More Cake-Decorating Angst: Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa . . .

Okay, so I know I whined to you about cake decorating mishaps in another post just this past August, but now I think I've pretty well topped myself. The cake-wreck you see here is not the stuff of nightmares. No, my friends, it is all too real. Yes, it really happened. To me. Today. In my cake decorating class, more or less in front of all my fellow students (though I hope they were all so concerned with their own cakes that they paid no attention to what I was doing).

The disaster in a nutshell . . . We were all required to frost a tall, round layer-cake with the "basketweave" piping technique (very pretty, normally). And, we had to use a whole bunch of royal icing flowers we'd made in class last week--thus the excessive amount of decoration you see on the cake. It was not the stuff on top of the cake, though, that caused this project of mine to be a complete debacle. It was the consistency of the frosting on the sides. The worst part is that it was a frosting situation was of my own doing. Mea culpa! I am guilty. Oh woe is me.

(Note the lower left side of the cake in the picture above. . . I think its tectonic plates had pretty well shifted by the time I took this. Where's a Richter scale when you need one?)

I wrote all about the disaster an hour or two ago in my latest "Diary of a 48-Year Old Rookie Culinary Student" entry, a regularly updated sidebar that can be found on the right side of my blog (just look for the photo of the white chef's hat and click on it, if you ever want to read the details of this latest tragedy, along with any past diary entries).

I know full well that a cake catastrophe has no significance in contrast to most of our problems, but I didn't want to hide it from my fellow bakers. Afterall, it's yet another cautionary baking-tale, is it not? Another one for me, at least, to add to my arsenal of hubris and folly. Maybe, though, somebody will learn from my folly . . . I know already have.

The moral of the story is this . . . Always keep in mind how long your mostly-butter-based frosting is going to have to sit around in an overcrowded room with no refrigeration before you embark on a cake decorating project, and if you think there's any cause for concern, for heaven's sake just bite the bullet--use a reliably stable frosting. Don't function as if you know more than your current teacher, and more than your past teachers. (Luckily for me, my teacher couldn't have been nicer or more understanding. She did what she could to help me avert complete humiliation, bless her heart, but she's not a magician.)


Aesthetic Disclaimer . . . Please note that the color palate you see here is not of my own choosing. I feel compelled to explain that because I'm more of a subdued-frosting girl. We were all required to use these same bright and autumnal colors. And, that butterfly was just our class's first attempt at using the technique called color-flow. I think his less-than-Monarch-like color scheme is pretty unattractive myself, but it was fun learning how to make him. It was very fun, in fact, learning to make all of the flowers. Despite today's uncomfortable setback, I still love cake decorating. Nothing will ever change that, I'm sure.

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Retro Desserts, Part IV: Just Give the Man What He Wants -- Devil's Food Cake!

We celebrated my husband's birthday last weekend and, as you can plainly see, I made a very tall buttercream-frosted cake for the occasion. I wanted to make it just as he'd requested--a devil's food cake that would satisfy his childhood memories of what a birthday cake is supposed to be. Three layers high, with the classic, simple, American-style buttercream . . . rich, sweet, and completely chocolatey. No extraneous frills allowed. No foil-covered cake board or lacy doily. No fancy frosting decorations all over the place. Not even any lettering, and thus no "Happy Birthday Andy!!" written in icing on the top. I had to kind of twist his birthday-boy arm, in fact, for clearance to put even a few hastily piped dots around the messy bottom edge; they were legitimately needed to cover up the inevitable smudges.

Because of the clear requirement for a certain level of simplicity, I figured I should also forego the fussy niceties that frequently accompany the assembly of a layer cake like this. Niceties like what, you ask? Well, like piping on an icing "dam" around the outer edge of each layer before spreading the rest of the icing on each one; this is a very useful tactic, even if the whole cake is being frosted inside and out with a single type of icing, and I usually utilize it. But not for this cake, no sir. And, I opted out of the nicety of putting a "crumb coat" (a thin, initial icing layer intended primarily to seal in crumbs) on the cake before laying on the final icing layer. I never go without the crumb coat. Never. But this time I forced myself to just not do it.

"It's all one big frosting layer, baby, and you'd better like it!" That's what I was thinking as I plopped on glob after glob of buttercream icing, helter skelter, as if I had a plane to catch. My youngest son, Nathan, helped with the frosting too (perhaps he needed to catch the same plane?). Those are his hands in the photo below, holding that little offset spatula. (He's still a bit reticent at the prospect of appearing on camera. I guess his hands aren't shy, though, luckily.)

