Bake and Shake

BUNDTS ARE BABES: Lemon Buttermilk Rhubarb Bundt Cake

"And then I told Pam to calm down, that her Bundt stood a chance next year because I'd be on vacation. I did. I told her that, right before I threw her purse in the street."

I like cake best, except when I like pie better. But pie, as so many have said ("SO MANY!") is something that I don't want to eat unless I can later bow down before it, chanting words of praise, haltingly, as I shudder with sobs. I like great pie - and sometimes I can't find it. But I will happily eat almost any cake, as long as it has frosting on it - thick swaths of frosting, crusted and sugary or silken and voluminous. A dark slick of ganache or crackled, membrane-thin glazes. I just like cake. I'll call cake first, every day of the week. I don't care about our weird mating rituals and rules when it comes to a layered tower, coddled in cream cheese icing.

So, for most of my life I've looked at Bundts as strange, unfortunate impostors. How can they be considered cake? Couldn't you bake Bundt recipes in regular pans, frost them and improve them MIGHTILY? SWIFTLY, even. I grew up in the eighties, when small children were introduced to Grocery Store bakery cakes and the pull between them, with their plastic pick-anchored decorations, palm trees and Hot Wheels and tiny ballerinas, and the homemade cake (often a Bundt) was fiery. I don't know if my ignorant prejudices come from watching a friend's mother slice up a bundt and offer it to us, unadorned, or if I'm just uncovering the depths of my own Cakecism, here but these long-held beliefs were SHATTERED this week when I made one of the best cakes I've ever tasted.

Since we last met: Clementine and Sour Cream Poundcake with Chocolate Chunks

"If you leave wrapped, unmarked parcels in public places, the Police will get involved. Nobody enjoys Cake Hunts as much as you do".

I have to go do some things, but before I do I wanted to leave you with cake.

You have to make it. Or you don't have to. But it is delicious and I hope you do. We've got seasonal citrus involved, and chocolate, but it isn't a chocolate cake - I will take almost every kind of cake over chocolate cake, but I really enjoy it in cakes. Here, the chocolate is a treat. Little pockets and dashes of bittersweet richness, backed by an intense Clementine note. You're really going somewhere with this. You won't want to leave this cake alone.

But before I continue, can we talk about Gary from 'Teen Mom' for a moment? He fascinates me. Sometimes when I watch that show, I think both forwards and backwards. Does Gary know what life holds for him? Did he know then? Did he know about Amber's bangs? I bet he didn't. 

That show is filling my brain right now, the parts that aren't heaving with actual to-do lists. I apologize.

This cake though, is such a great distraction. Almost as good as 'Teen Mom'.

Why are you doing this: Chocolate torte with salted caramel, ganache and fleur de sel

The first of the two salty desserts I tried a little while ago was this one, which reminded me of a Fran's Gold Bar, sans nuts. A thick, rich chocolate base, with salted caramel and a thin layer of ganache on top, all sprinkled with nuggets of salt*. How better to kill the ones you love?

The caramel is intense, salty and almost coffee-tinged (this results from cooking the sugar until amber, rather than a mild, palatable honey) -- the smoky bitterness plays nicely off of the salt and the chocolate from the cake and ganache, which soothes any worries you might have about the salt. My original base, a chocolate cake that had no flour, but lots of whipped egg whites, was sponge-y and too delicate, it flounced and flaked off brittle shards rather than projecting majestic density.

So I did what I should have done in the first place, which was use Molly's Winning Hearts and Minds cake. That, combined with a simple ganache, the briny caramel, cajoled what was an intense but not necessarily solid dessert into something that will kill you. It will kill you.

Men love this cake. I think most men love all cakes, but the party I took this to was filled with men, from your Bros and Dudes to the Free Hugs! type, and all of them fell silent in reverence. Last night I had to leave after making this refined version of the original, and wasn't home when it was sampled by the current male in residence. He apparently shook his head and said it was like candy, bad candy, and then had some more.

It is a masculine cake, and the rich strata of browns reminds me of a library, snifters of brandy, silk robes, clipped cigars, infidelity and impotence. Mild racism and a love for horse racing. This cake isn't racist, but it will remind you of every man over seventy who has randomly said something you weren't sure was legal to say in public, in America today. Welcome to 2008. I'm a nice girl, not a nice brown girl. I'm glad you enjoyed talking to me on the bus today.

Scintillating.

I would suggest serving this with a nice red wine, and either in tiny slivers, cold from the fridge (sprinkle the salt on last minute, as a finish) with a plop of sour cream just hinted with sweetness, some orange zest or maybe a bit of coffee liquor. Or you could remove it from the fridge an hour or two prior to serving, and set out as part of a cheese and fruit course (split figs, plums, tipsy cherries, dark grapes, kumquats or seville oranges, a nice oozy blue and rich double or triple creme, and some flaky Parmesan) -- the caramel will ripen and bloom like the cheeses, and begin to dribble. Have a pot of espresso or strong coffee waiting to finish, and cleanse the richness from your palate.

Then go take a nap. In your library. And say some mildly racist things. Fifty on Old Jack Sprat! Why are women allowed to wear pants these days?

