’t know that woman, and I’ll probably never see her again. But she reminded me that we each carry our own brand of troubles — a unique and invisible cross. Some are small and easily managed, some are tremendous and back-breaking. But we all have one.

They’re invisible, so we forget. I forget.

I forget that, outside of a very short list of people, I really have no idea what size anyone’s cross is — or perhaps more importantly, how equipped they are to carry it.

Often, I forget about my own cross.

And actually, the forgetting is usually my own doing. When a painful thought comes to mind, I can physically feel myself suppressing it, without really deciding to. It’s just like swallowing a lump in my throat to keep from crying – a subconscious mechanism to defend my composure.

But then, something will prick through the defense. I’ll see a woman in an elevator, and for all I truly know about her, she’s the most carefree and content human being on earth. But that’s not what I see. I see exhaustion, I see confusion, I see pain. I won’t realize until much later that I was actually seeing myself.

That’s when I know it’s time to have that cry I was telling you about.

I stop, put down my cross, and crumple against it. I take a good long look at it – it bears my old scars and my open wounds, my sorrows and regrets, my shortcomings, my pain. Worry. Anxiety. Fear. I acknowledge, wincing, that it’s really all really real. This is part of who I am. This is the cross I carry.

I remind myself that the appropriate response to injury is not to lash out or seek revenge. It’s not my job to make all things right, to put things back where they should be – and even if it were my job, I wouldn’t be qualified to do it. I would make the wrongs wronger. It is the very definition of futility.

No, the appropriate response to injury is to be hurt. To allow myself to be injured. That’s harder that it sounds. It requires vulnerability, admission, acceptance, and pain.

After all the tears are out, and maybe after pitying myself for a short while, I pull myself back together. Then comes the critical part: I pick up my cross and I keep going.

If I’m lucky – or, better said, if I do it right – I will have learned something in the process.

“Finally, all of you, be like-minded, be sympathetic, love one another, be compassionate and humble. Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult. On the contrary, repay evil with blessing, because to this you were called so that you may inherit a blessing.” -1 Peter 3:8

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Subject Line: Success!

Usually when I sit down to write to you, I have at least an idea of what I want to say, and certainly the recipe in mind that goes with it.  Not so this time.

I sat down to have a good cry, and this is what came out.  Which is all well and good, but what the heck kind of recipe goes with this part of life?

And then suddenly, I knew.

I recently attended two funerals in the span of a week, which is part of the emotional weight I was carrying.  After the wake for the first funeral, I saw an email on my phone from my friend Joy, subject line: Cake, with a photo of a cake attached.  She was having trouble, it read.  Cake trouble.  Call me.

At first glance, when the cake photo was a thumbnail measuring approximately 2 microns by 4 microns, it looked lovely.  Black forest, cherries, chocolate shavings.  Hello, beautiful.  I wondered what the problem could be?

Then I opened the attachment, and boom!  Three fissures had split her cake almost exactly into thirds.  Cake chasms, they were.

“This is for a colleague at the office, for his birthday… tomorrow!  What do I do?” she asked.  She’d already tried inserting skewers to knit it back together (which you can see if you look closely at the photo).  She also tried spackling the layers together with more icing, but it had a whipped cream base, and it was too loose to do much good.  I looked at the clock.  9:00 pm.  Too late for another attempt.

Having ruined puh-lenty o’ cakes in my life, I told her what any baker would:  make a trifle.

What’s a trifle?

It’s a chunked up cake in a bowl, usually sprinkled with liquor or other highly flavored liquid, and layered with whatever filling or pudding type substances you have on hand, and topped with whipped cream.

Hmmm.  How do I make one?

Find the prettiest bowl you have, preferably a clear glass one.  Take a large serving spoon and start dishing chunks of cake into the bowl, until you’ve made a layer.  Add a layer whipped cream or filling or whatever you have around.  Repeat until you’re out of cake or near the top of the bowl.  Finish with whipped cream and more cherry filling.  Shave more chocolate on top.  Pretend you did it on purpose.

