November 21: Peanut Butter Cake Supreme

I've been wanting to try this recipe for months, but other recipes kept taking precedence.  It is from The Carter Family Favorites Cookbook by Ceil Dyer (1977).  Who would know more about peanut butter than a peanut farmer who became president?

I bought the cookbook at an estate sale shortly before Former President Carter announced that he had been diagnosed with brain cancer a few months ago.  I was drawn to the book because I have other White House/presidential themed cookbooks.  As a Georgia native, how could I resist?

When President Carter was in office and this book was published, we lived in Conyers, a suburb of Atlanta.  I had attended Montessori schools since the age of 2 (see January 24: Allgood Pineapple Upside-Down Cake) and then attended Honey Creek Elementary in fourth and fifth grade. My parents' rule was that I was only allowed to watch two hours of television per week.

I had a terrible time deciding between Little House on the Prairie at 8pm on Mondays, The Waltons at 8pm on Thursdays and Wonder Woman, starring Lynda Carter, at 8pm on Saturdays.  I had the daunting task of keeping track which show's reruns to watch during holidays and summer break based on which shows I chose to watch during the regular season.  I would often get to watch whatever I wanted on TV at Mama Judy's and Papa's house when I spent the weekends there.  But, Mama Judy thought that Wonder Woman's costume was a little risqué, so I felt like I couldn't watch Lynda save America there.

This was all taking place during the Energy Crisis and President Carter would preempt broadcast shows for crisis updates and press conferences during the eight o'clock, prime-time hour.  It seemed to only happen on Mondays and Thursdays; the specific days that I was looking to get my precious TV allotment.  I would protest and complain to my Mom who would simply tell me that I would be able to watch the rerun, and to be quiet so that she could hear what the president was saying.

"Doesn't Jimmy Carter know that I only get to watch TWO HOURS of TV a week??!!"

I suppose that my mom got tired of listening to my protestations and told me that if I thought President Carter shouldn't broadcast during my prime-time shows, I should write a letter to the White House.  I did.  I cannot remember exactly what I said in the letter, but I received a form-letter response from the White House Correspondence Office a few weeks later.

Fifteen years after that, I applied to work for the US Secret Service and I remembered my complaint letter to the president.  The background investigation process sent Special Agents to talk to neighbors we had when I was three years old, former teachers, and employers.   It wasn't far-fetched to believe that they would also search some sort of White House database of letter-writers, too.  I was certain that sitting across from three senior agents for my hours-long panel interview, I would be asked about my complaint letter.  Worse yet, what if it would come up during the polygraph exam?  I worried about anything and everything.  The entire hiring process took two years and nine months from the time I applied until the job offer came (during which there was a government hiring freeze, most applications are processed in a year).  I was never asked about my TV letter once.  After being hired, I found out that the USSS only cares about letters that contain threats.

Peanut butter paperweight

The Peanut Butter Cake Supreme was actually pretty Ex-treme.  The recipe says to make it in four layers in 8' cake pans, but it turned out too tall for my cake dome!  It called for smooth peanut butter in the cake, along with self-rising flour.  The icing contains crunchy peanut butter and is cooked in a double-boiler.  I bought real peanut butter from Plains, Georgia at a roadside stand during the summer (re-run season).  But it was not sweetened, not salted and a little too crunchy for cake - not enough crunch for the icing.  I used Skippy instead.

The icing has a creamy, smooth consistency and looks alarmingly like some of my caramel icing fiascos - although here, the lumps are peanuts.  The cake is very soft and tender, but the icing is the very best part.  When I make this cake again, I will make it in 9" layers to make it less imposing and easier to store.  It might make fun cupcakes, too.

I have now acquired the Wonder Woman episodes on DVD, and I have some catching-up to do.
So, please excuse me...  Don't make me write a letter!

