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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Transition

It's been a very busy summer (read...AUGUST)! I haven't had much time to do anything except work, prepare for my boys going back to school and preparing and attending two baby showers for my sis-in-law. I've enjoyed every minute of it, but am welcoming some time to catch up on things around the house.

The boys start school on Thursday, and it hits me that I will have all days to myself. Someone asked me to tell her how that works out...what that FEELS like. Right now, it feels like a huge piece of what I do has been taken out of the picture. I've been a stay-at-home mom for 9 years. How do you prepare yourself for all of that extra TIME? I know I have tons of projects to do at the house. It's 30 years old and constantly needs new things, new paint, just plain updating. With the boys asthma, I've always had to put off the painting for fear it will cause their asthma to act up. With them gone, I can do some painting in the morning and then air out the house so it's clear by the time they get home. I always have my landscaping to work on. I have work to go to. It just STOPS in October...and then there's nothing...

Corrin starts at the high school this year. I'm sure he's so tired of us telling him that "this is it. It now MEANS something" but he does want to attend CU and that is all we have left to inspire him to stay active and school and get good grades. We can't hold his hand forever, and I refuse to push him when it comes to something like doing homework. The stress if huge, and he needs to learn to do it on his own.

With two nieces coming sometime in September or early October, and one other niece or nephew due the end of January, I'm sure a lot of my time with be spent with my sis-in-law's because I HAVE the time and they won't. It's so weird that my timing has always been way ahead of everyone else, and people are finally catching up. It's weird because I'm not that much older than everyone else, but I feel as if I am sometimes. I have such a feeling of disconnect when I'm talking of plans.

I'm at a different stage, and I don't know what to do with myself.

Cake Decorating Angst: Coming Clean . . .

I spent a hefty chunk of the first half of last week working on a couple of big cakes. They were commissioned by a very good friend of mine named Patti, who I've known since 3rd grade. I was happy to agree to make them, and flattered to be asked. The order was for two half-sheet layer-cakes for her mom's 80th birthday party. I could be wrong about this, but I'm pretty sure she told me they might need to serve up to 80 people. No problem, I figured. It's good practice to make cakes, or any baked goods for that matter, that you know from the get-go will be leaving your house and venturing out for a public showing. Kind of scary, but good practice nonetheless.

But, let's be honest. For a complete amateur like me, a large and even moderately decorated cake that's designed for public exposure presents a challenge from several perspectives. Big cakes involve planning, purchasing, scheduling, and executing, not to mention a healthy dose of fretting. I pondered whether or not to blog about these cakes. "What if they don't turn out looking nice enough? What if they look downright pathetically amateurish?" Those were my thoughts. Thus encumbered by that rather defeatist attitude, I took very few photos when I was working on them and I didn't document any of the glitches along the way.

In hindsight, a few days after the fact, I realized that was an extremely silly and childish posture to take. In fact, an inauthentic attitude. Afterall, I'm not masquerading as an expert baker or a bona fide pastry chef--though I aspire in my wildest dreams to become the latter someday--so, really, what's to fear? The only folks who read my blog are people who like to bake too and they all seem pretty darn supportive and understanding. Heck, I'm just another middle-aged American female who's crazy about baking and all it entails. Warts and all, I should just shut-up and blog about it, right? Right.

Okay. So here I go.

I made a white two-layer cake with a fluffy raspberry flavored buttercream frosting, and a dark chocolate two-layer cake with two kinds of chocolate buttercream. All (of course!) completely from scratch. A half-sheet is technically 11" by 15" inches, but in reality, frosted and on its board(s), then put in its box, a cake that size is considerably bigger than 11" by 15". And, filled and frosted, that's potentially a pretty heavy cake. You'd better lay in a liberal supply of butter, eggs, sugar, flour, and confectioner's sugar, if you're contemplating making two of these babies.

Now, the baking part itself for a big home-baked cake seems simple, on the surface, yes? Just select a highly reliable recipe, scale your recipe upward, and take into account your mixer's capacity. With a larger than normal cake, though, there are a number of additional factors to take into account in order to grease the wheels of the whole process and help evade potential catastrophe. You benefit by having a few pieces of special equipment on hand (pretty much all of which, luckily, I already had in my ever-growing arsenal).

