Fresh Sweet Cherry & Nectarine Upside-Down Cake . . . with Honey Whipped Cream

As a kid, the only upside-down cake I ever encountered was the classic pineapple ring and maraschino cherry model. I couldn't stand the stuff. As I recall, my dad adored it. He was the only one in the family who showed unfettered interest. Not even my mom, devoted dessert lover that she was, could bring herself to crave the canned-fruit laden cake. As a rule, it was atrociously sweet, sodden with that sugary syrup and just not an altogether great concept. She'd make it for him, of course, but the woman had her standards; given the choice, she would always have opted for a slice of something chocolate.

I guess it's no surprise, then, why I've never launched with abandon into the production of that sticky, inverted confection. Those pineapple cakes may be endearing in a retro sort of way, but not enough so to motivate me into actually baking one. No siree.

But this cherry and nectarine upside-down cake, on the other hand, while bearing some resemblance to that toothache-inspiring item of yesteryear, isn't as cloying. Made with thin slices of ripe nectarine, fresh sweet cherries, honey, plain yogurt, a hint of cinnamon and nutmeg, and a teeny tiny splash of peach schnapps thrown in to jazz things up, this baby's an improvement on that fusty old relic.

In fact, were the two cakes to pass on the street, I'd wager they'd acknowledge each other with a polite nod but, figuring they hadn't much in common, the pair wouldn't even stop to chat.

About this recipe . . .

Today's cake is adapted from a recipe in the gargantuan volume, Bon Appetit Desserts. It's a dream of a cookbook and, with 700+ pages, it's heavier than heck. Weighing in at 6.5 lbs., it's the size of a full-term newborn. They should sell it with a complementary stroller so readers can cart it around the house. Or, better yet, a forklift.

I customized the original recipe, which called for peaches along with a lot of spicy cardamom. What did I alter? In addition to using a combo of nectarines and cherries instead of peaches, I omitted the cardamom entirely, using just a little cinnamon and a scant pinch of nutmeg instead. I also added in a wee dab of peach schnapps, for a bit of zing, and I slightly increased the amount of salt (coarse kosher). Threw in the seeds of half a vanilla bean, and reduced the amount of granulated sugar in the cake by a small margin. In the honey whipped cream topping, I used less than half the amount of honey called for. (Have you ever mixed honey with heavy cream before? Fact is, you need a remarkably small amount to get the desired effect.)

With the adjustments, this cake is still sweet, but not ridiculously so. Some sweetness is just the nature of an upside-down cake. The flip-it-over-while-it's-still-really-hot concept wouldn't work without that gooey glaze permeating the top/bottom of the cake. In any case, if you want a concentrated sweetness infusion, an upside-down cake is definitely the ticket.

Fresh Sweet Cherry & Nectarine Upside-Down Cake 
with Honey Whipped Cream


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

Yield: One 9" one-layer cake

6 Tbsp. (3/4 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature (divided use)
1/4 honey (I used clover honey.)
1/4 cup light brown sugar, packed
1 and 1/4 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
Scant 1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon
1 pinch ground nutmeg
1/4 tsp. baking soda
Scant 1/2 tsp. coarse kosher salt
2/3 cup granulated sugar
1 egg, large
2 tsp. peach schnapps (optional)
seeds of half a vanilla bean (or, 1 tsp of vanilla extract)
1/2 cup plain whole-milk yogurt
2 medium size nectarines, pitted and thinly sliced in crescents (about 1/4" thick)
Approximately 16 fresh sweet cherries, pitted

For the honey whipped cream:
(Note: The original recipe suggested adding a little plain yogurt into this mixture. I didn't try that, but thought I'd mention it in case you'd like to give it a whirl!)
1 cup heavy cream, very cold
2 tsp. honey (Or use up to 2 Tbsp. if you want really sweet whipped cream.) 

Preheat oven to 350 degrees and place rack in middle of oven. Liberally butter the bottom and sides of a 9" round cake pan. (After buttering, I took the extra step of lightly spraying the pan with vegetable oil spray; as far as I'm concerned, one can't be too careful where inverted cakes are concerned.)

In a medium size sauce pan, melt 2 Tbsp. of the unsalted butter. Add into that the brown sugar and the honey. Cook on medium high heat until the mixture begins to boil; stirring often, let boil for about 2 minutes or until the mixture begins to darken just a bit.

Remove the pan from the heat and immediately pour all of it into the buttered pan. Set the pan aside; the syrup will harden in the pan while you're preparing the rest of the cake.



 In a small bowl, whisk together the flour, cinnamon, nutmeg, baking soda, and kosher salt. In the bowl of your mixer, using the paddle attachment on medium high speed, combine the remaining butter and the granulated sugar until it looks somewhat fluffy. Beat the egg into this on medium speed, along with the vanilla been seeds, and the peach schnapps.

