January 10: Caramel Cake

Caramel cake is one of the quintessential Southern cakes of pot-lucks and small-town-lore.  There are cooks across this region whose kitchen bona fides are entirely based on the irresistibility of their caramel cakes.  I'll bet that my great-grandmother, Lexie, was one of those cooks.  However, it has never been a cake that I had any desire to bake.

I am sure that there is a "nature vs. nurture" aspect to each person's connection to food.  Objectively speaking, is it appealing visually and does it taste good to you? And, equally as important, what were you fed as you were growing up and developing your tastes?  Does the memory of the person who taught you to make it cause you prejudice?  I'll admit it.  I have never had a caramel cake that I thought was anything special.  Possibly, it is due to the fact that my mother and my mother's grandmother never made caramel cakes and they are the ladies who taught me most of what I know about baking.  Therefore, I don't have a nostalgic connection to caramel cake (even though I love caramel).

Honestly, I always found carmel cakes to be cloyingly sweet, ofttimes with caramel icing that is sandy in texture.  Even caramel cakes that have a smooth-looking icing often end up with a mouth-feel like tile grout.  I have never been impressed by a caramel cake, not once.  I want a caramel icing that is worthy of the lovely flavor of the carefully burnt sugar.  I want the icing to resemble chocolate ganache in density and luxuriant texture.  

On Saturday I started my first carmel cake with a minimum of research, an overabundance of confidence, and the lack of an essential piece of equipment.

Just before I graduated from college, my parents gave me my first new cookbook.  I already had family cookbooks that had been handed-down, Mom's recipes that she had hand-written on sheets of notebook paper, and my own collection of magazine clippings.  But on my birthday in 1991, my parents presented me with an autographed copy of New Southern Cooking  by Nathalie Dupree.  Nathalie Dupree is a cooking legend in Georgia having taught at Rich's [department store] Cooking School, hosted her own cooking show on public television and owned successful restaurants specializing in southern cuisine.  Why not try Nathalie?

So, when her caramel cake recipe in New Southern Cooking stated "There is a grainy texture to the icing since the last batch of sugar is never dissolved," I moved on.  But, I didn't go too far.  I referred instead to her recipe in Mastering the Art of Southern Cooking.  There were a few differences between the two recipes, and I thought that the one without the disclaimer about "grainy" icing was preferable.  In preparation last week, I checked the kitchen drawer to confirm that I had my candy thermometer; the recipe requires that the caramel be at 240 degrees, or soft ball stage, when you begin to cool and beat the icing.

I decided to go whole hog on the carmel and make the cake in four layers, allowing for the maximum caramel-to-cake ratio.  The cake layers from Nathalie's recipe came out beautifully, with a smooth, fine texture.  Then I started the icing.  In two heavy pots, I started melting the sugar and heating the second cream-and-sugar component, using separate spoons and a watchful eye.  Then, I reached into the drawer for the thermometer so I would be ready at the crucial "soft ball" moment.  Removing the "protective" plastic sheath, I found that the glass of the outside vacuum-sealed tube had been broken off at the end. [Expletives Deleted]  In anger, I violently threw the thermometer into the garbage can.

It is appropriate to tell you now, Allgood girls have a history of throwing any household gadget into the backyard in a fit of frustration when it ceases to live up to expectations.  Family members know to exercise caution whenever cussing is heard from the kitchen.  You never know when an iron, frying pan or blender might come flying out of the back door.  Alas, I have no pictures of the offending thermometer to post here, but I also don't have a thermometer in my yard.  I recovered, feeling proud of my emotional restraint, and decided to barrel ahead and judge the stage of the candy by classically testing it, dropping a little into ice water to see if it forms a soft ball.  

I arrived at my assessed soft ball stage, cooled the caramel, and tasted the results.  The flavor was amazing; buttery, deep and rich.  But, at this point the caramel was too thin to spread.  I proceeded to the next step and beat the caramel using a stand mixer.  Nathalie's recipe states that the caramel should be the consistency of peanut butter and that heavy cream could be added during the beating process to improve the consistency and make it spreadable.  My caramel was never the consistency of peanut butter, but after much worrying on top of the frustration of the broken thermometer, I gave up and iced the cake with my caramel concoction.  The icing that resulted was grainy and slowly traveled from wherever I spread it to someplace it wanted to go.  I fought a losing battle trying to make the cake look pretty.

Overall , my family thought the cake tasted delicious.  Some of the reviewers thought that four layers threw the caramel quantity over-the-top.

Let me just say that I was again disappointed by a carmel cake...

I have learned several significant lessons, though:  

First, actually inspect your tools before you start on a project.  A cursory glance in a drawer will not do.  

Second, I must have no idea how soft ball stage caramel is supposed to look.  I can count on one hand the number of times I have ever made candy and I never made caramel before.  I absolutely need a thermometer until I know better.

Third, there IS such a thing as too-much-caramel.  Next time I will only make three cake layers.

In a few weeks I will attempt a second caramel cake.  In the meantime, I am off to buy a new candy thermometer and do a little recipe research...

Next Saturday:  Victoria Sponge Cake from The Upstairs Downstairs Cookery Book in honor of the new season of Downton Abbey