Next Saturday:  Granna's Nut Cake

November 14: Lemon Verbena Pound Cake

Saturday was my mother's birthday, but I didn't make her cake on Saturday.
There were more fantastic things than cake happening that day!

Gorgeous Mom, second from right

Saturday was the official opening of Conversations at the Eiteljorg Museum - a show featuring the work of the museum's 2015 Contemporary Art Fellows... of which my mother is one!  Her installation piece called Retracing the Trace, as well as some of her drawings, on display for the show, will become part of the museum's permanent collection.  Keith and I went to Indianapolis on Friday for the celebration and awards ceremony that night and stayed to visit the museum during the opening on Saturday.

Mom's gallery talks were very fine; they ignited many positive comments and interest from the attendees.  Retracing the Trace addresses the subject of sexual assault and specifically those sexual assaults which go unreported every day in the United States.  My mother is a survivor of a sexual assault in 1994; she was dragged off the road by a stranger during her morning jog in Piedmont Park in Atlanta.  Her rape was reported and investigated, but the police never found her attacker.  Mom has created art based on that experience in the past and has been very moved by the people who see her art and say "it happened to me, I was afraid to tell anyone."

The opening of Conversations was a lovely event and Mom has received great press coverage of her work, including an article in ARTnews online magazine.  Keith and I were incredibly impressed with the exhibit and the curatorial choices made.  Mom had a whirlwind week of docent training sessions, interviews, galley talks, catalogue signings, and PARTIES.  To give me a chance to bake, and her a chance to rest up for her birthday celebration, we postponed it until Monday.  I baked a Lemon Verbena Pound Cake on Sunday afternoon after I picked her up at the airport.

This recipe was one that my mother had been holding onto since 1989.  Like the Basil Pound Cake (see June 14), this cake recipe had been clipped from a magazine by my mom, and then passed to me for my Saturday Cakes.  Lemon verbena is my mother's favorite fragrance and the smell of it reminds me of her.  I've been saving this recipe for her birthday.

The recipe specifies "fresh" lemon verbena leaves to flavor the scalded milk for the cake.  I looked high and low for verbena at farmers' markets, gourmet stores, and nurseries, but I found none.  The recipe originally ran in the the August 1989 issue of House Beautiful.  I have to assume that in August 1989, verbena was easier to come-by than in November of 2015!

After some online research I felt confident that dried verbena could be substituted for fresh in a recipe, I just needed to use half as much.  The cake recipe calls for vegetable shortening instead of butter, which I found unusual for a pound cake.  The flavor of the cake comes from a small amount of almond extract in addition to the verbena-fragranced milk.  The cake is iced with a buttercream icing flavored with lemon extract.  The fragrance of the cake, once fully assembled, was rich and citrusy.

After dinner at our favorite neighborhood bistro on Monday night, we returned home for cake and the opening of presents.  Mom, Keith, and the kids loved the cake!  They suggested that the next time I make this recipe I try using butter instead of shortening to see how it turns out.  I will also strive to find fresh verbena next time to see how the cake differs.

I doubt that Mom has fully recovered from her week of celebration.  We need to start working immediately on planning her next birthday to make it top this one!

Tomorrow:  Peanut Butter Cake Supreme

November 7: Myers's Rum Cake

After Halloween's flailing, flying flop of a cake, I needed a great result this weekend.  Either that, or I would need to drown my sorrows.

Rum cake.

I think everyone who was alive in the 1970's and 80's has prepared, or at least eaten, the Bacardi Rum Cake recipe that appeared in Bacardi's magazine ads.  The recipe contains a yellow-cake mix, instant vanilla pudding and Bacardi Dark Rum.  Rich tasting and moist, but a little cloying from the mix+pudding, it was a staple at adult parties when I was growing up.  That recipe was one that I copied (by hand, on college-ruled notebook paper) to take to college in my collection of essential recipes from home.  Recipes for Mom's black raspberry cake, her spinach quiche, her spaghetti sauce, our friend's heavily-guarded-top-secret apple spice bread, Granna's chicken spaghetti, Granna's cornbread dressing, Judy's chess pie, Judy's pecan pie and fruit cobbler all had a place in my folder full of recipes.

