Bûche de Noël – Yule Log

IN THE HOLIDAY SPIRIT

Maybe Christmas, the Grinch thought, doesn't come from a store. 

- Dr. Seuss 

Four o’clock in the afternoon and the sky is already darkening towards dusk. Deep into winter, yet Nantes cannot decide what it wants, like a temperamental spoiled woman used to being pampered and coddled. Steely skies and frigid winds morph into a soft breeze and a blaze of sunshine only to flash to rain and glacial, tempestuous winds before you can say “Jack Frost”, before you realize what has happened. Capricious. We are a slave to her moods. We sneak out of the house as the lights outside dim, as the heavens are painted inky black and the streets begin to twinkle and glow in the holiday lights.


Wrapped around each other, we let the cold wind refresh us after staying too long in the warm apartment; wrapped around each other, we bask in the sparkle of the holiday lights and the glow of the holiday spirit, ears straining for the joyous music that seeps out of the shops. Night creeps upon us and we head back home once again to the warmth of inside where we gather together with our sons; the darkness envelops us like a blanket as we sit as a family and debate Christmas. Will we or won’t we? Will the festive, celebratory spirit embrace the household or will Scrooge settle onto the sofa, grab the remote control and grump the holiday away?

And younger son, arms crossed, eyes lowered, harumphs his displeasure. “I thought this was a Jewish home,” he mumbles, obviously not in the Christmas mood. He is a tough nut to crack, hard to pull out of one of his funks, but we are all in a great mood and we know just what to say to get him to crack a smile.

The holiday spirit has won and a menu was settled upon. I dashed to the kitchen and began pulling bags of dried cranberries, chocolate chips, cocoa powder and chestnut cream, flour and eggs from the cupboards and lined them up on the countertop next to my collection of holiday dvds. I was in a festive mood and ready to make cookies, cakes and puddings! Son had offered to bring the apératif, fingerfoods to accompany the chilling bottle of Prosecco in the refrigerator, smoked salmon with herbed crème fraîche on blinis, black olive tapenade on slices of baguette topped with sun-dried tomatoes, wedges of foie gras on dark bread topped with sweet and sour onion compote. Christmas music, Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra and the Andrews Sisters, rang out from husband’s ipad which he had kindly set up for me, baking and singing, merry, indeed.

And of course, JP prepared his Christmas Eve masterpiece, an extra special luxury cheese fondue, a heady blend of cheeses, Gruyère, Emmenthal, bleu de Gex and a bit of Roquefort, white wine and kirsch and a touch of garlic.

And I was in charge of dessert.

I had been asked specifically to prepare a traditional bûche de noël, a yule log. Clem was adamant, nothing else would do! My most untraditional son was taken over by the holiday spirit and demanded a veritable bûche. Yet, when he heard that his father wanted nothing more than something light and fruity to follow such a heavy, rich meal as a cheese fondue, exhorted that I make nothing fancier than homey Apple Crisps, son became relentless in his campaign for a bûche, popping up on my Facebook page

Are you trying to escape from your bûche assignment?? 

My favorite Christmas cookie is BÛCHE! And my favorite movie is BACK TO THE BÛCHE!

Well, he was right. I mean…Apple Crisp? For Christmas dinner? Why not a traditional bûche de noël that had been specifically requested and might just very well have been promised? Or a fancy Chocolate Chip Zuccotto or Chocolate Chestnut Charlotte, each dressed to impress? These rich, showy confections veritably scream Christmas… or Noël, as the case may be. What had I been thinking? And so I defied JP’s wishes and logic and I gave into my son’s, the old Christmas Spirit chasing away my nonchalance and practicality. Tis the season for mirth and joy!

Christmas is doing a little something extra for someone. 

― Charles M. Schulz 

A Bûche de Noël.

Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusions of our childhood days, recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth, and transport the traveler back to his own fireside and quiet home! - Charles Dickens

Follow this link to Plated Stories for our latest posts Frozen, Light and Holiday. All in the seasonal spirit.

AND there are still spaces available at our Plated Stories Workshop being held the last ten days of May in Italy (still time to plan!). The workshop will be dedicated to food writing, food photography and styling, inspiration, ideas and creativity. And there will be fabulous Italian food and visits to many Tuscan cities.