Cake
(Adapted from Molly's recipe)
8 ounces chopped semi-sweet chocolate
7 ounces European salted/unsalted butter
1 1/3 cups granulated sugar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
5 eggs
1 Tablespoon AP flour

Preheat your oven to 375 degrees, and butter a parchment-lined springform pan (mine is 9 inches, which resulted in a thinner cake, I would use an 8 inch if you have it). Set aside.

Over a pot of simmering water, melt the butter and chocolate, stirring until smooth. Add in the sugar, stir well, then crack in the eggs one at a time, stirring well after each. I love cakes like this, how the batter tugs at your spoon and feels slightly springy. Stir in the vanilla, then the flour, and pour into your prepped pan.

Bake for 25 minutes, and remove from the oven - a bit of sinking might occur, but that is perfect, because that bit of a rim will hold all the decadence that is to come. Run a knife around the perimeter, and pop the ring loose. Allow the cake to cool completely, then turn upside down onto a plate, remove the bottom of the pan, the parchment, and turn right-side up on to another plate or stand. Set aside.

Caramel
(Adapted from Elise's recipe)
1 cup granulated sugar
6 tablespoons European salted butter (I use Lurpak or Anchor, or even Challenge)
1/4 cup + 1 TBS heavy cream (or, real half and half)
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 teaspoon fleur de sel or sea salt, plus more to taste

Have your ingredients portioned and measured, mise en place style before even starting this step. Elise suggests wearing pot-holders. I didn't, but not because I'm somehow too smart to avoid caramel burns. You might want to have a bowl of ice water at the ready, to soothe you and the caramel if things start getting too crazy -- plunge the bottom of the pot in it if things get too dark too fast, or your appendages if you're spattered. But as long as you have things at the ready, some faith in yourself, and no attachment to the top layer of dermis on either hand, you should be fine.

Begin by pouring the sugar into a heavy-bottomed, light-colored pot (dark ones make it hard to gauge the color of the cooking caramel). Heat over medium to medium-high heat (medium will take longer, but give you a little more reaction time), stirring with a wooden spoon until the sugar begins to melt. It will slowly turn clear, then clump up into sandy little rocks and boulders, just keep moving it around with the spoon until a light golden pool overtakes the little clumps, which should dissolve. Once the sugar has melted, stop stirring and swirl the pot gently. Once the sugar reaches a pleasing dark honey color (Elise's original recipe has great photographs depicting the color you want it to reach), stir in the butter, whisking well. It might take a moment for the caramel, which will sputter and gurgle, to 'drink in' the butter, but just keep stirring and eventually everything will come together. Then remove from burner, hold your breath, and slowly pour in the cream -- prepare yourself for a sputtering geyser for a few seconds. Stir until combined, then add the salt and vanilla extract. You've done it. You've just made caramel.

Allow the caramel to cool for five or ten minutes, until you feel comfortable tasting -- you're checking the salt level. Salt until you feel it sing on your tongue, and don't worry about the crystals dissolving completely. Moisture within the caramel and cake will continue that process. Let cool completely, stirring every so often to keep it loose, and once that occurs, pour over the waiting cake. Hot damn. Hot damn.

Ganache
3/4 cup chopped semi-sweet chocolate
1/4 cup heavy cream
Sea salt, to finish

Melt the chocolate and cream together over boiling water, or use the microwave (which is what I do), heating for thirty seconds at a time until cream is steamy, and chocolate has begun to melt. Whisk together with a fork until smooth and shiny, and let cool for five or ten minutes. Stir again, and pour, then gently spread, over the caramel layer. Let set for thirty minutes, then transfer to the fridge and chill until solid -- cover with plastic wrap or foil if not serving within 3 to 5 hours, or if your fridge has off smells.

Just before serving, remove from the fridge and let sit at room temp. for 20-30 minutes, or longer if you want the caramel to really ooze. Sprinkle with sea salt, cut into cautious slivers, and serve.

*The first time I made this, I sprinkled the (baked) cake with 1/2 a cup of toasted, roughly chopped (and left a few whole) toasted pecans that I had dashed with table salt. I think this is a fine, fine addition, but didn't have pecans on hand when I was tweaking the recipe. Hence, this neutered, nut-less version. It is still a masculine cake. Don't judge it.

Belated: One Year Old

"I feel it is my duty, as a sales assistant, to urge you to try on a bigger bowl."

My first post went up on March 7th, 2007. And now, one year and 13 days later, I'm celebrating.

Many people who have blogs, or sites, mention the incredible things that have arrived in their lives as a result of writing and taking pictures of food -- love, book deals, friends, etc. I will tell you right now that the most incredible gift this site gave me was the gift of fear, when one day, maybe three or four months into this whole thing, none of my favorite jeans fit. Suddenly, all at once, none of them fit, and that was awe inspiring. That was Oprah, adding me to her five, that was Britney Spears, asking me to help remove the extensions from her head so she could glue in My Little Pony hair instead. But things were rectified, that situation in particular, and now I can celebrate the other gift (mentioned above) that I received.