During high school in Atlanta, in the 1980's, the ultimate treat was to go to The Dessert Place with friends.  We would order a dessert and coffee to celebrate a birthday or a fun outing at the Virginia-Highland location.  With our moms, would take a ladylike tea-time break from shopping and stop at The Dessert Place on East Paces Ferry in Buckhead.  The cream cheese brownies from The Dessert Place were the ultimate treat for me; the definition of indulgence.  A party with catered desserts from there was a symbol of good taste and luxury for my generation of Atlantans.

In the late 1990's, my mom became friends with Bennett Frisch, one of the two founders of The Dessert Place.  Bennett and her business partner, Sheryl Meddin, had just published a cookbook containing recipes for many of the popular desserts from their restaurant, Stressed Is Just Desserts Spelled Backwards.  I received and inscribed copy of the book as a gift from my mom when I was working for the Secret Service posted in Jackson, Mississippi.

While there is no recipe in the book for those fabulous brownies, there are many recipes that I love to use.  But, I had never made the Myers's Rum Cake.

After I decided to make this recipe, I found a fabulous new Bundt pan for the season.  It's called "Autumn Wreath," so I probably would have bought it anyway just to make cakes for our daughter. I had to buy it as a treat to make up for for last week's debacle.  The best part of the design of the pan, for this recipe, is the acorn-shaped crevices.  This recipe calls for greasing and flouring the pan and then adding toasted, chopped pecans and almonds to the bottom of the pan before filling it with batter.  So that the finished cake comes out with a crown of nut-filled nuts!

The recipe calls for using all purpose flour, and since I know it was written by an Atlanta baker, I chose White Lily All-Purpose because it is a traditional Southern flour.  After baking, the cake gets a sugar-butter-rum glaze while it is still hot in the pan.

This light and silky cake has lifted my mood.  It turned out spectacularly!  The glaze and nuts adorning the outside of the cake made it very attractive, especially in the autumnal-themed pan.  But the silkiness of the tender cake inside made it a real winner.  It had none of the sticky sweetness of its Bacardi & cake mix alter ego.  The rum flavor is subtle and the cake has just enough richness.

Success!

Next Weekend:  Lemon Verbena Pound Cake

October 31: Caramel Cake IV, The Final Chapter

Halloween is supposed to be scary.  So, what better time to embark on my fourth attempt to make a caramel cake.  Right?

Saturday started out with such potential:  I had already found a good recipe for the cake layers that had enough body for the heavy caramel (Nathalie Dupree's from Mastering the Art of Southern Cooking).  I made three lovely, level layers and set them out to cool on wire racks.  So far, so good.

The most promising development, since my last attempt, was an intriguing new recipe for the caramel icing.  I did not want to get my hopes up, especially because there was rain in the forecast for Sunday and the rising humidity could spell disaster for the caramel.

My friend, Ellen, took pity on me after my previous battles with caramel frosting and sent me this recipe.  Ellen is a native of Alabama and has many memories of the homemade caramel cakes served at funerals, church suppers and pot luck dinners over the years.  She has never made a caramel cake, but her family's southern pedigree is solid.  Ellen's parents own a large farm and Ellen inherited a green thumb.  She is the first person of my acquaintance who has successfully grown peonies in Georgia.  She is a career woman who values pragmatism while at the same time revering southern traditions.  A few years ago, after seeing a picture in the local newspaper of the local DAR chapter (picture a bunch of older ladies in hats wearing socks and orthopedic sandals with their dresses), she suggested that we "block rush" the DAR to shake up the establishment a bit, or at least inject a little style.