It's a good idea to have items like large-size pans of better than average quality (the pans I used were the brand called Fat Daddio--made of anodized aluminum, they are exceptional); one or two heating cores to help with even heat distribution (a cone-shaped metal cup that gets filled halfway with batter and sits in the center of the batter-filled pan; after the cake is baked, the hole created by the core is then supposed to be perfectly "plugged" with the cake that baked within the core); cake-strips (metallic-looking thick cloth strips that you soak in water and then strap around the outside of your pans to help produce a smooth and even cake surface); large cooling racks; cardboard cake-boards of the right size (one or two exactly the size of the cake, and one or two a couple of inches larger than the cake); a large-sized cake leveler (I expect professional bakers wouldn't be caught dead bothering with this hack-saw-like tool, but I'm unashamed to admit that I think these are incredibly helpful at creating evenly sliced layers); offset spatulas of different lengths and sizes; pastry bags of various sizes; an assortment of metal decorating tips, along with a few plastic couplers to attach them to the pastry bags; a clean, new, bakery box that will accommodate the finished cake; decorative foil or some other type of covering, if you choose, for the larger cake board that will be visible, and so on and so forth. Just about the only thing I didn't end up using was a turntable, which seems to me kind of useless with a huge rectangular cake, though they are indispensable with round cakes. Not unlike the accoutrements of just about any beloved hobby, the tools required for cake baking and decorating--not to mention the tools simply desired--tend to accumulate steadily and benignly if not reined in, like a profusion of dust bunnies under the bed.

The worst problem I experienced with one of the cakes was completely my own fault. When I put the heating core into the pan with the white cake batter just before baking, I FORGOT TO FILL IT WITH BATTER!! This meant that when I checked on the cake about 20 minutes into baking, what I saw was a tall, metal, tipped-over cup right in the middle of the cake, like a skyscraper above the horizon that had been toppled by an earthquake. I was so horrified at that point that I almost burst into tears. It was late afternoon, I was getting tired, and I'd been baking and caking all day. What was I going to do? Should I leave the core in there and let the cake finish baking? Should I try to take it out and hope the cake magically repairs itself? With utter dismay, I weighed the options. I ended up leaving it in, but I immediately started making a tiny bit more batter in order to be able to patch the bizarre indentation that was left by the heating core. Everything worked out okay in the end, but boy did I feel like a cake-bakin' failure for the first few minutes after I opened that oven.

So, eventually the two cakes were cooled, and "torted" (split and filled), and ready to be decorated. Given the time constraints I imposed on myself for Patti's cakes, I thought it was too risky by far for me to suddenly try decorating techniques I wasn't too familiar with. I played it safe and just did some roses for the white cake. Eight roses, one for each decade of the birthday lady's life, and one little rose for good luck in her future years. I had no end of trouble, though, making buttercream roses that would hold up because of the hot humid weather, so in dismay I ended up resorting to making royal-icing roses. This was poor planning on my part. Royal icing gets firm, kind of like candy--you really can't cut through it with a knife. It was not my preferred option, but what's a girl to do? Aside from that, the only other trick I had up my sleeve was basic piping--oh, you know, shell borders, reverse shell borders, dots, writing, and so on--nothing you don't learn in a rudimentary cake decorating class. And I piped a few dark chocolate butterflies that turned out sort of okay; a couple of them were a last minute addition to the chocolate cake.

I'm glad I made those Size XL cakes, don't get me wrong. And, I already knew this, of course, but the point was driven home to me even more so as I worked on them: To produce cake decorating that's actually beautiful takes continual practice. It's a skill that doesn't lend itself well to sporadic bursts of activity followed by long stretches of no activity at all. The fact is, it had been months since I'd even made any frosting roses. I think cake decorating well is less akin to riding a bicycle than it is to playing a musical instrument. Anyone can get on a bike after a few years and still do it. Afterall, not much technique is required to use a bike. But if you pick up a violin after a few years of not playing . . . well, you'll probably remember where to place your fingers on the strings, but what comes out ain't gonna sound much like music (I know this first hand as well, and the violin in my bedroom closet can attest to it).