You really think that will work?

Yes!  And while your co-workers ooh and ahh over the deliciousness of it all, you can explain what a trifle is.  They’ll never know.  You’ll be a genius.

A couple of hours later, I received another email.  Subject line: Success!, and a photo of a pretty darn handsome trifle attached.  Success.  Shared success.  It lifted my spirit.

I hope it lifts yours.

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I can relate to having high hopes and expectations dashed when a cake doesn’t work out — especially a birthday cake.  I made a lime chiffon cake for Eileen, my mother-in-law, a few years ago, and luckily it turned out well.  In fact, it was so pretty, I wish I’d put it on a pretty cake plate instead of my portable cake saver thingy.

However, if it had collapsed, split, or been struck by lightning, I would have made a batch of lime curd and turned it into a trifle (and still had fun decorating the top the same way).

Fresh Lime Chiffon Cake
From Cooking Light Magazine, June 2006

FILLING:
1 teaspoon finely grated lime rind
1/4 cup fresh lime juice (about 2 limes)
1 (14-ounce) can sweetened condensed milk

CAKE:
Cooking spray
1 tablespoon cake flour
2 cups sifted cake flour (7 1/2 ounces)
1 1/4 cups sugar, divided
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
7 tablespoons canola oil
1/3 cup fresh lime juice (about 3 limes)
3 tablespoons water
1 teaspoon finely grated lime rind
1 teaspoon pure lemon extract
3 egg yolks
8 egg whites
1 teaspoon cream of tartar

FROSTING:
3 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons lime juice (about 1 lime)
2 1/2 cups fat-free whipped topping, thawed*
Fresh mint sprigs (optional)
Fresh blueberries (optional)
Lime wedges (optional)

(*Naturally, whipped heavy cream would be better… )

To prepare the lime filling, combine 1 teaspoon lime rind, 1/4 cup lime juice, and sweetened condensed milk in a small bowl, stirring until blended. Cover and chill 3 hours.

Preheat oven to 325°. To prepare cake, coat bottoms of 3 (8-inch) round cake pans with cooking spray (do not coat sides of pans); line bottoms with wax paper. Coat wax paper with cooking spray; dust with 1 tablespoon flour.

Lightly spoon 2 cups cake flour into dry measuring cups, and level with a knife. Combine 2 cups cake flour, 1 cup sugar, baking powder, and 1/2 teaspoon salt in a large bowl, stirring with a whisk until well combined.

Combine oil, 1/3 cup juice, 3 tablespoons water, 1 teaspoon rind, lemon extract, and egg yolks in a medium bowl, stirring with a whisk. Add oil mixture to flour mixture; beat with a mixer at medium speed until smooth.

Place egg whites in a large bowl; beat with a mixer at high speed until foamy. Add cream of tartar; beat until soft peaks form. Gradually add remaining 1/4 cup sugar, 1 tablespoon at a time, beating until stiff peaks form. Gently stir one-fourth of egg white mixture into flour mixture; gently fold in remaining egg white mixture.

Divide cake batter equally among prepared pans, spreading evenly. Break air pockets by cutting through batter with a knife. Bake at 325° for 20 minutes or until cake springs back when lightly touched. Cool in pans for 10 minutes on a wire rack; remove from pans. Remove wax paper from cake layers. Cool completely on wire rack.

To prepare frosting, combine 3 tablespoons sugar and 2 tablespoons lime juice in a small glass bowl. Microwave at high for 30 seconds or until sugar dissolves. Cool completely. Fold into whipped topping.

To assemble cake, place 1 cake layer on a plate; spread half of filling over cake layer. Top with second layer, remaining half of filling, and third layer. Spread frosting over top and sides of cake. Garnish with mint, blueberries, and lime wedges, if desired. Store cake loosely covered in refrigerator for up to 3 days. Slice cake into wedges.

