Claire's Cake

Some families collect jewelry as heirlooms; others collect photos, newspaper clippings and slides; and still others collect letters and the stamps that got them where they needed to go. My family, on the other hand, collects one-liners as family heirlooms - inside jokes and the zealous laughter that corresponds to be passed down from generation to generation. 

My brother, sister, and cousins have an innate skill for finding them, pulling them out into the public, and then corralling the giggles. If those giggles turn into thunderous guffaws, then you know you've got a winner.

There are certain breeding grounds for these one-liners - circumstances, where you just know you're going to hear one. Post Christmas dinner, about the time when the 5th magnum of Champagne has offered its final pour, the "kids" go into silent mode as they wait with baited breath for something like:
Yes, we have a lot to carry ... 
or,
I'm so glad that you're such good friends and that you play together ...
or better yet,
I hate wet salad ...  

Everyone seems to own a one-liner or two (or if you're me, just a word, and there are more like a dozen of them. 'Ka-BOOM!' and 'Mongoloid' will live in infamy.)  My Aunt Dee-Dee has a classic. She is responsible for the quote, "Maybe it's because of the reason." It's a one-liner that we put down in the record books around 2003. My cousin was on her first leave from the Army, and my Aunt had hosted a party complete with her signature apple pie for dessert. When we commented on how delicious it was, she said, "Maybe it's because of the reeeeason ..." And left it at that.

I know. Bad story. Not funny. (I know.) Perhaps it was in the delivery of the line; Or the fact that she never actually told us the reason (one can deduce it was for my cousin who hadn't had a real meal in six months); Or maybe we just wanted something to laugh at that evening; But right then and there, after she said it, we were in stitches and repeating, "maybe it's because of the reason," all night long. 

Last night, after I cut myself my fifth little sliver as a nightcap to my first big hunk of cake, and this morning when I cut myself a piece for breakfast, I did one of those lone laughs and thought, "maybe it's because of the reason." 

Peter said it, not me, it was the best cake yet. And I truly believe, it was because of the reason. It was because of the person who it was lovingly prepared for. Claire.

Last night, Peter and I hosted a little family birthday party for her. As a newbie to the family birthday party throwing, I wanted to make sure it was done with panache, so I planned a retro, The Help inspired feast of buttermilk soaked fried chicken, corn bread, mashed potatoes and gravy, individual spinach souffles, and a cake that would make Aibeleen and Minny proud.

The dinner was great - Well done by all the contributors. But that was the part that Peter, Peggy and I could have done in our sleep.

The cake though, that took a reason - it took the special person it was made for. The kind of person who deserves all the good in life. Who lights up a room the moment she enters it. Who became my lucky 11th follower yesterday (and in turn, the maker of my day.) Who is not only my new sister, but my very good friend. And of course, who is the mother of this adorable bundle of joy. 

Claire's cake started on Wednesday evening when I made the almond layers in between the time I set the jambalaya on simmer and I screwed up the white rice, which made for a 75% edible Wednesday night dinner. I was supposed to make two layers, but I made three instead. Claire deserved three. I let them cool, wrapped them up, and refrigerated them overnight. Then yesterday morning, before the sun's (and Peter's) alarm went off, I made the lemon icing, toasted the almonds, stacked it up, and topped it with powdered sugar.  

Still sleepy-eyed, I posted a photo of it on Facebook, set in the refrigerator to chill, and prayed that it would taste as good as it looked. 

It did. 6 times over and one to grow on this morning. And I gave a silent nod to Aunt Dee for being so spot on. There is only one reason why this cake turned out so well, and that is Claire. I've made everyday cakes, even celebration cakes, but my Claire Cake, that was the winner.

Happy 29th #11.


Lo.

David Lebovitz' almond layer cake with lemon frosting. I followed the recipe exactly, but added another layer (and some more icing.) Oh, and I didn't add a layer of raspberry preserves.I've never liked jelly in cake.

Pollyanna Cake-Baking

One of my favorite movies growing up was Pollyanna. I loved Haley Mills - she was like my child-actor idol (except she wasn't really a child anymore when I was watching her movies); I loved Aunt Polly and the scene where she let her hair down - her beautiful, shiny, long brown hair that she always kept tightly wrapped in a Victorian bun; I loved that kid that was in every Disney movie; I loved learning about prism charms and cadbury jam; And I loved, LOVED the kitchen full of perfect prize-winning layer cakes that Cook made for the Carnival.