Anyway, readers, going forward I vow to try and be more willing to document both the bitter and the sweet when it comes to my less than stellar baking adventures. My next special-cake mandate comes to me from my husband. He's holding his annual poker tournament in September and wants something poker-themed for that event. We're still tossing around ideas. A couple of slightly overlapping playing cards? We'll see . . . that sounds doable . . . just as long as they're not face cards!




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Cream Scones with Sweet Dried Cherries . . .

About a month ago, I bought a little package of the best dried cherries I've ever tasted in my life. (I purchased them on that same trip to Detroit's Eastern Market that I talked about in my hearty coconut bread post, remember?) Though I planned to use them all for baking, I wasn't able to resist putting a few of them on my breakfast cereal, and nibbling a couple now and then when the urge hit me. So enamored was I that I made my husband taste them, and he immediately concurred that they were exceptionally good (the word he actually used was "succulent," and he wasn't even joking).

Now, I like dried fruit, but I am not really a huge fan of its use in baked goods. Let's face it--dried fruits don't enhance a recipe in the same way fresh fruits do. They do their own thing, which is fine, but to appreciate them you simply have to be in the mood. These fine cherries put me in the mood so I used them today in cream scones. They are so unlike any other dried cherries/berries I've ever tried, that I had to tell you about them.

What's so special about them? Maybe it has to do with their incredible freshness; they were almost juicy, right out of the package. The flavor was just . . . well . . . it was perfection. I think I was momentarily speechless when I tasted them that first time. I probably looked like I'd just opened the door to the Publishers' Clearinghouse Prize Patrol, in dried cherry form. And the fact that they came from Michigan cherry trees deepened my already considerable affection for them. (As you may already know, I'm a born and bred Michigander, and I think there's almost nothing more beautiful than a northern Michigan cherry orchard bursting with crimson fruit. Anyway, before I get further carried away, here's a link to Germack, the Detroit-based company that produces the dried cherries--check it out.)

So, in light of all that, I just had to share this recipe. Besides featuring fantastic cherries, it is my very favorite scone recipe. It hails largely from The Breakfast Book, by Marion Cunningham (whose big claim to fame is the complete revision of the Fannie Farmer Cookbook--no small feat!). Her version contains raisins, apricots, prunes, and/or figs. My version uses cherries only, slightly less butter, and slightly less sugar. These scones can be quickly mixed up by hand, and could be easily assembled in the morning for a nice breakfast. Then again, they are so utterly delicious, feel free to indulge in them no matter what the clock says.

Give these a try-- they won't let you down!


Cream Scones with Sweet Dried Cherries

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

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper.

2 cups All Purpose flour, bleached
1 Tbsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 cup granulated sugar, plus an additional 2 Tbsp. set aside
3/4 cup chopped dried cherries
1 and 1/4 cups heavy cream
2 Tbsp. butter, melted

Combine the flour, baking powder, salt, and sugar in a medium bowl. Mix together with a whisk or fork.

Pour in the dried cherries and mix them in with a fork.


Pour in the cream and combine with dry ingredients still using a fork. Mix until the dough coheres together in a rough shaggy clump.



Dump the dough out onto a lightly floured work surface and knead it about 9 times.--not too much.


Pat the dough into a circle roughly 10" round.


Using a pizza cutter, bench scraper, or a really sharp knife, cut the dough into 12 even wedges. Place the wedges on the parchment covered cookie sheet, about 1" apart.


Using a pastry brush, brush the melted butter on the top of each scone.


Sprinkle the granulated sugar over the top of each one.


Bake for about 12 to 15 minutes; check them early so they don't overbrown. Take them out when they're golden brown. Cool on a rack for a few minutes.

Great served warm, with butter or plain. Store any extra scones in a well covered container, or a Zip-Loc bag. They're definitely best the first day.

And, yes, they are hard hard hard to resist.



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A Plum Galette by any other name is still a Rustic Plum Tart and a Plum Crostata . . .