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Don’t wait for a ruined cake to make a trifle, which is a traditional English dessert.  Saveur Magazine featured a killer-looking trifle on last year’s December cover.  And don’t let the special bowl scare you away, either.  You can use a regular bowl, like Joy did, or you can make the small investment in a trifle bowl.  We received one from our friends Travis and Tara as a wedding gift, and I use it all the time… for trifles, and fruit salads, and banana pudding, and layered salad, and… and… and… you get the idea.  Are you sold yet?

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(In Search Of) King Cake!

Mar 7

Posted by Laura in Baking, Food of Love | 10 Comments

I have lived all of my years in the Lone Star State, save for three — and in those three short years, Louisiana stole a piece of my heart.

Right out of college, Matt took a job at a company called CAMECO in Thibodaux, Lousiana (which is now part of John Deere).  I still had a year to go at Southwestern University, and some day I’ll tell you the story of how we “met” (hardly the right word when you’ve known someone your entire life), fell in love, and eventually married — but for purposes of brevity, I’ll just say that I finished school, spent a year working in Houston, and then got hitched and moved to Louisiana.  We’d heard that living in the same state ups your odds of staying married, at least in the first year or two.  Not knowing any better, we were willing to try it.

People back home often asked me how I liked it “over there,” and my pat answer was that it was like living in an entirely different country.  How a place we share a state line with can be so different, I cannot say — but it’s true.  And I loved it.

Of course, one cannot comment on the peculiar culture of Louisiana without mentioning Mardi Gras — and as you’ve probably guessed by now, that’s exactly where I’m going.

It all begins with the three wise men — you know, the ones from the second chapter of Matthew’s gospel.  Every January 6th, the Catholic Church celebrates the Solemnity of the Epiphany of the Lord — that is, the revelation of Jesus to the Gentiles.  I won’t go into the theological details, but let’s just agree that it’s a pretty big deal, and therefore, worthy of a party.

On the Church’s liturgical calendar, Christmas season technically begins on December 25 and runs through Epiphany, on January 6th — what we all simply know as the Twelve Days of Christmas.  Europeans traditionally celebrated Epiphany with huge Twelfth Night parish parties, which featured a king cake.  In honor of the three kings, or wise men, of the Epiphany story, hidden in the cake would be three beans or coins, and whomever found the prizes were crowned the kings and queens of the day.  While the royalty were being outfitted for their office, the Christmas tree was taken down and “plundered,” which means the ornaments were removed, the branches were stripped, and it was stored until Lent, when it was made into a processional cross.  Meanwhile, the kings and queens held court… which is to say, they partied till the break of dawn.  Cheap beads imported from China may or may not have been involved.

I'm ready for my close-up...

These days, Epiphany still marks the end of Christmas season, but it also signifies the beginning of Mardi Gras season.  Along the way, the beans and coins turned into ceramic charms, and then into plastic babies.  Parades were added.  Krewes were formed.  Inappropriate behavior and overindulgence ensued… but one thing still holds true: the king cake.

And that’s all very well and good, you see, but here’s the thing: in the entire time I lived in Louisiana, I met many an expert home cook.  But never, not once, did I have a homemade king cake.  They’re kind of like doughnuts, in the sense that everyone picks them up at a bakery or grocery store, and next to no one makes them at home.  Is it me, or is that odd for a confection with such a rich cultural heritage?

For years, I’ve been casually looking for a good king cake recipe, but never found one compelling enough to warrant an attempt.  Then recently, I made the acquaintance of Jim Gossen, a perfect Cajun gentleman that lives here in Houston, but grew up in Louisiana and still has a home on Grand Isle.  Certainly he’d have a recipe for king cake, right?

Right.  Jim very graciously shared with me that his family enjoys the French version in Julia Child’s Mastering The Art of French Cooking: Gateau des Rois.  Of course!  The recipe I’d been searching for had been under my nose all along.  I eagerly consulted my 2003 anniversary edition of Mastering, and I’m ashamed to say, I couldn’t find it.  Before you suggest it, yes, I checked Volume II, too.  Either Julia can’t write an index, or I can’t read.  Maybe both.