I have met people (Tracy! Beth!) through this blog that I don't know if I'd ever have 'met', otherwise, though sometimes connections are revealed that make me laugh, because if a step had or hadn't been taken years ago we might have met anyway. I have learned so much about people, been invited to peek in on their own lives and no matter how casual our acquaintance is, it is there and it is a connection and connections are perhaps one of the things nobody tells you everybody is afraid to make after the age of twenty-three. Lately my own friends and I have been staring at each other, just helpless in our relief, and exclaiming how glad we are that we know each other, like each other and spend time with one another. We WARN one another, like "Be careful, seriously. Because I really want this friendship to be legit." My friend A told me the other day, as we curled up on couches and whined to one another, "Don't tell me I can come over whenever, because I will be over here every day." She is welcome here, every day, and so are you. Unspoken but so true -- you are all welcome here, and I hope you feel that way.

So thank you for your connections, and thank you for commenting, and letting me comment back. Thank you to Megan, Heidi, Deb and Maggie, whose sites all inspired me to start this site and mold it into something I enjoyed, something that makes me as happy as their sites each do on a regular basis. Thank you to Peggasus, who was the first commenter I ever had on both this and the earlier incarnation of B&S. Emily's site encouraged me to include all of my interests and whims beyond recipes. Sam, Fanny and ELS for kindly linking me. Another thank you to Megan, who first linked me and brought the majority of you here, somehow, because her kindness and curiosity and generosity when it comes to linking and pointing out things is unrivaled.

Thank you. Let's have some cake.

I originally planned to make this into a long-talked about Banoffee Cake, and still plan to do that. When I make this cake again. But it was so good that it was eaten long before I could around to slicing bananas, making condensed-milk dulce de leche and whipping cream. It literally caramelizes on the outside, meaning there is a severe, toasty crust that may look burnt, but isn't, not at all. Do not cut it away, because it is delicious. Wheat-y, dense and tender with caramel and honey notes, it is so good just as it is. Unassuming and not interested in your Big Shit plans, this cake just wants to chill out, listen to 'Paper Planes' and drink milk with you. It just wants to be your friend.

Honey Wheat Cake
Adapted from Martha Stewart

2/3 cup untoasted Wheat Germ
1 cup AP flour
1 teaspoon Baking Powder
10 Tablespoons softened Butter
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup Granulated White Sugar
2 Tablespoons Unsulfered Molasses
3 Tablespoons Clover Honey
1 1/2 teaspoons pure Vanilla extract
3 large Eggs

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees F.

Cream together the butter, sugar, Molasses and Honey until fluffy and then add the eggs, one at a time -- I did this with a whisk, but if you like, you can use a hand or stand mixer. When smooth and tan, add the vanilla extract and salt.

Sift together the dry ingredients (flour, baking powder) and stir into the wet ones, just until combined. Fold in the wheat germ, and dump into a greased (parchment-lined, if you're so inclined) round or square 8/9 inch pan. Smooth out the top, and bake for 20-25 minutes, until deep golden brown on top, risen, set in the middle and a toothpick comes out just clean. Remove and cool for 10 minutes, then turn out onto a rack and cool for 20 more minutes. Serve slightly warm, with ice cream, or tea, to two or three or twelve.

Paging Lee Fiora: Braeburn Apple Cupcakes with Cream Cheese Icing

"We went back to get him, at the rest stop, before continuing on to Grandma and Grandpa's house. But that was the last time your brother ever said your father's head smelled like the bathroom after the neighbor with lactose sensitivities used it. He rode in silence for the rest of the trip."

"Wow, mom."

I have a crush that is so bad and so fierce that Tyra Banks just cut off all its hair. All I want to do is think about it and talk about it, live it. I am horrible and pathetic and I can't stop.

I am a Curtis Sittenfeld character.

While I attempt to get it together (Come visit me like Cross Sugarman. In the night!), please enjoy Fall, and these cupcakes. They went over well, except everybody thought they were pumpkin.

Hope all is lovely.

Braeburn Apple Cupcakes with Cream Cheese Icing
Adapted from SB/TB

1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1/2 cup granulated white sugar
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 egg
1/2 cup Canola Oil (I used Spectrum)
1 cup unsweetened, chunky applesauce (I used storebought Braeburn, though homemade would be wonderful)
1 1/2 cups AP flour
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon ground allspice
1 teaspoon baking soda

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees F. Sift together the flour, spices (cloves, nutmeg, cinnamon, allspice) and soda. Set aside.

In a large bowl, whisk together the brown and granulated sugars, egg and oil until well-beaten and smooth. Add the vanilla extract and stir until combined. Add the flour mixture and applesauce alternately, beginning and ending with flour, mixing just until flour disappears and batter is a uniform brown. Spoon or scoop into a lined 12-cup cupcake pan -- I got exactly 12 cupcakes from this recipe, but depending on the size of your cups, this could vary by 1 or 2. You can also grease and flour a round cake pan and pour the batter in that, baking for slightly longer (until toothpick comes out clean and top springs back gently when touched) and then frost, or just sift powdered sugar over the top.