Once the cake was safely sealed within its hefty buttercream carapace, I rebelled just a smidgen by putting it on a cake pedestal with a ruffly edge. Looking at the cake from a few feet back, Nathan remarked that it resembled a bizarre top-hat of sorts. True, I responded, but a really good smelling top-hat.

As far as the recipe goes, I was pleased to finally have an opportunity to try out a book I've been reading lately called Sky High: Irresistible Triple-Layer Cakes, by Alisa Huntsman and Peter Wynne. This is the first cookbook I've ever encountered that focuses exclusively on cakes that are three layers. On the surface it may seem like an overly specific concept for a cookbook, and it is unique in the vast field of baking books that I've encountered. But I must say it's convenient, if not downright comforting, to have the exact proportions for a cake of that size already figured out for you. And, it's nice to know that the cake you're constructing was designed from the get-go to be sturdy enough to hold up without problems. Afterall, the last person you want to have to call in the middle of a baking crisis is a structural engineer. (Sadly, unlike our dear friends the plumbers and furnace repair guys, they're not on call to the general public 24 hours a day.)

Because I'd never used this recipe before, I changed nothing at all in terms of the ingredients, nor did I mess with the process for putting it together. Yeah, I know, it's shocking. ( "How the heck did she restrain herself?" you may be wondering . . . "maybe she had to take a tranquilizer first . . . ?") But seriously folks, I'm glad I didn't fiddle with it, since the finished cake's texture and depth of flavor were all I could have hoped for and more. Truly an exceptional devil's food that's highly likely to end up on my permanent list of reliable favorites. And not only that, there must be at least a dozen more recipes in this book that I already know I'd like to try. They all sound so interesting and look so good--lots of luscious photos, too, to back up the author's claims. It's worth shelling out a few bucks for this book, bakers. (And you know I don't make a purchase recommendation lightly.)

The recipe for the chocolate buttercream is, as I noted earlier, very American and traditional. That said, it's not one that I'd describe as stupefyingly sweet and it has no trace of the grittiness that sometimes afflicts this type of frosting. It's a soft, deeply chocolatey, easily spreadable buttercream, and the recipe is rock-solid reliable. It's from an older book that I think I've mentioned before, quaintly titled The Magical Art of Cake Decorating. I've made this icing several times in the past, and never had the slightest problem with it.

Alrighty then . . . now that I've talked your ear off . . .

Devil's Food Cake
(from the book Sky High, by Alicia Huntsman & Peter Wynne; I've reworded the instructions only very slightly, with no significant changes from the original)

For a printable version of this recipe, click here!

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Butter the bottoms and sides of three 8"round cake pans. Line the bottoms of each pan with a parchment paper or wax paper circle, then butter the paper.

1 cup of unsweetened cocoa powder (Do not use Dutch processed cocoa. Apparently, it's the action of the regular cocoa powder with the baking soda that gives the cake its trademark reddish-brown tint!)
1 and 1/4 cups hot water
3 cups light brown sugar, packed
2 and 2/3 cups cake flour
1 and 1/2 tsp. baking soda
3/4 tsp. salt
1 cup plus 2 Tbsp. unsalted butter, at room temperature
3 eggs (I used large)
1 and 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
3/4 cup cold water

Place the cocoa powder in a medium bowl. Pour in the hot water and whisk until smooth. Set aside to let the mixture cool to room temperature.

In the large bowl of your mixer, using the paddle attachment, combine the brown sugar, flour, baking soda, and salt on low speed. Add in the butter and the dissolved cocoa, beating briefly to blend. Raise speed to medium and beat until light and fluffy, about 2 minutes.

In a medium bowl, whisk the eggs, cold water, and vanilla until blended. Add this liquid to the batter in three additions, scraping down the sides of the bowl well and mixing only to incorporate between additions. Divide the batter equally among the three prepared cake pans.

Bake for 35 to 40 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out almost clean. Cool the cakes in their pans, on racks, for 15 minutes. Invert the cakes from the pans onto the racks, and carefully remove the paper circles. Let the cakes finish cooling completely before frosting or storing.

Classic Chocolate Buttercream Frosting

(from the book The Magical Art of Cake Decorating, by Carole Collier)

Readers, please note: You will probably want to double this recipe, in order to have enough to generously frost a three-layer cake. The proportions listed here, though, are adequate for a two-layer cake. And if you have extra leftover icing, you can always refrigerate or freeze it. It keeps very well in the freezer, for months, in my experience.