They were simple cakes - some white and yellow, others caramel and chocolate. They were each made up of three moist layers, evenly iced, fondant and adornment free, perfect. My sister and I used to drool. I've always wanted to have one of those cakes in my kitchen ...   

 

And take a BIG bite out of it in a white maritime-inspired dress just like Pollyanna. 

So this past weekend - a completely unstructured weekend - I set out to make a perfect Pollyanna-cake for my new niece's 2-week birthday. 

Now, I'm sure you all know by now how much I like to cook - how critical the craft is to my each and every day. But what you may not know is that I also love to bake. I've been baking since I learned how to make Hello Dollies at the age of what six or seven? I just don't bake a lot anymore. In fact, I've been staying as far away from it as possible. Why? Because I have a fear - a quite hefty fear in fact. A fear of the preparation and consumption process. More specifically, I'm afraid that when I'm preparing the baked good I'm going to lick every last inch of the bowl (and spoon) and that when it comes time to eating the finished product, I'm not going to be able to stop.

I'm part of a legacy of baker's though - cookie, cake, bread, pie, and pastry bakers. Sweet treats by the dozens, pounds, and layers start and finish just about every family holiday party. I even have an Aunt who could have stolen all of Cook's business at the Carnival had she opened her own cake stand. So to be a good Aunt and someday mother in the tradition of the ones I learned from, I believe I have a responsibility to uphold the baking tradition - batter addiction or not.

On Saturday I warmed up with the savory - a much safer option, although I did eat some of the raw dough. I made Bialys - which are like a cross between an English muffin and a bagel. They brought out the subtle Jewish heritage in me that was a large part of my upbringing in Squirrel Hill and paired perfectly with Peter's home-smoked salmon. 

On Sunday I went for the glory. I set out to make a cake that would make Aunt Polly proud and Ellie's second week on Earth grand. I turned to my blogger-idol, Smitten Kitchen for a good recipe. Found one - her best birthday cake recipe - the one she mastered for her little girl. And I started making it.

Enter the next problem - the other reason I don't bake. I don't have an egg beater, a food processor, or an electric mixer. Instead, I have a massive right shoulder that can cream butter and whip an egg like you wouldn't believe. I have made stiff peaks from heavy cream with this shoulder - don't doubt it's abilities. But it is freaking exhausting! I motored through though - I creamed, beat, whipped, and blended an array of ingredients into batter and then evenly poured it into two 9-inch round pans.
And then I looked at the bowl.
And the bowl looked at me.
And I said, "NO!" 
My "No" lasted about 3 seconds.
I licked the whole bowl.
And the spoon.

After the cake came out of the oven, I started on the sour cream chocolate icing. Now, I should have been totally safe from bowl licking here since I gave up chocolate for Lent. But the evil Lo on my left shoulder whispered to me, "Sundays don't count." When Peter came in from working outside, and noticed chocolate all over my face, I was guilty as charged.
"Man, you really went to town on that one."
(So not what I want my fiance to say to me ...)

After the icing and cake cooled, I set out to level and ice it. My goal was perfect evenness and smoothness - perfect Pollyanna-ness. Usually I get crumbs all over the icing and it's lopsided, but the cake Gods were with me. They knew I was already suffering through an icing-induced stomach ache - that this was for a special occasion - that I was going to put this cake on my blog. And oh my Cake God, I made a Pollyanna cake!

That wonky-eyed look is nausea from the icing ...

Look Peter!!
Good job.

Basically, I'm just proud of myself. And as a Millennial I need that pat on the back confirmation that I did an A+ job, AND since my parents aren't here to give it to me, I'm letting Lo write it out. I'm proud of myself for two reasons: First, that I made a cake that my Aunt Joyce would be somewhat impressed by; Second, that I didn't let my bowl-licking problem stand in the way of what really matters - showing someone you love them by giving them something that you made with your hands and heart.

Oh and three, that I didn't eat ALL of the cake on the same day. The piece that Peter and I got to take home with us stayed safely wrapped up in his refrigerator, so I could return to it several times throughout the week.

See girls, there's a good reason for not living with your fiance before you're married - you can keep leftovers at his house, not sneak an extra piece before going to bed, and fit into your wedding gown! 

Lo.