But we're dealing with small cakes today, class.

Bake for 10-15 minutes, checking after 10, just until toothpicks inserted in the middle and edge cupcakes come out clean or with dry crumbs clinging. No wet batter. Remove from oven and cool in pan for 5 minutes, then gently remove and cool completely on a rack.

Cream Cheese Icing
8 oz Cream Cheese, slightly softened (take it out of the fridge 10 minutes prior)
1 1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 1/2 to 2 cups sifted powdered sugar

For the icing, beat together (don't whip) the cream cheese and vanilla extract with an electric mixer (stand or hand) on medium speed until smooth. Add the cinnamon. Then gradually add the powdered sugar until you've reached a sweetness and stiffness level you're satisfied with. Frost cooled cupcakes generously, slather them, obscenely. Enjoy.   

Great Self-Esteem Enhancer: Vanilla Bean Cheesecake with Caramelized Figs

"Those could be seeds. But I like to think they're tiny fruit bones. Little fig ribs."

"Or vertebrae."

So right about the time you just feel like maximum Gross Girl Overload, your new haircut looks like you didn't do anything to the lower 1/2 and then decided, made an executive decision to cut the top half into a bowl cut, and you don't have bangs so much as "Tiny Mullet Hairs" framing your face that is breaking out like it's the summer the Bayside High gang worked at Lea Remini's Dad's Country Club and you're so repulsive the city passed a new ordinance against you, allowing children to scream in fear and grown men to weep for your soul when they pass you, things start looking up.

You go out for dinner with friends, you make a new friend, you reconnect with some old ones, you drink some good alcohol, you have Thai food twice in five days, and you have plans to go to the beach twice in the coming days. It's like the part in "Devil Wears Prada", when Anne Hathaway travels .5 miles and crosses one street and enters one lobby of one building, managing to wear ten different outfits in the process. Things are just great, and they get even better because you discover Weleda's Skin Food and New Seasons still has strawberries that are red all the way through. The whole week is like that day you read a book when you were 13, and realized it had a good 3 or 4 sex scenes in it. Or that time you keyed Color Me Badd lyrics into the passenger side door of a station wagon one late night on the east side of town. That never happened, but I bet I wish it did.

And then, AND THEN, you bake a cheesecake that is pretty outstanding (Recipe originally mentioned by Deb).  Rich, thick, creamy, speckled with vanilla bean and a crust that reminds you of gingersnaps, reminding you that fall is almost here. So you eat it, and remember that everything feels better inside of a wool coat and even the Tiny Mullet Hairs can be hidden underneath a cap that makes you look like someone you hate.

All the reasons you need to make this. The warm, plump-y figs with their syrupy juices are simply one more reason not to lock yourself in the bathroom and read old magazines in the bathtub, like your name is Stephanie Tanner and DJ just kicked you out of your room.

Vanilla Bean Cheesecake with Caramelized Figs
Adapted from the Three Cities of Spain Cheesecake recipe

Crust:
1 sleeve Mi-Del Graham Crackers (2 packets any other brand)
6 Tablespoons butter, melted
1/3 cup + 2 Tablespoons granulated sugar
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
¼ teaspoon fresh ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Whiz the Grahams until they become fine, but not sandy/pulverized, crumbs in the bowl of a food processor, or by hand (in a sandwich bag, pounded with a rolling pin or mallet).

Combine the crumbs, cinnamon, sugar, and nutmeg, whisking together to combine. Add the melted butter, and mix just until crumbs are moistened and clump together when pinched. Press into the bottom of an 8 or 9-inch springform pan, and use your fingertips or the bottom of a level glass or measuring cup to press flat and slightly up the sides of the pan. Bake for 7-10 minutes, until edges are just golden brown, and cool completely on a wire rack.

Filling:
3 8-oz packages of cream cheese, softened slightly
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
Seeds from half of a vanilla bean, scraped
1 cup of granulated sugar

Whip the cream cheese on low speed until silky and smooth. Then add the eggs, two at a time, and beat until completely combined, scraping after each set. After all four eggs are mixed in, stream in the sugar and vanilla extract, mixing continuously, and finally, add the vanilla bean seeds. Mix just until seeds are dispersed through the batter, scrape and mix one last time, and pour into the cooled, set crust.

Turn your oven down to 300 degrees, and bake the cheesecake for 45 to 55 minutes or so, or until the edges are set 3-inches inward, and the center is still wobbly when pan is nudged or gently shaken. Cool completely on a wire rack, cover loosely with tin foil or saran wrap, and chill overnight, or preferably twenty-four hours. Slice into wedges and serve with warm figs.

Eat until you choke.

Caramelized Figs:
6 large, ripe Mission figs
2 Tablespoons dark brown sugar

Wash and pat each fig dry. Slice in half and arrange, snugly, in a small baking dish or pie pan. Sprinkle with brown sugar, and broil on High for 5-7 minutes, until the sugar has melted and begun to bubble and figs exude obscene juices. Remove, cool slightly, and serve alongside cheesecake.

Last one, I promise

"That's cool. You like to celebrate your birthday with cake. I enjoy third-degree burns and vandalizing auto yards."

