The Moral of the Story: Cool Your Bundt . . . (Triple Coconut Cake with Chocolate Glaze)

I knew there'd be trouble when I read that line of the recipe instructions--the one suggesting that the cake could be turned out of the bundt pan within 2 minutes of taking it out of the oven. What? All of my past experience warned that, for me at least, doing such a thing would be delusional at best and suicidal at worst. Good sense hovered in the room like a ghostly specter in a cute apron, whispering, "Don't do it, Jane. You know it won't work. It's never worked before. Just put down the bundt pan and step away from the cooling rack."

But I ignored every molecule of my better judgment. It was crazy risky and destined to result in a mess. I tempted fate, and she slapped me back into reality. Needless to say, I decided to top this baby with a shiny chocolate glaze. Like the makeup we wear, it can't hide every imperfection, but it sure can help. 

And even though its outer beauty was marred beyond repair, it was a fine tasting cake. Moist tender crumb and rich coconut flavor, all deftly enhanced by the dark chocolate. You should try it. But bring the sense you were born with into the kitchen with you when you do. Because clearly, I forgot to bring mine!

About this recipe . . . 

Adapted from the little book, Kiss My Bundt, by Chrysta Wilson, this recipe is one I'd definitely like to use again. I altered the formula by using more coconut milk than called for and no regular milk, to enrich the batter and add more coconut flavor. I also decided to reduce the amount of vanilla extract called for, and I added in a small amount of finely shredded, sweetened coconut. Though the recipe also calls for coconut extract as well, I have never, ever seen 100% naturally flavored coconut extract for sale anywhere, so I used several drops of LorAnn brand coconut flavoring. It's a high quality substitute that does indeed impart great coconut flavor to baked goods (and it should not be confused with pure coconut oil, which will not work as a substitute for a flavoring in baked goods, as far as I am aware). I liked the dark chocolate glaze a lot. It sets up well on the cake, yet stays shiny and kind of soft. I also rewrote all of the directions to reflect exactly what I did.

Triple Coconut Cake with Dark Chocolate Glaze
(For a printable version of these recipes, click here!)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Prepare a 10-cup bundt pan by thoroughly greasing and flouring, making sure it's coated completely, or by spraying liberally with baking spray. (I used a light colored metal bundt pan, and I used baking spray.)

2 and 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
2 and 1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt (I used kosher salt)
3/4 cup unsalted butter, slightly softened
1 and 3/4 cups granulated sugar
3 large eggs, at room temperature
1 tsp. vanilla extract
3/4 tsp. coconut flavoring blend or "extract" (I used several drops of a concentrated coconut flavoring called LorAnn's; available in cake decorating supply stores or sometimes in craft stores like Michael's. Any good coconut flavoring should do.)
1 and 1/4 cups coconut milk (Available canned, often found in the grocery aisle with Asian food ingredients.)
2/3 cup finely shredded sweetened coconut (I pulsed it in my food processor a few times.)

In a medium size bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, and salt. Set aside.

In the large bowl of your mixer, using the paddle attachment, beat the butter for two minutes, or until completely soft. Pour the sugar in slowly, on medium low speed, and mix again for two more minutes.

One at a time add in the eggs, beating on medium speed after each addition until well blended. When all the eggs are in, beat for two more minutes, scraping bowl and beaters as needed.

In a separate small bowl, stir together fork the coconut milk and flavorings.

On medium-low speed, starting and ending with the flour mixture, alternately add in one third of the flour, then half of the coconut milk until it's all combined. Add in the shredded coconut until combined.

Fill your prepared bundt pan no more than 3/4 full. Bang the filled pan firmly on your work surface a couple of times to close up large air pockets.

Bake the cake for at least 40 minutes. Don't open the oven door at all until quite late in the baking cycle.

Be sure to cool the cake in the pan for at least 15 minutes or far more before you even attempt to remove it. (Some bundt cake recipes will even tell you to cool the cake entirely in the pan. Use your own judgment, but be careful. Don't make the mistake I did!)