Just as I finished turning every page of the desserts section of both volumes of Mastering, the universe reached out to me.  John Besh shared his king cake recipe via a link on Twitter, and when I clicked through, get this: it was this article by the Houston Chronicle‘s very own Greg Morago.  Sure, John is no Julia — no one is — but the recipe was from his beautiful My New Orleans cookbook, which is basically a love letter to Louisiana and its food culture.  So I had to try it.

As you can see, I went a little over the top with the tri-colored glazes and the beads, and Matt walked in just as I finished utterly destroying our kitchen.  But a funny thing happened when I cut him the first slice and handed him a fork.  He started talking about Louisiana.

While I did the dishes, he told me stories I hadn’t heard before, about his time there before I arrived.  He was a young engineer, still wet behind the ears and from out of state, much less out of town.

At the CAMECO offices, a lady named Pat traditionally brought the first king cake of the season, on January 6th.  Knowing that Matt didn’t know a king cake from his elbow, Pat stopped by his desk and told him to be sure and get a slice, which he did.  And sure enough, when he cut into the cake, he hit something rock hard.  Oh no, he thought.  What’s wrong with this cake?!

Immediately his co-workers started exclaiming, He got the baby!  Big Tex got the baby!  Hey Matt, that means you gotta bring a king cake tomorrow.

Great.  Not only was there a foreign mass in his slice of cake, which he would have to somehow politely ignore, but he had no idea why his colleagues were going on and on about a baby.  Or how he was going to produce a king cake on less than 24 hours’ notice.  Knowing him like I do, I’m sure Matt turned beet red while he tried to figure it out.  And having later gotten to know many of the folks that were in the room that day, I’m sure they lapped it up.

What an outstanding example of how food connects us to a time and place. Laissez les bons temps rouler!

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p.s.  While I greatly enjoyed Mr. Besh’s king cake, I still want to try Julia Child’s recipe.  If any of you have time to point a dim-witted food blogger in the right direction on how to find it in a book she already owns, please let me know…

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This Is It, Ya’ll

Dec 7

Posted by Laura in 2010 Bon Appétit Covers, Baking, Cover Announcements | 29 Comments

The last Bon Appétit cover of 2010 has arrived, and I can hardly believe it.  Where did the year go?

Remember what I said a few weeks ago about cake vs. pie?  A perfect case in point: this glitzy cake couldn’t be any further from a humble sweet potato pie if it tried.

At first glance, my reaction to the cover photo was: Lord have mercy on my soul. A three-dimensional chocolate bow will do that, or so I hear.

Then I looked at the recipe.  My first reaction there was: Whoa.  Two entire magazine pages for one single recipe.

And my second thought was: Lord have mercy on my soul.

Then I actually read the recipe, and it’s not nearly as crazy as it looks.  I felt even better when I read this issue’s letter from the editor, because there I learned that this is a recycled cover from 1984, and that it has been their most requested recipe for the 26 years since, “generating more mail over a longer period than any other recipe.”

This is good news, for two reasons: a) It must be a darn tasty cake, and b) It can’t be that hard.  (Famous last words, anyone?)

I have high hopes that this is the dessert I’ve waited all year for: challenging but doable, and impressive in both the looks and taste departments.  For the record, the turkey freaked me out waaaaay more than this.

p.s. Interesting to note that this recipe is not (yet?) available on the Bon Appétit website… any guesses as to why?  Because it’s also in the new BA Desserts cookbook?  Or perhaps the recipe developer didn’t give permission?

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On Flag Day, Let Them Eat Cake

Jun 14

Posted by Laura in Baking, Food of Love | 9 Comments

This was my first flag cake, back in 2003. These days, I use single rows of raspberries and make the technically accurate thirteen stripes... gotta feed the OCD somehow!