Since turning twenty-five I've had two knee replacements and sudden bouts of erectile dysfunction. I yell at floating plastic bags as they dance across parking lots, like my dog. Sometimes I weep for no reason when a Franklin-Mint commemorative coin commercial comes on. I want one of those tubs with a door you step into, with a bench inside. My life is orthopedic surgery in Guadalajara. It is Man-Band Jam Sessions in abandoned sheds, singing about Viagra.

It has also been about cake, which is my favorite thing on earth, and I feel like July is a fine month for cakery, a fine one. I've eaten three or four different cakes over the past ten days, stretching one day into a week. This one was the first, made while I was still 24, for a joint bash with my cousin, whose mother went into labor during the tailspin of my sixth birthday party. He's now 19 and pushing 6'2, while I'm 25 and drinking non-organic milk, hoping that bovine growth hormones will push me over 4'10 before I'm thirty-two.

The party was canceled, pushed forward to the following weekend, which was fine because there was champagne and cakes and friends and crazy, good times, but so there was this random cake, sitting out on the counter. We sliced into it, gave slices away to little boys who ran up to the kitchen windows and I was thankful for halving the recipe -- the original called for three nine-inch layers, but slicing the whole thing made me realize just how much Martha believes in excess. But this cake was lovely, with a super-tender crumb, a silky ganache and the Buttercrunch, which was worth attempting without a candy thermometer. It tastes like Sees' Cashew Brittle, and it was impossible to keep from eating shard after shard of it.

And now I am satiated. There is no need for cake, not for another year.

Chocolate Truffle Buttercrunch Birthday Cake
Adapted from Martha Stewart

2 sticks (1 cup) Unsalted Butter, softened
2 cups AP flour (measure by spooning into a cup and leveling off)
1 1/2 teaspoons Baking Powder
1/4 teaspoon Baking Soda
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
3 large eggs, room temperature
1 cup superfine sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
3/4 cup whole milk, room temperature

Chocolate Truffle Ganache (recipe below)
Buttercrunch (recipe below)

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Butter and flour two 9-inch round cake pans and set aside.

Sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt twice. In a large mixing bowl, cream together the butter and sugar until fluffy and light yellow. Add the eggs, one at a time and beat after each one, then the vanilla extract. Alternate the addition of flour and milk, beginning and ending with the flour. Mix just until combined, using a spatula to scrape and blend in any remaining streaks of dry ingredients.

Divide batter between pans, bake for 25-30 minutes or until golden brown, risen and a toothpick or skewer comes out clean. Cool in pans for 20-30 minutes, then turn out onto a cooling rack and cool completely.

Chocolate Truffle Ganache
1 cup heavy cream
12 ounces good-quality chocolate chips (Guittard)
2 Tablespoons softened butter
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3/4 cup finely chopped Buttercrunch

Heat the cream until just before boiling, and pour over the chocolate chips. Let sit for 30 seconds, then begin to whisk quickly, until the chocolate and cream have completely melted together and no solid chocolate remains. Stir in the butter and vanilla extract, and whisk again until glossy and fluid, around one minute. Set aside and cool for up to one hour, stirring every twenty minutes or so, until thick. Then whisk again, for another 2-3 minutes, until smooth and slightly lighter in color and texture.

Set aside 2/3 of the filling, and stir the finely chopped Buttercrunch into the remaining 1/3.

Buttercrunch
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1 1/2 sticks salted butter
2 1/4 Tablespoons cold water
Vegetable oil, for pan

Oil a quarter or half sheet pan lightly with vegetable oil, and set aside, but keep close at hand, close to the stove. For safety, I suggest wearing long sleeves and having a bowl of cold ice water nearby

In a heavy-bottomed pot over medium-high heat, combine the butter, sugar and water. If you like, if you have one, use a Candy thermometer for this part. If you don't, you'll want to pay close attention to color and texture -- dripping a little of the mixture over the pan (a few dots), letting it cool and then touching it will help you gauge how far you are and how far you have to go. Anyway.

Cook the mixture, sirring constantly and still over medium-high heat, for 12-17 minutes or until the mixture reaches 300 degrees or hard-crack stage on the thermometer, and turns a deep, golden brown -- it'll be harder to stir, and bubbles will be big and slurpy. Once you're there, immediately pour the mixture on the prepped sheet pan. Set the still-very hot pan on a neutral, cool surface and turn your full attention to the Buttercrunch. Tilt the pan slightly, letting the candy spread, then move the pan to a slightly elevated surface (cooling rack, trivet, cool stove grid) and cool COMPLETELY. Don't touch it.

Here's a hint. For easy clean up, set the candied pan over low heat and pour a 1/2 cup or so of milk inside. Heat gently, stirring every now and then. The milk dissolves the crystallized sugar and all fears of a ruined pot.

Once candy is completely cool, hard and ready for cracking, whap the pan against the edge of the counter or bend slightly -- candy should crack into a few large pieces. Using a mezzaluna, large knife, spoon or other instrument, crack the candy into smaller chunks and pieces. Divide the pile into thirds, and use a knife to finely chop 1/3 of the Buttercrunch, for the filling.