Apply the glaze only after the cake has completely cooled. It will begin to set up quickly after being poured.

Dark Chocolate Glaze

3/4 cup unsalted butter
6 oz. premium dark chocolate (I used a combo of Scharffenberger and Ghirardelli), chopped into small pieces
2 Tbsp. light corn syrup

Melt the butter in a small sauce pan over low heat.

Remove the pan from the heat and add in all of the chocolate; let it melt in the pan, stirring gently as needed.

Add in the corn syrup and stir well with a whisk, until completely combined.

Let the glaze sit for a couple of minutes before spooning or pouring it over the cake. 

Jane's Sweets Out-takes from 2009: Memorable Baking Wipe Outs, Wash Outs, and Overall Monstrosities

Ahh, the joy of baking mishaps, monstrosities, and plain unmitigated disasters. In honor of the new year, I figured it might be time for the first ever round-up of Jane's Sweets & Baking Journal's greatest and most gruesome out-takes. Afterall, there are just so many to choose from. Here's a ghastly sampling.

Let's start with the plum upside-down cake that looked better after it was catapulted into the garbage can. Remember that one?

Or how about the decorated three-layer cake that melted like a candle burning at both ends?

That one's seared into my memory for all time. (I'm certain you feel the same way.)

Lucky for you, there were a few baked horrors that I was charitable enough to keep under wraps . . . among them the purple scone batter from Hell. That one was exorcised from the household before it could fulfill its hideous fate.

Positively sinister. Those scones never saw the light of day. As Martha Stewart would say, it's a good thing.

And here we have a pan of recalcitrant mini-cornbread loaves that just wouldn't get with the program.

I know it's sad, but you simply can't help a cornbread loaf that doesn't want to help itself.

Despite its deceptively normal appearance, this coy imposter, pictured below, masqueraded as a classic yellow layer cake with caramel frosting. In reality, however, it was a cake so rubbery and unpalatable, so devoid of genuine flavor and appeal, partially enrobed in a frosting so disgustingly, outrageously sweet, it could only be safely served to humans if accompanied by a gallon jug of fresh insulin.

God save us.

Oh, and here we have the loaf of bread that wishes it had been born an envelope.

Talk about an abomination of nature.

* * * * *
Okay, I think that's enough for now. You alright? Want me to call someone for you?

Just go lie down for a while. I'll check in on you tomorrow.

Hello there, September . . . Would You Like a Piece of Cherry Streusel Coffee Cake?

It's been unseasonably cool here lately, and people keep saying things like, "Well, I guess summer's over." Personally, I think the days of chillier than average temperatures are simply a late summer fluke, but I must admit I'm enjoying them. It's so much nicer to bake when you don't have to hermetically seal yourself into an air conditioned house, just so your oven won't seem like a blast furnace.

So, taking advantage of the good weather, I was in my kitchen yesterday morning contentedly measuring and mixing and slicing. My intention was to make a plum-ginger upside-down cake. I made it alright, but it was an unmitigated disaster. A real mess. It was with resigned disgust that I threw it in the trash shortly after taking it out of the oven. It looked so awful I couldn't seriously have contemplated keeping it, let alone serving it to another living mammal. Here's a picture of the whole revolting mess, just as I'm tossing it out . . . pretty gross, isn't it?

I can't really fault the recipe, though. I screwed it up to start with by accidentally leaving out an important ingredient (milk), the absence of which I didn't discover--of course--until after the cake was in the oven. It had occurred to me, as I was spreading the batter over the plums, that the batter seemed unusually thick. I was pondering this when I glanced over at the window above the sink, and there on the sill I noticed my glass measuring cup containing the designated milk. Ahh, that explains why the batter's the texture of spackling paste, I thought to myself. I heaved a heavy sigh. But, since the plum cake was just something I was making for fun, I didn't sink into complete despair and I figured, perhaps, it could be salvaged. Then, to add insult to injury, I foolishly took the cake out of the oven way too early. The visible part of it looked completely baked to me, but I had nagging doubts. Now, I've been around the block enough times to know that until a cake like this is flipped over and the pan is lifted off, one never really knows exactly what an upside-downer is going to look like. I knew the danger, and yet I ignored my instincts. The unveiling isn't supposed to be a shocking event, in any case. It's not supposed to be like unmasking the phantom of the opera. And yet that's exactly what it was like. (Ooooo . . . I shudder at the memory of its abject hideousness.)