Today, we celebrate the Red-White-and-Blue. Old Glory. The Stars and Bars.

Happy Flag Day, ever buddy!

If you’re like me, you may not even be sure what Flag Day is all about. Does our flag really need its own holiday? Well, after reading up a wee bit, I’m convinced that yes – yes, it does.

June 14th is Flag Day because on that date in 1777, the Second Continental Congress passed the first Flag Act in order to establish an official flag for our new nation:

“Resolved, that the flag of the United States be made of thirteen stripes, alternate red and white; that the union be thirteen stars, white in a blue field, representing a new Constellation.”

Before then, the flag already had the familiar thirteen red and white stripes, but the canton (the top inner quarter) consisted of the British Union Jack. Why is this significant? Well, I thought you’d never ask.

Britain’s colonies each had their own varied and distinct flags, for ease of identification — but they all had the Union Jack in the canton, to show their allegiance to the United Kingdom.

So our forefathers were symbolically saying hey, George III, we’re not a measly colony anymore. We’re our own country! So we’re tossing your Union Jack and replacing it with our own stuff. And by the way, our new design is so cool, it’s a constellation. Nyah!

To me, the funny part is that they did this six years before the Revolutionary War ended. Call me crazy, but it seems to me that they’d have been a bit more focused on trying not to get their hineys kicked.*  We’re at war with the world’s foremost superpower, but hey ya’ll, let’s huddle up and debate a new flag design!

Clearly, our flag was borne of our own hubris and rebellious attitude, and on Flag Day, we celebrate that attitude and everything else the flag has come to represent – both to us and to everyone around the world. On many an occasion, our flag has been a sight for sore eyes, designating freedom, safe haven, opportunity, and abundance. Some have set a lifelong goal to one day make it to America and build a life under that flag, like my mother’s grandparents, who came on a boat from Czechoslovakia when my grandmother was just a girl.  And to think that my lucky toosh was born here.

So yeah, I’ll give the flag its own holiday. Researching this post has actually made me want to buy a flag and display it. In reality, I’ll be lucky to have it up by this time next year – but it’s the thought that counts, right?

When Freedom from her mountain height
Unfurled her standard to the air,
She tore the azure robe of night,
And set the stars of glory there.

-From The American Flag, by Joseph Rodman Drake
(For the rest of this poem, click here.)



*I mentioned this to Matt, and he pointed out that back then, during war, having a flag was a big deal. A flag to be proud of was a huge morale booster. After all, he said, the soldier carrying the flag didn’t have a gun. Huh. Good point. Smart guy, that Matt!

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I make this flag cake every chance I get: Memorial Day, Independence Day, Labor Day, and now, Flag Day. Aside from being an impressive dessert to take to a summer party, it’s a blast to make and not nearly as difficult as it looks. Plus I have an excuse to break out the pastry bag and tips. I can’t draw to save my life, but making straight lines on a rectangular cake is something even I can manage.

If you don’t have a pan as big as the one called for, split the batter among two pans and reduce the baking time appropriately. Don’t try to halve the recipe, because - geek alert! – when cake recipes are halved or doubled, bad things happen. (In other words, the proportions are not linear.)

p.s., I adore Ina Garten – this recipe includes the cream cheese frosting that I now use on everything that it’s remotely appropriate for. Yum!



Flag Cake
from The Barefoot Contessa, Ina Garten’s show on the Food Network
circa 2003

2 1/4 sticks butter, room temperature
3 cups flour
3 cups sugar
6 large eggs
1 1/4 cups sour cream
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 teaspoon finely grated lemon zest (1 lemon)
1/3 cup cornstarch
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 recipe cream cheese frosting (see recipe on this post)
1 half-pint blueberries
3 half-pints raspberries

Preheat oven to 350ºF. Butter an 18x12x1-inch rimmed baking pan, line bottom with parchment paper, and butter the parchment paper.