Did you know that I received a wonderful Christmas box from the people at Peeps? Yes, a box full of holiday marshmallow Peeps and I wrote all about it – and how I, after more than 25 years, got a Frenchman with Grinch-like tendencies – to eat and like Peeps! Find it here on Huffington Post!

And in case you missed it, find my story about Rémy Anézo, pigeon breeder extraordinaire, here on Modern Farmer.

Our hearts grow tender with childhood memories and love of kindred, 

and we are better throughout the year for having, in spirit, 

become a child again at Christmas-time. 

― Laura Ingalls Wilder 

Last year's Bûche de Noël

This year's Bûche de Noël

BÛCHE DE NOËL

Please read through the entire recipe – the genoise, the filling and the frosting – so you can best organize and time each step. The genoise will need time to cool rolled up in a cloth and the cream filling needs a bit of time to chill in the refrigerator before assembling the bûche.

For the Rum Sugar Syrup: 

Scant half cup (100 ml) water
Scant 3/8 cup (80 g) sugar
2 - 3 Tbs rum

Place the water with the sugar in a small saucepan and bring to the boil. Let boil for 2 minutes then remove from the heat. Stir in the rum. Set aside to cool to room temperature. Can be made the day before.

For the Genoise:
This is a magnificent genoise for any jellyroll cake any time of the year. Simple to make.

4 large eggs, separated
½ cup (100 g) sugar
½ tsp vanilla
4/5 cup (100 g) flour
Powdered/confectioner’s sugar and a sifter or sieve

Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Line a 15 ½ x 10 ½ x ¾ inch (40 x 27 x 2 cm) jellyroll pan with parchment paper and lightly butter the parchment. Have a clean dishtowel larger than the jellyroll pan as well as a clean flat baking sheet ready.

Separate the eggs, placing the yolks in large mixing bowl and the whites in a very clean medium-sized bowl (I prefer plastic). If you like, add a tiny pinch of salt and 2 drops lemon juice to the whites to help stabilize them. Add the sugar to the yolks and beat with an electric mixer on high until thick, creamy and pale, about 3 minutes. Beat in the vanilla.

Using very clean beaters, beat the whites until peaks hold and the meringue is thick. Fold the whites into the yolk/sugar mixture gently but firmly using a spatula, a third of the whites at a time, alternating with the flour in two or three additions. Do not over mix/fold but do make sure there are no more clumps of whites visible, no more pockets of flour. 

Spread the batter evenly in the parchment-lined jellyroll pan. Bake in the preheated oven for about 15 minutes or until puffed, golden and the cake springs back when lightly pressed.

Remove from the oven. Immediately slide the parchment paper and cake together onto the extra large flat baking sheet. Invert the warm jellyroll pan and place on top of the genoise and, holding both the jellyroll pan and the baking sheet firmly together, flip them over and remove the baking sheet; the top of the genoise is now face down while the parchment paper is up. Peel off the parchment paper. Dust a light layer of powdered sugar all over the genoise and then place the clean dishtowel over the genoise. Once again place the clean baking sheet inverted on the dishtowel-covered cake and, holding the baking sheet and the jellyroll pan firmly together, flip. Remove the jellyroll pan.

You should now have the warm genoise topside up on the clean dishtowel on the clean flat baking sheet. Dust the top of the genoise with a light layer of powder sugar and, starting on a short end of the cake, roll the genoise up – gently but as tightly as possible without crushing or breaking the cake - in the towel (the towel will be rolled up with the cake). Allow to cool completely.

For the Chestnut Mascarpone Cream Filling:

½ cup (125 ml) chilled heavy whipping cream
Scant ½ tsp powdered unflavored gelatin + 2 Tbs cold water
½ cup (125 g) fresh mascarpone cheese
Small can (3.5 oz/100 g) crème de marrons (sweetened chestnut cream) *

* If you do not have crème de marrons, you can simply fold in powdered sugar (not too sweet), chocolate hazelnut spread, a splash of rum or orange liqueur or grated chocolate.