Pour in half the flour mixture on medium speed just until well blended; blend in all of the yogurt. Add in the remaining flour on low speed, just until blended.

Arrange the nectarine slices (you may not need to use them all) in a spiral design around the edge of the cake pan, over the hardened syrup. Arrange the cherries similarly in the middle of the nectarine spiral. Using a spoon, gently dollop the soft batter over the fruit, being wary not to disrupt the design. Smooth the top of the batter carefully to completely cover all of the fruit.

Bake the cake in the preheated oven for 35 to 40 minutes, or until the cake is golden and the sides begin to pull away from the sides of the pan.

Let the finished cake cool for only 5 minutes after removing it from the oven. At that point, have your serving platter ready and place it snuggly over the top of the cake.

Quickly invert the hot cake pan onto the platter and delicately lift the hot pan off. If all goes well, you'll be faced with a lovely fruit design atop a glistening cake. Let the cake cool before slicing.

To make the honey whipped cream: 

Whip the cream in your mixer on medium speed in a chilled bowl. Drizzle the honey in and whip until the cream forms soft peaks. Add more honey to taste, if you'd prefer the whipped cream to be sweeter. Keep refrigerated and serve over individual slices of the cake.

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Retro Desserts, Part V: Cherries Jubilee . . . with Pomegranate Juice & Grand Marnier

Last year, I did a little series of posts focusing on retro desserts. My desire was to zero in on a few of the more definitive desserts that Americans typically associate with the mid-20th century. Sweet and enduring dishes that, despite their lack of modern fashion sense, have managed to avoid full admittance into the dreaded Halls of Obsolescence. How did they escape that fate? By embedding themselves deeply into the treat-loving American psyche, that's how. We don't give up our heroes without a fight, and we obviously feel the same way about our best desserts.

In 2009, we talked here about banana cream pie beneath a snowy drift of whipped cream, triple-layer devil's food cake cloaked in chocolate buttercream, dark chocolate bread pudding, and well-stuffed faux Oreo cookies. It's been quite a while since the last retro post, so I figured it was time to add to the list. No time like the present!

Now, one could argue that cherries jubilee, though having enjoyed a decade or so of wild popularity in the U.S. about fifty years ago, doesn't really fit into the retro American category very neatly. I don't know about you, but my mom sure never made this stuff at home when I was a kid. Flaming food? If food ever caught on fire in our kitchen it didn't happen by design. That was too much pseudo-sophistication for a traditional Midwestern household in the 1960's.

But that's okay. I'm admittedly stretching my own guidelines a bit here. Though it's true I never ate this back then, it seems like every major cookbook I ever peeked into contained a recipe for it. Cherries jubilee, along with its sidekick baked Alaska and its exotic cousin crepes Suzette, popped up constantly and, if not necessarily on middle-class dinner tables, then in TV shows, in movies, in magazines, and on fancy restaurant menus. Somebody out there was eating it, and with good reason.

Of course, cherries jubilee is not at all American in origin. We have the legendary French chef and restaurateur Auguste Escoffier to thank for this beautiful, elegant, and relatively simple dish. He whipped it up in honor of Queen Victoria's "golden" or "diamond" jubilee celebration (exactly which event it was seems to be in question). Whether or not he ever served it over vanilla ice cream is sketchy at best, but that's the form in which it entered our culinary vernacular.

This particular version, which I've taken the liberty of calling my own, is . . . well . . . jubilant. Usually made with cherry brandy, aka kirsch (kirschwasser, literally translated as cherry water), or sometimes with the almond liqueur Amaretto, I instead used Grand Marnier, the bitter-orange based liqueur; it's an interesting alternative to kirschwasser, which doesn't seem to be easily accessible/affordable, in my neck of the woods.

Frequently augmented with almond extract, I left that out of my jubilee recipe entirely. Usually including cherry juice or a cherry juice blend, I chose to use POM Wonderful brand pomegranate juice instead and that worked really well. (Thanks very much to the POM Wonderful company for kindly sending me a free case of their superior juice! I love it!) Pomegranate juice looks and even tastes similar to cherry juice, so it was a natural choice.

Use the nicest, sweetest, ripe black cherries you can find in your jubilee--fresh vs. frozen if at all possible. If you use bad cherries in a recipe that features them, then all will be for naught, so be sure to taste those babies first!

My jubilee did not "flame" in the classic fashion, sadly. Maybe because I didn't add in the full recommended amount of brandy. I got just the tiniest flame out of mine, then it fizzled. Pfffftt. Like that. It seems that the flame concept is mostly for show and not much else, or so I am telling myself, but no matter. Flame or no flame, cherries jubilee is still wonderful.