To assemble the cake, set one layer of cake on a plate or pedestal, dome-down. Spread the filling thickly over the top, building up the sides, and top with the second layer of cake. Smooth any filling peeking out with a knife or offset spatula, and then cover top and sides with remaining ganache. Swirl the top decoratively if you like.

Now, decorate the sides of the cake with Buttercrunch shards, making sure they poke out. If you like, trace your initial on top of the cake with a toothpick, then pipe over it with a simple white icing (2 tablespoons softened butter, 1/4 cup powdered sugar and a teaspoon or two of heavy cream. Mix well with a fork).

A Horse Named Oprah: Cherry Almond Cake

"If Meth smelled like this cake, I'd probably sell you. Or maybe cake is just the new Meth."

Get ready for everything that is wrong with my brain, and a delicious cake recipe. I am telling you this because I have nothing else even remotely related to food to talk about and also because I am too ashamed to tell anyone who might have eye contact with me on a regular basis.

Lately I've been having Wifey Fantasies, which is a specific brand of avoidance daydream, where I am living in a pale yellow townhouse in a Major Metropolitan Area, with white trim and black wrought iron details, large windows and a roof where we entertain. We is my husband or Mate For Life, and our six-month old daughter who has a name like Luella, Margo or Pearl, and our dog, a little fierce-faced Brussels Griffon named Beezus*.

That's it. I don't know what my husband, daughter, Beezus and myself do all day other than go to the market, which is what we were doing the last time I had this daydream, which was in the car coming home from a road trip. I do know that I have a specific outfit, and that is a pair of dark-rinse, faded jeans that are cuffed just above the ankle, green Havianas and a 3/4 length sleeved black shirt that is long enough for my liking. And somehow I am always walking down the street with Luella, Margo or Pearl on my hip and a huge bouquet of fuchsia peonies in the crook of my other arm. And my hair is always blown-out and my bangs are never too short or too long. When my hair isn't blown out, no one tells me I look like a Samoan Warrior. A Samoan Male Warrior.

There's nothing like being militantly involved in forecasting your daydreams, because when something goes right in the now, you can program it in. And my daydreams are always the complete opposite of my current waking life. I am approaching my 25th, unmarried and while I have the flip-flops and jeans, I have no need or even real, panicked desire for a child with a name that could also be the name of a product in a European shoe catalog. But I do have a need for this cake, now and then. Maybe I'll bake it when my husband and I get into a fight, and I'll stand there in my jeans and apron made out of a vintage bedsheet and say something like "Fuck it, if you get a midlife crisis, then I get a horse I can name Oprah."

I sound like such an idiot, but I DARE YOU to tell me that you don't have your own version of this, Wifey or not.

After reading Molly's wonderful site (you all know and visit it, and if you don't, welcome back to the future), I decided to try her adapted recipe for a cake originally constructed by Marion Burros. I didn't have apricots, but I did have a bagful of deep, bursting red cherries perishing, along with pints of blackberries, raspberries and blueberries, a couple of white nectarines buzzing with honey sweetness and filling the air with their aroma. I love this time of year, because every fruit in season builds to a deafening, sensory hum sooner than you can stand it -- I am the gross girl with fistfuls of fruit in her hands, inhaling and huffing. I am Paula Abdul.

So I made the adapted cake, subbing halved and pitted ("They're like tiny avocados. ARE YOU BLEEDING? WHAT? DO YOU STILL HAVE CUTICLES?") cherries for the apricots, a little brown sugar and adding vanilla and almond extracts, which both go so nicely with cherries. I have a 10-inch springform, so it came out thinner and denser than Molly's well-risen child star of a cake, and the cherries sunk into the batter, completely invisible. It doesn't matter.

The cake smelled so good that an hour later, I made another one. This time with no almonds, all flour, pinches of cinnamon, and blackberries. We sunk into that one after a dinner of salads, which I have been eating with gusto lately, taking slivers and one person taking 1/3rd of the outer rim, the rest wrapped tightly for breakfast with tea and coffee tomorrow.

It is easily made -- I used a wooden spoon to beat together both of them, and they smell like someone who has no regrets about the year 1997 and the choices in clothing made, or maybe an angel's scalp. Good for breakfast, modest and approachable as a dessert after a simple dinner, and even better late at night, by the sliver as you sit on the counter.

Now I'm going to make another one. With Barbie heads.

* Yes, Beezus as in Klickitat Beezus.

Also. WWCW?

Cherry Almond Cake
Adapted from Orangette/Marion Burros

1 stick (half a cup) of softened, room temp. butter
1/2 cup packed dark brown sugar
1/4 cup granulated white sugar

1 1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon almond extract

1 1/2 cups pitted, halved dark red (Bing) cherries

1/3 cup finely ground almonds
2/3 cup AP flour, sifted
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

2 large eggs

Make the Cake:
In a mixing bowl, with a hand-held mixer or wooden spoon, cream together the butter, brown sugar and granulated sugar until creamy and light brown. Add the almond and vanilla extracts, and stir until combined.