Place the 2 tablespoons cold water in a small saucepan; sprinkle the gelatin over the surface of the water and let sit for 5 minutes to soften the gelatin. Place the pan over a very low heat to warm the water and melt the gelatin – you want to heat the water for about 5 minutes without allowing it to come to a boil or to boil away: allow the water to heat then, holding the pan just off of the flame/heat, swirling and whisking constantly, allow the bit of water to stay heated for long enough to allow the gelatin to melt. After the 5 minutes, remove from the heat and allow to cool for 5 minutes or until barely tepid to the touch.

Beat the heavy cream in a chilled bowl until thick and soft peaks hold. Continue beating as you pour the gelatin water into the heavy cream in a slow stream.

Beat in the mascarpone then the chestnut cream.

Place in the refrigerator to chill for at least an hour to allow the gelatin to add body to the filling.

For the Chocolate Mascarpone Frosting:

2.8 oz (80 g) dark chocolate (70%)
Between 3/8 and ½ cups (100 ml) heavy cream
About 3 Tbs leftover Chestnut Mascarpone Filling or Mascarpone Cheese

Coarsely chop the chocolate and place in a heatproof/Pyrex bowl. Place the cream in a small saucepan and heat just to the boil. Pour the steaming cream over the chocolate, allow to sit for a minute and then stir vigorously with a whisk or spatula until all of the chocolate is melted and the mixture is homogeanous, smooth and thickening. Mixing/whisking occasionally, allow the chocolate ganache to cool and thicken, placing it in the refrigerator for a bit if needed. Once cooled and thickened (or beginning to thicken – it should not harden) beat it with either leftover filling or mascarpone to lighten, just as much as needed and desired. 

Assemble the Bûche:

When the genoise is completely cool, carefully unroll and slide off the dishtowel and onto a clean sheet of parchment paper or work surface. Brush/dab a generous amount of the Rum Syrup all over the genoise, as much or as little as desired – the more one uses, the stronger the rum flavor will be as it infuses the cake and the moister the genoise will become; use at least half of the syrup if not a bit more. Spread the Chestnut Mascarpone Cream Filling evenly over the genoise; I saved about 3 tablespoons to use for the frosting. Starting at the short end of the genoise (the end rolled up first in the towel to cool), roll up the cake as tightly as possible without pressing or rolling so tightly that the cream oozes out (see the photo of my finished cake to see how mine was rolled). When completely rolled, scrape off any filling that has oozed out. Using a sharp or serrated knife, trim off both ends of the bûche to even out the ends. Very carefully, lift the bûche onto the serving platter, placing the seam side down.

At this point, I covered the bûche and the platter with plastic wrap and refrigerated it for an hour or two (the time it took to prepare dinner) to allow the filling to firm up.

Before serving, spread the Chocolate Frosting all over the bûche and decorate as desired.

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Orange (Cointreau) Chiffon Cake

THE ORANGES OF WINTER

An orange on the table, your dress on the rug, 

and you in my bed, 

sweet present of the present, cool of night, warmth of my life. 

– Jacques Prévert 

Growing up in sunny Florida, the Sunshine State, along the Indian River famed for its citrus groves, I am and always have been an orange girl. Winters meant dad’s workbench in the garage groaning under the weight of brown paper grocery bags filled to bursting with navels, tangerines, grapefruits, Valencias and Tangelos. Winters meant trips in the old green station wagon to the groves on a chilly weekend morning where we could pick them ourselves or stopovers at one of the many roadside stands piled high with red, orange or yellow red mesh sacks, my small fingers laced through the netting, the feel of citrus rind smooth yet nubbly and tempting.

Winters meant thumbs pressed into the skin of an orange or a tangerine, the aggressive, fragrant spurt of oil and juice spattering my face and shirtfront as I dug my fingers underneath the skin and pushed back, the peel yielding, giving way to the flesh, juices running down my arms all the way to the elbows. Winters meant eating the golden treats one by one by one by one non-stop until well after the end of the season, until there was no more local fruit to be had.

As summer winds down and fades into autumn, as the stone fruits and berries turn mealy and flavorless and then disappear into a memory, I begin to crave oranges. It is as natural as my craving coffee in the morning and sleep at night, as natural as my craving for a hug and a kind word when I am feeling down. I can smell the citrus before they even show up on the market stands. I can tell by the shape and color of an orange, by the heft as I weigh them in my hand whether or not they are good for the eating or if I need to bide my time, put it off and wait another week or two.