Ellen found the recipe for caramel icing in her recipe box.  It was one of her grandmother's recipes, handwritten on the back of a piece of paper with an Enfamil (baby formula) logo along with a note to "call Lou."  Ellen's grandmother, Christine Pinson, was known as "Blackie."  Blackie got her nickname in nursing school when nursing candidates were referred to as Miss (surname).  Blackie entered nursing school with her sister, and the confusion caused by two Misses Pinson led to the need for two official nicknames.  Christine with dark hair became "Blackie" and her sister, the blonde, became "Whitey."  Blackie became a public health nurse, hence the Enfamil paper.  Lou, also a nurse, was probably the source for the caramel icing recipe.

The recipe called for browning sugar in a skillet, then adding that to a mixture of evaporated milk, sugar and oleo (margarine).  In spite of my hesitation about using margarine, I tried it.  The recipe called for it, so I figured it was the accurate thing to do.  However, I also set some unsalted butter and a second round of measured ingredients aside to make a butter batch, just in case.

The first batch of sugar, I burnt in the iron skillet.

The next batch of sugar turned out fine and I moved on to bring the full mixture with milk and oleo to "soft ball" stage (240 degrees).  Or so I intended.  The batch never reached soft ball before burning to the bottom of the pan to such an extent, that I felt sure that the pan was ruined.

Results of the second batch, as black as my mood and potentially as dangerous.

So, after working up a sweat scrubbing the pan, I decided to try again.  By this time, the trick-or-treaters were out roaming the streets and I decided to blame goblins for the failure of that second batch.  After adjustments to the burner temperature, checking the accuracy of my candy thermometer and an internal pep talk, I was ready to try again.  Keith, meanwhile, had grown weary of my sighs and wary of my increasing frustration level.  He said "you know, you really don't have to make a caramel cake.  It's not like your Granna made them all of the time, she just said that her mother made them on Saturdays. I might even love you more if you don't make a caramel cake, ever.  I hate to see you like this."

The third batch, let me just be succinct, was another profound failure.  

Despite my attempts to remedy all of the possible errors from the second batch, I ended up scrubbing and scraping burnt sugar-tar from my favorite sauce pan.  There was grumbling, cussing and a welling-up of tears before I reached the zenith of my frustration.  I felt like Anthony Michael Hall's character in The Breakfast Club whose elephant lamp wouldn't light-up when he pulled the trunk.  I should be able to do this.

Why can't I make a caramel cake?  Why won't it light up when I pull the trunk?

Come and get it, opossums and birds!

At that moment of emotional overflow, I walked into the dining room and saw the pretty cake layers anticipating their icing.  Something snapped.  I told Keith to grab a bite of one of the cakes before it was too late, then I scooped up the cakes and marched out the door.  Then, I violently threw the cakes into the back yard watching them smash to bits against the old swing set.  

Let me backtrack briefly to remind you that I come from a proud line of women whose ultimate expression of anger toward an inanimate object is to throw it into the back yard.  My Mama Judy, in a particularly trying season in the 1950s, got so annoyed with an iron, that she hurled it out the back door - narrowly missing poor Papa's head.  The iron lay, rejected, in the backyard until Papa secretly picked it up and disposed of it sight-unseen by Judy.  There have been times in my life, and my mother's life, when throwing that offending toaster,  immersion blender, or computer mouse out the back door and leaving it there is the only alternative.  My cousin, Liz, refers to this state as "having a case of the Allgood Red-Ass."  I am pretty sure, based on the anecdotal evidence, that all of the Allgood girls have succumbed to the condition at some point.

I followed my attack of the "ARA" with a glass of wine as I sat on the couch and promised Keith that I wouldn't be attempting any more caramel cakes.  Besides, on Sunday I visited Granna and asked her why she thought my caramel cakes didn't work.  She admitted that she didn't remember ever making one.  So, I finally got a treat after all my tricky caramel disasters.  

The toothpick comes out clean, and I am done.

Next Saturday: Myers's Rum Cake