Prepare classic vanilla buttercream first, before adding in chocolate components, as follows:

3/4 cup unsalted butter, at room temperature
1/4 cup white vegetable shortening
1/2 cup milk (I used 2 percent)
1/4 tsp. salt
1 and 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
2 pounds confectioner's sugar, sifted (If you use Domino brand "10x" and you don't plan to use the frosting in a piping bag, you can probably easily get away with no sifting! Yay! Seems like every baker I know hates sifting powdered sugar.)

Place the butter, shortening, milk, salt, and vanilla, along with one pound of the sugar, in a large mixer bowl. Beat at low speed until combined, then gradually add in the other pound of sugar. Stop the mixer and scrape the sides and bottom of the bowl. Continue beating, now on high speed, for 8 to 10 minutes, until the frosting is very light and fluffy.

To make it into chocolate buttercream:

For each pound of confectioner's sugar you used in preparing the plain buttercream, allow 2/3 cup of sifted, unsweetened cocoa (I used a mixture of natural cocoa and Dutch process for depth of color and richness of flavor, but either works fine; be sure to sift whatever cocoa you use), 3 Tbsp. softened unsalted butter, and 1/8 tsp. salt. Add these ingredients right into the plain buttercream and beat until thoroughly distributed. To achieve the consistency you prefer, you can mix in milk, just one teaspoon at a time.

* * * * * *
Enjoy!

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What We Talk About When We Talk About Banana Layer Cake . . .

In my house, about once a month, the age-old problem rears its head. You know the one. First, it's the deepening golden color, then the slight softening, followed by the brown speckles, and finally the pungent fragrance that will not be ignored. Oh sure, you get plenty of warning but, ultimately, your hand is forced. Bananas. Overripe bananas. We've faced this before, we'll face it again, but there's always the question . . . what should I make out of those brown bananas before they become fodder for the trash can or compost heap? Personally, I've had enough of quick breads and muffins for the moment. I can't remember, though, the last time I made a real banana cake. I've made a fabulous banana pound-cake in the past (and I should really do a post about that recipe someday--it's a winner), but I'd like to bake something a little more interesting than another fairly typical pound cake.

Such were my musings yesterday as I paged through my new, bright red, long-awaited copy of Nick Malgieri's most recent book, The Modern Baker. (Bakers, is there any more unalloyed bliss than spying a corrugated Amazon box on your front porch leaning shyly against the lone Adirondack chair, and just knowing that it contains a fantastic cookbook you've been craving for months? Certainly there is not.) Malgieri is a well known pastry chef, an educator at New York's Institute of Culinary Education, and he writes a mean cookbook. Once in a while he pops up on TV, demonstrating this or that technique. He always looks kind, friendly, and quite a bit like your favorite uncle.

He must have a soft spot for home bakers because a lot of what he writes is geared toward simplifying--or maybe I should say streamlining--things for those of us who bake in the real world. That is, those of us who bake without huge, uncluttered, stainless steel tables on which to spread out our work, without benefit of towering portable shelves filled top to bottom with premium spices of every description, without industrial lighting that would make a neurosurgeon put on his Ray-Bans, and without access to a walk-in cold-pantry the size of a two-car garage stocked top to bottom with fresh you-name-it. He manages to write about food in this uncomplicated way without completely emasculating his recipes. I don't know how he does it . . . he's from Newark, NJ . . . maybe that has something to do with it? Pretension doesn't appear to be in his vocabulary. What more could we ask? Anyway, I like him. (Did you hear me, Chef Malgieri? I LIKE YOU!)

Before I clam up about him I just have to mention another book he wrote, Perfect Cakes. Why? Because it is a perfect book. Get it from the library, folks, or take the plunge and buy it. Its recipes are a bit more involved than that of some of his other books, but the gorgeous stuff you could produce using Perfect Cakes alone would easily fill several high-end pastry carts. My two favorite items from this book thus far--I've tried about eight of the recipes and there are many more I still want to try--are the Dark-and-White Chocolate Cheese Cake (unbelievably good; I've made it a couple of times for Thanksgiving) and the carrot cake with cream cheese frosting (I alter a few components of the recipe slightly, but as a base it's the best-tasting carrot cake I've ever had; I am going to do a post about it one day).

Someday, when I go completely around the bend, I'm gonna do a "Julie Powell" and systematically bake every single thing in that book over the course of a year . . . holy moly what a concept . . . I'm entering a trance-like state at the very thought of it . . . staring off into space right now . . .


Enough already! Getting back to the banana cake.