Cream butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Reduce speed to medium and add eggs, two at a time. Add sour cream, vanilla and zest and beat until just incorporated.

Sift together the flour, baking soda, cornstarch and salt. Reduce speed to low and add to butter mixture until just combined. Pour into pan, spread evenly and bake for 25-35 minutes. Transfer to wire rack to cool.

To decorate, spread 3/4 of the frosting over top of cooled cake with spatula. Place remaining frosting in large pastry bag fitted with large star tip. Outline a flag on the cake with toothpick. Fill upper left-hand corner with a layer of blueberries. Place two rows of raspberries across top of cake to form first red stripe. Pipe two rows of stars just below raspberries to create first white stripe. Repeat with remaining raspberries and frosting until all stripes are formed. Pipe stars on top of blueberries.

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Cupcake for Teacher

May 17

Posted by Laura in Baking, Food of Love | 26 Comments

I’ve come to accept the fact that there are some things I will never fully understand. The infinite boundlessness of space, for example. Or why the NBA playoffs are almost as long as the regular season.

But one thing I do understand is that there are wonderful people in this world dedicated to educating our children. People that are braver and more resilient than me. People who have a deep-rooted desire to impact the next generation (spitballs notwithstanding).

And while I admire teachers – the good ones, that is – I’m glad to not be counted among them. I just don’t have the chops. I affirmed this during a recent trip to a local elementary school, where I volunteered to teach 1st graders about saving money. The children were all very well-mannered, and they got the lesson, but I’m pretty sure they could smell my fear.

So when my friend Jamie asked if I’d donate cupcakes for a teacher appreciation luncheon at her kids’ school, my answer was “of course!”, of course. After all, any institution that wants to express their gratitude in the form of cupcakes is an institution I can really get behind. And let’s face it… polished apples are sooo 20th century.

Red velvet was the requested flavor of choice, which was interesting since I’d only made that flavor once before, for the Valentine’s Day fundraiser I told you about.

Squares of Ghirardelli white chocolate as garnish assured my status as teachers' pet.

I’d like to say that I’ve never met a cupcake I didn’t like, but the truth is, I don’t really care much for red velvet. It has this weak little barely-there hint of cocoa… just enough to add some richness, but not enough to officially call it chocolate cake. And that wee smidge of cocoa tints the batter a very strange color, which is why the recipe asks you to dump in two full bottles of food coloring (yeah, that’s right: two whole bottles!).

I don’t know the history of red velvet cake (is it a retro Southern thing? I suspect it is…), but it seems to me that it was invented by someone with a lukewarm affinity for chocolate: they’re not willing to commit to a full-blown chocolate experience. Which, by the way, I’m adding to that list of things I don’t understand.

But this is where that food of love thing comes in. It’s not necessarily food I love, it’s food for those I love. And today, I’m loving on a bunch of teachers I don’t know, because the kids they’re teaching will one day have voting rights that count just as much as mine. So if it’s red velvet they want, red velvet they shall have!

To all the teachers I know, active and retired, thank you for doing what many wouldn’t and most couldn’t. You make the world a better place!

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When I was developing the Valentine’s dessert spread, I consulted with Scott, a good friend of mine and avid red velvet fan. He gave me his wife Caryn’s recipe, which I believe was originally from Heloise – you know, the helpful hint lady (who must have been the absolute bomb-diggety before Google came along). I adapted the instructions to make cupcakes (instead of a layer cake), and swapped out the icing for my favorite cream cheese frosting, which allows me to easily overlook the lack of chocolate problem.

Red Velvet Cupcakes

2 ounces red liquid food coloring
3 tablespoons cocoa
½ cup vegetable shortening
1 ½ cups granulated sugar
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 ½ cups sifted cake flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup buttermilk
1 tablespoon vinegar
1 teaspoon baking soda

Line standard-size muffin pans with paper liners. Preheat oven to 350°F. In a small bowl, combine food coloring and cocoa; set aside. In a large bowl, beat shortening and sugar; add eggs, one at a time, beating after each addition. Add food coloring mixture and vanilla. Alternately add flour, salt and buttermilk, beating well. Stir in vinegar and baking soda.