Good riddance to bad plum cake. Moving on . . .

To exorcise the specter of the nasty plum-ginger upside-down cake, I then decided to make an uncomplicated coffee cake and vowed to follow the instructions with military precision. This I did, and as a result we have today's recipe. It's a Martha Stewart recipe, from her Baking Handbook. I squelched my perennial desire to tweak it. Well . . . okay. . . almost squelched it . . . I admit I tweaked the streusel, and maybe I tweaked the amount of sour cream in the cake's batter, but all to good effect I swear! And, of course, I rewrote the directions (naturally).

Anyway, it's a fine coffee cake. I'd recommend it. Nice texture, not heavy. Nice flavor, not too sweet. You can eat it with a fork or hold it in your hand. The streusel topping has a lovely buttery flavor, and it's a pretty cake too. Neither hideous nor revolting. It doesn't even remind one of unsightly phantoms.


Cherry Streusel Coffee Cake

(For a printable version of this recipe, click here!)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter a 9" tube pan, or a springform pan with the tube insert (butter it well).

For the streusel:

1 cup and 2 Tbsp. All Purpose flour
1/2 cup packed light brown sugar
3/4 tsp. ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp. kosher salt
3/4 cup unsalted butter, room temperature

In a medium bowl, combine the dry ingredients with a fork. Add in the butter, and blend it in with a pastry blender. The streusel should have some little chunks here and there; no need to blend it too much. Put the bowl aside, in the fridge, until you're ready to use it.

For the cake:

1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, at room temperature
2 cups All Purpose flour (I used bleached)
1 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
1 cup sugar
2 large eggs
1 tsp. vanilla extract
1 cup and 2 Tbsp. sour cream
1 cup frozen sour cherries that have been thawed and well drained (important that they're well drained and not too wet)

In a medium bowl, combine the flour, baking powder and soda, and salt. Set aside.

In a large mixer bowl, with the paddle attachment, beat the butter, sugar, eggs, and vanilla until light and fluffy--about three minutes. Add in the flour mixture in three parts, alternating with the sour cream in two parts; begin and end with the flour mixture. Beat until just combined, and stop to scrape the bowl and the paddle as needed.

Spread about half the batter in the buttered pan. Place the cherries evenly on top of the batter, being careful not to let any of them get close to the sides or center of the pan. (They all need to be completely covered by batter.)

Carefully spread the remaining batter over that and smooth the top. Sprinkle the streusel topping evenly over that.

Bake for approximately 35 to 40 minutes. When the top is golden, and it springs back slightly when gently pressed, the cake is done. (I also did the toothpick test. I was gun shy after that plum cake incident!) Let the cake cool on a rack for about 15 minutes. Invert the cake onto a dish or flat baking sheet, then immediately reinvert it back onto a rack to finish cooling. Glaze the cake when it's fully cooled, if you prefer. Or leave it plain. Delicious either way!

For glaze:
1 cup confectioner's sugar
2 Tbsp. milk or half & half

After the cake is completely cooled, mix sugar and milk together until completely smooth. Drizzle on the cake. (If you prefer, you can flavor the glaze with just a couple drops of vanilla or almond extract. Remember, though, brown vanilla will make the glaze look beige instead of bright white.)



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White Chocolate Mousse and Ladyfingers: Dream vs. Reality

About three decades ago, on a trip to Sweden, I met a man who told me that he felt the two most valuable qualities a person could cultivate are flexibility and a sense of humor. At sixteen years old, I suppose I'd never heard that before and his words, apparently, lodged in my psyche. As useful qualities for life in general, I know now that that's pretty good advice. As critical qualities for a baker, though, it couldn't be more true.