Oh, and before I forget, this was made using the finest homemade vanilla ice cream recipe I've ever run across. Not unexpectedly, it's from David Lebovitz's book The Perfect Scoop. If it can be improved upon, I just don't know how. The texture is right on target in every way, and the flavor is exceptional.

I've made some sorry dud ice creams in my day, but this one was a huge hit here. My 17-year old son, Charlie, gave me a solid fist-pound directly upon tasting it. He said something like, "Mom, you may have finally cracked the ice cream code." I know it must be a blazing success if that kid will actually eat it with gusto.

The ice cream recipe below makes one scant quart and no more; it's very rich and ultra creamy. If you're serving a crowd, plan to make more than one batch!

Cherries Jubilee . . . with Pomegranate Juice & Grand Marnier

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

For the cherry sauce:

1 cup pomegranate juice (I recommend POM Wonderful brand)
2 Tbsp. cornstarch
4 Tbsp. granulated sugar
1 pinch ground cinnamon
About 4 cups of whole, sweet, fresh black cherries--pitted
2 Tbsp. to 4 Tbsp. Grand Marnier liqueur (Use up to 1/3 cup if you love this stuff; I used the lesser amount  because I didn't want to overwhelm the flavor of the cherries.)

In a medium sauce pan, stir together the sugar, cornstarch, and cinnamon. Add in the pomegranate juice and, on medium heat, stirring constantly, bring the mixture just to a boil. Immedately lower the heat. Simmer the sauce for a couple of minutes, still stirring constantly, just until it thickens enough to easily coat a wooden spoon. You want it to be about as thick as gravy, and no thicker; it needs to remain pourable.

Remove the pan from the heat and gently stir in all the cherries, to coat them. Set aside.

In another smaller pan, carefully warm the liqueur. It doesn't need to be hot--just warm. Now, pour the liqueur over the cherry mixture and immediately light it with a long match. If you time this well, and have your dishes of ice cream scooped and ready, the  cherry sauce can be spooned over the ice cream while it's still flaming, for a classic presentation. (I have yet to achieve this, so don't be discouraged!)

For the vanilla ice cream:

1 cup whole milk
3/4 cup granulated sugar
2 cups heavy cream
pinch of salt
1 vanilla bean, split in half lengthwise
yolks from 6 large eggs
3/4 tsp. vanilla extract

In a medium saucepan, warm the milk, sugar, 1 cup of the cream, and the salt. Scrape the seeds from the vanilla bean and add them, along with the hull of the bean, into the warm mixture. Cover the pan and remove it from the heat; let it steep like that for 30 minutes.

Pour the remaining 1 cup of cream into a large bowl; set a fine mesh strainer on top of the bowl.

In a medium size bowl, whisk together the yolks. Slowly pour the warm mixture into the yolks, whisking constantly, then pour this all back into the medium size saucepan. Over medium heat, constantly stirring and scraping the bottom of the pan, heat the mixture until it thickens enough to coat a spatula. Pour this custard mixture through the strainer over the bowl of cream; stir it into the cream thoroughly. Put the vanilla bean into the custard and add in the vanilla extract. Cool it in its bowl, set over an ice bath (a larger bowl filled with ice).

Once cool, chill it completely in the refrigerator. When you're ready to churn the ice cream, remove the vanilla bean. Churn and then freeze the ice cream according to the manufacturer's instructions for your ice cream maker.

* * * *
(Hey--do you love POM Wonderful? Here are a couple of other great food bloggers' recent posts showing how they used their free POM juice! These are two of my favorite blogs . . . )
Day Dreamer Desserts
More Than a Mountful

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Jumbo Sweet Cherry Muffins . . . with Buttermilk and Brown Sugar

There's a lot of enthusiastic chatter in the food-blog world lately about cherries. After all, they're in season right now; have you noticed? Because if you haven't, you'd better take heed--those little beauties won't be around long.  I'm talkin' fresh sweet cherries. You know, the kind that grow on real trees.

Gosh, I love 'em. You too? Yeah, I can see that you do. Besides eating cherries, I  also love picking them, in part because the trees themselves are so exceptionally pretty. They're kind of small and their diminutive nature seems to invite one to come closer.

They endear themselves by being so approachable, and cater even to little kids in this respect. Could they be any more charming if they tried? I think not.

A few days ago, my family and I went picking in a northwestern Michigan orchard, while visiting my in-laws' cottage on Torch Lake. A huge inland lake, it's in one of the most beautiful areas in the state.

It's also in the middle of cherry country, which spreads out for miles around. I'm always kind of thrilled whenever our visits up north coincide with cherry season and, this summer, fortunately for us, the crop ripened a little earlier than usual. It made the picking almost too easy.