Add the ground almonds, flour, baking powder, and salt to a small bowl and whisk to combine. Add the flour-almond mixture to the butter and sugars, and then add both eggs. Working quickly but gently, stir together until the batter is light brown, and the egg is mixed in completely.

Lay a sheet of parchment paper over the bottom of your springform pan (if you want to remove the cake for freezing, as suggested by several of Molly's commenters) and clip the ring around it. Tear or cut off the excess, and pour the batter inside the ungreased, parchment-lined pan. Smooth with the back of a spoon or a spatula, and drop the cherries, cut-side up, on top in any pattern you like, random or planned. Scatter with a tablespoon or two of granulated sugar.

Bake at 350 for 30-40 minutes, just until a toothpick comes out clean. Remove from the oven and cool completely.

If you like, sift a little powdered sugar on top and serve with whipped sour cream, or vanilla ice cream.

And that is why Grandma has a prothstetic face: Brown Sugar Cake with Dulce de Leche, Almond-Cream Frosting and Almond Praline

"I made this brittle using all the spare keys and thumbtacks I found in the house."

This cake is pleasant to have in class, works well with others, but fails to reach full potential.

For the base, I used a brown sugar cake, and then for the frosting and praline, bastardized versions originally conceived by Giada. Dulce de Leche fills in the cracks, and was the only thing I was less than pleased with -- it retained a tinny, pinched, metallic taste and next time I would double the frosting and fill the cake with that. Otherwise, the cake is very nice. It makes a visual statement, and with cakes like that you can only hope that the taste is up to par. Make sure to use good quality and pure extracts, otherwise the cake will taste of nothing at all. And I used Dark Brown sugar to pump up the caramel notes, but I'm interested in trying the same cake with white sugar. It came together wonderfully, rose nicely and couldn't have been easier.

You know how everyone has their "Gross Moment" food? The food that you could eat by the spoonful, sans anything but your hands, alone in the dark or in front of people, you don't care. For me, the frosting I used for this is my "Gross Moment" food. I love folding whipped cream into cream cheese, as it results in a dreamy way to make yourself look feral. "I was locked in the laundry room! When the police found me, I had been adopted by a family of possums."

While I was assembling the cake, my sisters kept swabbing cherries and strawberries through the bowl. It was almost better that way, the tangy creaminess allowed to stand out, followed by a shot of slightly tart fruit.

The praline jabs at the tender parts of your mouth, the roof and sides, like little caramel needles and more than one person scraped it off and ate it after the cake. And here I need to say that if you attempt this, please have a large bowl of ice water nearby, your sheet pan/almonds even closer, wear long sleeves and if you need to, protective eyewear. The first time I made the praline, I let the caramel cook two seconds too long, and it was coffee-colored and tasted too bitter for my liking. I was two feet from the prepped almonds. The second time, I managed to burn the tip of both thumbs when I tried to scoot a free almond into the mass of cooling sugar, and a glob attached, burned and strung tiny threads of sugar and pain. If this happens to you, submerge the appendage in the ice water.

Or just use a fork.

Brown Sugar Cake with Dulce de Leche, Almond-Cream Frosting and Almond Praline
Adapted from Nosheteria/"The Improvisational Cook" and Giada De Laurentiis

Cake
1 stick salted butter, melted and cooled
1 cup packed Dark Brown sugar
½ cup buttermilk (or ¼ cup milk, ¼ cup cream and two teaspoons of apple cider vinegar)
2 teaspoons baking powder
¼ teaspoon kosher salt
1 ½ cups AP flour
2 large eggs
½ teaspoon almond extract
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

Praline:
2/3 cup granulated sugar
1/3 cup cold water
¾ cup almonds, toasted and roughly chopped

Frosting:
1 cup heavy cream
3 oz cream cheese
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
¼ teaspoon almond extract
2 Tablespoons granulated sugar
1/3 cup (heaping) of powdered sugar

1 14 oz can prepared Dulce de Leche

Make the praline:
Line a sheet pan with parchment paper. Put on a shirt with long sleeves, and fill a large bowl with cold water.

In a small saucepan (with high sides) over medium heat, melt the sugar and water together until the mixture is clear and all sugar granules have dissolved. Bring to a rapid simmer and continue cooking for at least eight minutes (it took me longer, it may take you less time to reach that state), swirling the pan gently, until the sugar turns golden or light-amber, if you prefer – once the mixture has turned from yellow to gold, remove from the heat immediately – carry-over cooking can turn caramel from golden to completely burnt. Pour the caramel over the chopped almonds, and use a fork (NOT YOUR FINGERS) to rearrange the almonds if needed. Leave to cool completely.

Make the cake:
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

Butter and flour one 9-inch round cake pan.

Whisk together the sugar, eggs, salt. vanilla and almond extracts until smooth. Add the flour and baking soda, and stir just until combined. Pour in the butter, and whisk until batter has absorbed it all. Then add the buttermilk and whisk again, until the batter has absorbed all of the liquid. Pour into the prepped pan, and bake for 25-30 minutes, until golden brown and a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean. Remove from the oven and cool in-pan for ten minutes, then turn out onto a rack and cool completely.