Why bring this up? Well, my culinary efforts ran aground this morning. One might say I hit a bit of an iceberg. (A white chocolate iceberg, to be specific, while sailing in a sea of whipped egg whites.) But because uncertainty is all part of the thrill of baking, that's to be expected now and then . . . right? I mean, one just never knows what's really going to happen. Sometimes victory can be snatched from the jaws of impending defeat. Then again, sometimes it's all you can do to snatch back your tattered dignity . . . never mind victory. In any case, you have to maintain a flexible outlook and, like it or not, just laugh it off and hopefully learn from it.

You see, I had high hopes of making a beautiful batch of traditional ladyfingers. Never mind that I'd never made them before. Never mind that I don't think I've ever met anyone who has reported having successfully made them. In my dreamlike state I thought that they would provide a charming accompaniment to luscious trifle dishes filled with silky white-chocolate mousse, which I--of course--would also concoct with great success on the same day (oh, the hubris . . . for shame!). I used a ladyfinger/madeleine recipe from the Baking with Julia cookbook--a wonderful book by all accounts. And, for the mousse, I turned to the Chez Panisse Desserts cookbook. Another truly classic dessert book, yes? (Affirmative.) Was I just a tiny bit apprehensive? Sure. But I recalled Eleanor Roosevelt's famous quotation about doing the thing you think you can't do. In other words, force yourself to do what scares you silly. It's one of my favorite inspirational quotes. (That Eleanor, she really wrote the book on getting out of your comfort zone, didn't she?)

I did everything right. . . um . . . well . . . as far as I could tell. I read and reread the recipes. I was very organized (you might say I mise-en-placed all over the place). I made sure I would have no interruptions. But ultimately my ladyfingers fell flat, and the white chocolate in my mousse must have cooled off in the final folding stage and that left zillions of little dibs and dabs of firm white chocolate suspended within the mousse.

Where did it all go wrong, you ask? Perhaps I have a naturally adversarial relationship with all recipes containing whipped egg whites as a central ingredient? No. I've made some fabulous cakes without destroying fluffy egg whites in the process. Do I handle beaten egg whites like a stevedore tossing empty crates aside, you wonder? No. I respect the fluffy egg whites. I treat them tenderly. I swear. Some of my best friends are frothy egg whites.

Oh, woe is me.

But enough whining. Enough!

Good bakers suck it up and soldier on.

So, how did I salvage the flat ladyfingers and the lumpy mousse? Well, once I'd confirmed that both items were truly palatable and even actually tasted good, despite being--ahem--unconventionally structured, I ceased the self flagellation and used a sieve to sprinkle confectioners' sugar over the pancake-like ladyfingers. Then I hunted in my cookie cutter collection for a cute flower-shaped cutter. The flower-fingers, if you will, turned out to look rather nice, I thought, and they were actually quite tasty. Delicately sweet, kind of soft, but firm enough not to fall over like a little floppy pancake.

As for the mousse, despite the little bits of firmed-up chocolate throughout, it too still tasted pretty darn good. It was completely obvious this stuff was still well in the mousse ballpark. The worst aspect was the mildly lumpy texture. (Hey, what's so bad about having to chew your mousse? Cows chew cud, don't they?) So what do we do when we want to disguise little lumps in mousse? Garnish the top of it, of course. With what? With raspberries, or blackberries, or a nice strawberry, or maybe with grated or curled chocolate, or with grated chocolate and raspberries, or even with something adorable like sugared violets. (Sugared violets . . . yeah. Easy for me to suggest. I've never made those before either! Hah!)

Well, you get the idea. Even something that veers dramatically from its original intention can still be worth saving . . . and, if you're lucky, even be worth serving. But I'm no fool. Next post, I think I'm baking something less stressful. And in the meantime, I'm gonna postmortem my process; a recipe autopsy is definitely called for!


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