I used the recipe for Banana Coconut Rum Layer Cake from The Modern Baker, but I had no rum on hand (more's the pity) so left that ingredient out. It's a nice cake that, in terms of taste if not texture, reminds me completely of my mom's banana chiffon cake (the recipe for which seems to have vanished into the void, unfortunately). I wasn't feeling coconutty yesterday, so I decided not to use Malgieri's recommended coconut-coated whipped cream to ice the cake. What I did use to ice the cake was a hybrid I concocted out of a very reliable and fluffy buttercream recipe. Not insanely sweet, this buttercream's special fluffiness sets it apart from most customary bakery-style buttercreams. I wanted to see how this icing would taste if a little high-quality cinnamon and cocoa powder were added in with the sugar, and if a couple ounces of softened cream cheese were whipped in as well. That experiment was a raging success and I spread the luscious result on the banana cake. I made just enough icing while experimenting to fill the middle and coat the top, but that was the perfect amount--not too much of a good thing.

Thus I present my half-dressed banana layer cake, filled and topped with my hybridized version of fluffy light-chocolate and cinnamon buttercream. I've reworded the Malgieri recipe for brevity, but have left out no critical info. (The icing recipe, printed below, is a completely new adaptation I made of one I had used previously in a post that I called "Deep Dark Chocolate Cupcakes with Fluffy Mocha Frosting.")


Nick Malgieri's Banana Layer Cake
(originally from his Banana Rum Coconut Layer Cake recipe, pg. 248 of The Modern Baker)

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

Preheat oven to 350, and place a rack in the middle.

2 and 1/3 cups of All Purpose flour (I used unbleached)
1 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/4 tsp. salt
3/4 cup unsalted butter, softened
2/3 cup granulated sugar
1/3 cup dark brown sugar, firmly packed (I only had light brown and used that; it was fine)
1 tsp. vanilla extract
3 large eggs
1 cup mashed banana (mashed by hand)
2/3 cup milk (I used whole)
1 tbsp. dark rum (I didn't have this on hand but the cake was still great; if you don't love the flavor of rum I wouldn't hesitate to leave it out altogether!)

Butter the bottom and sides of two 9" cake pans. Line the bottom with a parchment or wax paper disk, and then butter the disk.

Combine well the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in a bowl; set aside.

Combine the butter, sugars, and vanilla in the bowl of a mixer using the paddle attachment. Beat on medium speed until light in color and texture, about 3 to 4 minutes. Beat the eggs into that, one at a time, beating well after each addition.

In a separate bowl, mix together the banana, milk, and rum (if you're using it), until blended.

On low speed, in the mixer bowl, add 1/3 of the flour mixture. Stopping as needed to scrape down the beaters and bowl, add in the banana mixture alternately, beginning and ending with the flour. Then, increase the speed to medium and beat the batter nonstop for 3 minutes. Divide the batter evenly between the two pans and smooth the tops. Bake on the middle rack of your oven until the cakes are, as Chef Malgieri instructs us, "well risen and deep golden, and feel firm when pressed in the center with a fingertip, 25 to 30 minutes."

Cool the cakes on a rack, in their pans, for 5 minutes. Remove from pans and continue cooling right side up on racks; remove the parchment/wax paper.



Jane's Fluffy Light-Chocolate & Cinnamon Buttercream Frosting

This recipe makes at least enough to frost an entire cake--top, middle, and sides--or to frost 24 cupcakes.

1 cup unsalted butter, softened
3/4 cup vegetable shortening
4 oz. of cream cheese, softened to room temperature
1 cup and 2 Tbsp. heavy cream
1/2 tsp. salt
2 tsp. vanilla
2 lbs. of confectioners' sugar, sifted (approximately 8 or more cups)
1 tsp. ground cinnamon (my favorite is Penzey's brand Vietnamese Cassia; it's pretty strong)
3 Tbsp. cocoa (Dutch process or regular, whichever you prefer; I use Dutch)

In a bowl, lightly mix the cinnamon and cocoa powder into the sifted confectioner's sugar with a fork or whisk. Set aside.

In a large mixer bowl, beat the butter and shortening on medium speed until light and creamy.
Add the sugar gradually to the shortening, and continue creaming until well blended. Add in the cream cheese, salt, and the vanilla, still mixing at medium speed at this point.

Pour 6 oz. of the heavy cream slowly and gradually into the bowl. Increase the speed to high and beat until the entire mixture is light and fluffy, at least a couple of minutes. Stop every now and then to scrape the bowl and the beaters.

Reserve the remaining 2 oz. of cream to use just in case the frosting seems too thick to you, or too dry. Add it in at your own discretion. Frosting too thin? Add in a bit more confectioners' sugar. Be sure to refrigerate, or freeze, any leftover frosting.

When your cake is cooled . . . frost it, slice it, eat it. Go bananas, if you feel like it.



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