Lush branches, heavily laden, leaned down to accommodate even the most minimal effort. In some spots, the cherries clustered into big shiny bunches, mimicking grapes. Standing beneath the branches and gazing up, with a hazy sun poking through the almond-shaped leaves, was a delightful thing.

If you ever get the chance to pick them, you should jump at the chance. There's nothing in the world like the taste of a really fresh cherry just plucked from the tree, wiped clean, and popped into your mouth.

 Of course, after picking the cherries, I longed to bake with them sooner rather than later, but because of the alarming heat wave sweeping this part of the country, I couldn't contemplate it seriously until we got back home into air conditioning. So, I tucked a few pounds of the cherries, unwashed, into the fruit drawer of the fridge where they were likely to be undisturbed, and on the day we left they were carefully packed into a cooler with ice for the journey home. They arrived here in very good shape, thankfully.

Now, though I know it's not original in the least, I decided I had to use some of the cherries to make muffins yet again. (Yes, I know. It seems I'm on a major muffin binge this year. Can't help myself, I guess.) Specifically, I needed to bake these muffins.

About this recipe . . .

A splendid vehicle for the combo of sweet black cherries and the lighter, milder Queen Anne cherries. these jumbo muffins are substantial and flavorful. Who knew that brown sugar and buttermilk could complement fresh sweet cherries so completely?

Adapted from Peter Reinhart's book, Crust and Crumb: Master Formulas for Serious Bread Bakers, I adjusted the spices (added in a pinch of cinnamon and of nutmeg) and the flavorings (instead of using all vanilla extract, I used half as much vanilla as indicated, and added in a small amount of almond extract).  Instead of using dried fruit in these muffins I used only fresh fruit, and I chose canola oil instead of melted butter. I left the base of the muffin essentially alone because, I figured, why tamper too much with perfection? (I was about to substitute in some whole wheat flour, but held back at the last minute.) And, predictably, I reworked/reworded the instructions a bit to reflect exactly what I did.

I've mentioned Peter Reinhart before, in a post on challah bread, and I have to reiterate here that I think his recipes are exceptionally reliable, and the books of his that I've spent any time with are remarkably well worth reading. (This may make me sound like a groupie or something, but I must admit I feel profoundly lucky as a baker to have easy access to his knowledge, experience, and overall philosophy through his writing. This guy knows what's what, and he clearly loves sharing what he's learned. Valuable stuff.)

These muffins are jumbos because the recipe seemed to merit that kind of heft. But large or small, I think you'll like them. From this recipe I got nine jumbos, but if you don't want the huge guys, I assume you could easily get 18 modest regular-size muffins out of this batter. 

  
Jumbo Sweet Cherry Muffins

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

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Line muffin pans with paper liners and spray the inside of the liners with baking spray. This recipe will make 9 jumbo muffins, 12 generous regular size, or 18 smallish regulars.

3 and 1/2 cups unbleached All-Purpose flour
1 and 1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. baking soda
3/4 tsp. salt (I actually used 1 scant tsp. kosher salt)
2/3 cup canola oil
1 and 1/2 cups brown sugar, tightly packed (I used light brown)
2 large eggs
1 and 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
1/2 tsp. almond extract
1 pinch ground cinnamon
1 pinch ground nutmeg
1 and 1/4 cups buttermilk (I used regular buttermilk, not low fat)
 2 cups of pitted, coarsely chopped, sweet cherries (I used half black cherries and half Queen Anne)
coarse, or granulated, sugar (optional)

Sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, and nutmeg into a medium size bowl. Add the brown sugar and whisk it in thoroughly.

In a large bowl, mix together the oil, eggs, vanilla extract, almond extract, and buttermilk. (I did this by hand, and my muffins turned out great, but Reinhart instructs doing this part in your mixer. You decide!)

Add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and stir just until the dry ingredients are absorbed.

With a portion scoop, fill the muffin cups about halfway full. Using your hands, sprinkle on that a couple tablespoons worth of the chopped fruit and gently pat it down into the batter. Scoop another glob of batter atop that. Sprinkle the remainder of the fruit over that. If any batter remains in the bowl, dab it equally over the top of the muffins. It's fine if some of the fruit is exposed and not buried in batter.

Sprinkle the tops with coarse sugar or granulated sugar if you like.

Place the muffin pan on top of a baking sheet, and bake for 10 minutes. Lower the oven temperature to 375 and bake for 10 minutes more. Check the muffins to see if they're browning too quickly; if they are, cover them lightly with foil. Bake the muffins until golden brown, and until the tops spring back when lightly touched. Mine took barely 30 minutes to bake. I also checked them with a toothpick inserted in the center to ensure they were fully done.

Let them cool in the pan, on a rack, for a few minutes before attempting to remove to the rack to finish cooling.

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