Pour batter into prepared cups and bake about 20 minutes, or until the tops spring back when lightly pressed and and a toothpick inserted into the center of a cupcake comes out clean. Remove from oven and cool on wire rack 5 minutes, then remove from pans and cool completely on rack. Frost as desired (I usually pipe the cream cheese frosting below through a large star tip). Makes 2 dozen cupcakes.

Ina Garten’s Cream Cheese Frosting

1 pound butter, room temperature
1 ½ pounds cream cheese, room temperature
1 pound confectioner’s sugar
1 ½ teaspoons vanilla

Place butter and cream cheese in bowl of electric mixer fitted with paddle attachment. Beat on medium0-high until fluffy. Reduce speed, add confectioner’s sugar and vanilla, and beat until just combined.

This makes more frosting than you’ll need for 2 dozen cupcakes, but I’m sure you can come up with something to do with the extra. You know, like mainline it — which is what I do.

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A Blog by Any Other Name

Oct 12

Posted by Laura in Baking | 10 Comments

When I was a kid, there were two reasons to look forward to October. One was the Brazoria County Fair, and the other was my big brother’s birthday. Not because of his birthday per se, but because every year he asked for the same confection to celebrate: chocolate cake with white fluffy icing.

White fluffy icing. White fluffy icing! I thought every kid grew up with white fluffy icing. It’s funny how three little words can trigger a flood of childhood memories. Memories of wearing “jellies” and cooking with my mom, memories of harvest gold kitchen appliances, memories of eating cake on the red place setting which meant it was your special day.

As it turns out, White Fluffy Icing is a Southern tradition. Except that most people call it Seven Minute Frosting, so named for the length of cooking time it requires (if the benevolent frosting fairies are on your side, that is). To add to the identity confusion, the actual name of the recipe my mom uses, courtesy of Aunt Claudia, is Never Fail Swirl Frosting. Who knew? All I know is that over the years, my mom’s cake developed in me a Pavlovian reaction to the title I know and love: White Fluffy Icing!

Truth be told, Never Fail Swirl Frosting is a smidge different than Seven Minute Frosting, and the technique is quite a bit easier. The latter requires beating the egg whites with an electric mixer while they cook over simmering water, which is challenging enough. But on top of that, you must constantly monitor the temperature on an instant read thermometer (with your third hand, of course). Again, good fairy vibes help. Low humidity does, too, since it’s technically a cooked meringue.

For Never Fail Frosting, you gradually beat hot syrup into egg whites in a mixer – no thermometer, no chance for overcooking the whites. Today, I tested the outer limits of the technique by making white fluffy icing on a rainy day – and the title holds true: it has never failed me. So tell those fairies to hold off until you tackle buttercream.

Some people add chopped nuts and/or coconut to their white fluffy icing. I hear it is delicious on banana cake, yellow cake, just about anything – but I wouldn’t know, because in my mind, white fluffy icing belongs on top of a rich, dark chocolate cake. Oh yeah, and it’s low fat, too. It will, however, make your pancreas hurt if you lick too much out of the bowl. Not that I would know.

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Never Fail Swirl Frosting

3 egg whites, room temperature
A few grains of salt
¼ teaspoon cream of tartar
¾ cup sugar
¾ cup light corn syrup
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Beat the egg whites with salt and cream of tartar at high speed until almost stiff. Meanwhile, combine the sugar and syrup in a small saucepan and cook just until bubbles form around the edges.

Gradually pour the hot syrup over the egg whites, beating constantly at high speed. Return the syrup to the heat several times during the process, to keep it hot.

Add the vanilla and beat for an additional 3 to 5 minutes, until the mixture is the desired consistency. Use immediately.

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