Make the frosting:
Chill the whisk/beaters/etc. and bowl you’ll be using for at least 15 minutes.

Pour the cream and granulated sugar into the bowl, and whisk or whip until medium-stiff peaks form. Add the vanilla and almond extracts, and whip until combined. Transfer to a different bowl, and set aside.

Cream the powdered sugar and cream cheese together until smooth. Add 1/3 of the whipped cream, and beat together – this will lighten the cream cheese and make it easier to combine with the whipped cream. Switch to a spatula, and add the rest of the whipped cream. Fold the two mixtures together completely.

Assembly:
Split the completely cooled cake with a serrated knife, and pipe a border of frosting around the perimeter. Spread the Dulce de Leche within the boundaries, in an even layer, and place the second layer on top. Smooth the rest of the frosting over the top and sides.

Using a mezzuluna, your hands, or a long, large chef’s knife, crack the praline into small pieces. Press against the side of the cake, and scatter any extra over the top.

Alec Baldwin please save yourself: Banana cake with White Chocolate-Cream Cheese Icing

"I am full of Magnesium and shame! Like Lifetime: Television for Women and County Tap Water."

I love damp cakes. They are my favorite kind, that thick, heavy near-wetness that saturates each crumb and packs between cheek and tongue with a satisfying squish. They can be chocolate, or vanilla, carrot or as in this case, banana.

I don't like recipe sites. Sites like Allrecipes and Recipezaar and even epicurious frustrate me, like this movie I'm listening to on Lifetime frustrates me (Alec "You're a fat, ungrateful pig" Baldwin plays the stepfather and lover of a teenage callgirl who orchestrates the suicide/homicide of her mother so she and Alec can be together. She also doesn't have a real comforter on her bed, just a giant, honey-colored bear pelt, with a face and jaws, which Alec Baldwin hides under during one scene, while his wife/her mother tells her she can't find (Alec) and could she (Callgirl daughter) please be quiet because Ricardo is coming over and he hates children. Alec Baldwin is under the bear pelt, and between his stepdaughter's legs. This is all on Lifetime, before 10:00 at night Pacific time. You tell me why I am both disgusted and fascinated.) -- there are so many things I want to like about them, but then there's always just some strange thing waiting to freak me out like a recipe for "Cream cheese chicken" and the bear pelt.

But when I need a recipe for a banana cake, a recipe that has been tested and reviewed, I often search those sites. This is how I found a recipe for what promised to be THE BEST BANANA CAKE EVER. One of the things that attracted me to the particular recipe, the Alec Baldwin selling point, was how "moist" every review proclaimed it to be. The directions call for shoving the cake straight from the oven inside of your freezer, but I didn't do that. I also haven't turned this movie off, and you know why? Because Luke Wilson just showed up and I can't do that to him or his lovely face. Enjoy your residual, Luke. I've hidden it inside of my shirt.

So I made the cake, and it is ridiculous. It is amazing, and almost too damp. While the original recipe calls for a 13x9 inch pan, I used two 9-inch rounds. One remains unfrosted, untouched, to be cut into wedges and enjoyed with coffee and tea, taken to work and school for breakfast. And one was gilded -- a tangy, white-chocolate cream cheese icing, scattered with toasted pecans. A smidge tacky, over the top and it might rot important parts of you. But FANTASTIC.

I encourage you to make the cake, and try both versions. One might make you smarter. The other might have Alec Baldwin and Luke Wilson in it. How can you choose?

Moist Banana Cake
Adapted from Recipezaar.com

1 stick + 6 tbs butter, softened
2 cups granulated sugar
3 eggs, room temperature
3 cups AP flour, sifted
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 tablespoon pure vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups milk + 2 tbs lemon juice, stirred together
4 very ripe bananas, smashed or pureed
1 teaspoon lemon juice

Preheat your oven to 275º F. Spray or grease two 9-inch cake pans and set aside.

Sprinkle the mashed bananas with 1 teaspoon of lemon juice.

Cream together the butter and sugar until fluffy and pale yellow. Add the eggs, one at a time and mix well after each. Add the vanilla, salt, cinnamon and nutmeg, blending well.

Add 1/3 of the flour mixture, and mix just until combined. Follow with half of the milk, blend, then another third of the flour. Add the rest of the milk, blend, and finally add the rest of the flour and mix just until combined. Pour the mashed bananas into the batter and stir with a spatula or mix on low speed until they're just incorporated.

Divide batter between prepped pans, and bake for up to one hour and 30 minutes, testing after one hour and then every ten minutes -- a toothpick or skewed should exit the cake with no wet batter clinging to it.

White Chocolate-Cream Cheese Icing
6 oz Cream Cheese, softened
3.5 ounces good-quality white chocolate
3/4 cup powdered sugar
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

In a glass bowl over a small saucepan full of gently simmering water, melt the white chocolate completely, until smooth and glossy. Remove from heat and let cool.

Cream together the cream cheese, powdered sugar and vanilla extract until smooth. Add the melted white chocolate and whip until smooth. Spread over cooled cake immediately.