Call it what you will, a plum galette/rustic tart/crostata is a wondrous marvel of simplicity, constructable by anyone who can wield a rolling pin and slice fruit. Just about any dough that's usable for pie crust will do. Nothing fancy to worry about--no elaborate edge crimping, no lattice weaving, no need to weep bitterly if the dough tears while en route to the baking sheet. It's the miracle dessert. Touch it and you'll be healed. (Okay, not really. Forgive my irreverence. Touch it and you'll just really want to eat it.)

When brevity is the name of the game, make a galette. Grab a portion of pie crust dough that's been at the ready, frozen in your freezer; it will defrost quickly while you're gathering and cutting up your fruit. Scrounge around in your fridge for some nice stone fruit that's eager to be eaten up. Plums, peaches, nectarines, etc. --any of those will work. Throw in a few sweet cherries or berries of some kind for added color if you like. Assuming you have a usable chunk of dough laying around, you can probably get one of these babies into the oven in 20 minutes without breaking a sweat.

For the galette you see pictured, I used a basic pate brisee recipe that I've used before for fruit pies. For one galette, you'll need the equivalent amount of dough that you'd need for a one-crust pie.


Plum Galette (aka Rustic Tart/Crostata)

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

Heat oven to 375 degrees.

About the dough:
Any pie dough recipe you like will probably do fine but here's the one I used. This recipe makes enough for two double-crust pies or four single-crust pies; it's good to be able to grab a package of your own ready-to-use dough from the freezer whenever you need it. This recipe makes enough for four galettes--one now and three in the future! Wahooo!

3 and 1/2 cups AP flour, bleached
1 cup cake flour
1 Tbsp. granulated sugar
1 lb. minus 2 Tbsp. (that's 3 sticks plus 6 Tbsp.) of unsalted butter, cut into smallish cubes and put in the freezer for about one hour
1 and 1/2 tsp. fresh lemon juice
3/4 cup ice water, plus more on hand if needed

Combine the two flours, sugar, and salt in the large bowl of a food processor. Pulse until well combined. (Or, do the whole process below by hand in a big bowl with a pastry blender if you prefer. It'll work just as well.)

Scatter the frozen butter cubes over the top of the flour. Pulse the food processor until the cubes are no smaller than peas.

Slowly add the lemon juice and half the water, pulsing just until combined. Continue adding more water until the dough holds together when you test it by pressing a bit of it in your hand. When the dough seems ready to you, dump it into a large regular bowl, or onto a clean flat surface, so you can gather it all up into a ball.

Divide the ball into four equal parts, and shape each one into a flattened disk. Wrap all of the disks individually in plastic wrap and refrigerate however many of them you plan to use within a day or two; freeze the rest.

For the fruit filling:
Use stone fruit, sliced up into large bite-size pieces (plums, peaches, nectarines, apricots will all work; I used about 7 medium-sized plums, and a handful of dark sweet cherries that had been pitted and cut into quarters) and, if you like, add some sweet berries for added color.

1/2 cup granulated sugar
2 Tbsp. cornstarch
large pinch of salt
1 egg beaten with two teaspoons of cold water
3-4 Tbsp. sanding sugar or granulated sugar (for top of galette)

Mix all of he fruit, sugar, cornstarch and salt together in a large bowl. Set aside.

To assemble the galette:

When your dough is cold and ready to be rolled out, sprinkle flour lightly onto your surface. Roll the dough into a 14" circle. Transfer the rolled dough to a parchment-paper covered baking sheet (or roll the dough out on the parchment to start with, if you like).

Place all of the fruit, and all of its sugary juice, into a pile in the middle of the rolled dough. Leave about 2" of dough as a margin all around. Bring the edges of the dough up around the fruit, bit by bit, "pleating" the dough with your fingers, and squeezing it together at the top as needed so it holds together without falling back down. If any part of it tears, just patch it back together. Remember, it's rustic.

Use a pastry brush to brush the egg mixture onto the crust.

Sprinkle the entire top of the galette generously with sanding sugar or granulated sugar.


Bake the galette in a 375 oven for about 25 minutes or so, until golden brown.

Serve warm or cold, garnished if you like with whipped cream or vanilla ice cream.

So uncomplicated, and yet the end result will amaze and astound. Isn't it nice to simplify? (Henry David Thoreau would be so proud of us. "Simplify, simplify." I'll bet he liked to bake.)


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