But living far from Florida, I give in too soon and am willing to start my orange season just a tad early when the oranges might still be a bit too tart, not quite sugary sweet enough, the membrane encasing the sections a tad too tough. But with each passing year, I become just that much more impatient for my oranges and need to have them just to appease my thirst, quell my craving. It must be nostalgia.

A man ought to carry himself in the world as an orange tree would if it could walk up and down in the garden, swinging perfume from every little censer it holds up to the air. 

– Henry Ward Beecher 

Winters now mean bundling up in thick wooly socks and fleece sweatshirts, curling up together with the man and the pup on the sofa as the darkness sets in, deep and inky. Winters now mean stews rich with carrots, potatoes, onions and tender chunks of meat in a thick sauce, couscous and tagines, JP spending afternoons standing in the kitchen chopping and stirring. I watch with the excitement of a child as the Christmas lights go up, as that eerie, misty haze falls over the city hinting at future snow against the milky gray sky. This past week itself I have been to two exciting chocolate and pastry events, edited an article that will soon be published and helped my husband organize his trip down to say goodbye to his mother. The sons still fly in and out and all around me in a whirlwind and we realize that life carries on as usual. Well, almost.

Clem and his friend Valentin (of Voyage to Vietnam fame) came round for dinner the other night. Clem had requested cake. Requested, demanded… just a matter of semantics. We had barely finished the Chocolate Rum Chestnut Bundt which had come hot on the heels of the Chocolate Spice Bundt Cake with Black Cherries in Syrup, so it was time for a change from chocolate. I was craving oranges and had wanted to bake an orange cake since I began seeing citrus on the market once again. The autumn chill in the air, the occasional splash of sunshine stirred up sensations of those long ago Florida winters and I knew I had no choice. I found a recipe for an Orange Chiffon Cake in my mother’s old Good Housekeeping Cook Book and decided that something ethereally light and fluffy would be the perfect change. So as JP prepared a beautiful Lamb Curry, I baked.

ORANGE (COINTREAU) CHIFFON CAKE
Adapted from the 1956 edition of Good Housekeeping Cook Book

2 egg yolks, preferably at room temperature
4 egg whites, preferably at room temperature
1 cup + 2 Tbs (150 g) cake flour
¾ cup (150 g) granulated sugar (separate out and reserve 1 Tbs)
1 ½ tsps baking powder
½ tsp salt
¼ cup (60 ml) neutral vegetable oil
Finely grated rind/zest of 1 orange
¼ cup (60 ml) + 2 Tbs total freshly squeezed orange juice –OR- replace 1 – 2 Tbs of the orange juice with Cointreau
¼ tsp vanilla
Pinch of cream of tartar, not more than ¼ tsp or pinch of the salt added to the recipe

Preheat the oven to 325°F (160°C). Have ready a 9-inch x no less than 3 ½-inch deep ungreased tube or Bundt pan.

Separate 4 eggs, placing the whites in a medium mixing bowl, preferable plastic or metal, and reserve 2 of the yolks, saving the 2 leftover yolks in the refrigerator for another recipe. Add the cream of tartare or a few grains of salt to the whites and set aside.

In a large mixing bowl, sift or stir the flour, sugar (less the 1 tablespoon reserved), baking powder, salt and finely grated zest.

Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients and add the vegetable oil, the 2 egg yolks, the orange juice and Cointreau and the vanilla. Beat on low speed until blended and then on medium for another minute until thick and creamy. 

Change or wash the beaters.

Using very clean beaters, beat the whites on low speed for 30 seconds then increase to high speed and beat until thick and opaque; continue beating as you gradually add the reserved tablespoon of sugar. Beat until very stiff: do not underbeat; the whites should be very stiff, more so than for an angel food cake.

Place about a third of the egg whites in the batter and, using a spatula, fold until the whites are blended in and the batter has lightened and the volume increased. Now fold in the whites in 3 more additions, folding lightly but firmly in until well blended.

Pour lightly into the tube or Bundt pan and bake in the preheated oven for 50 – 55 minutes until puffed up and firm when lightly pressed with the fingers. (You would lightly dust the top of the batter with slivered almonds if you desire).

Invert the pan over a cooling rack and allow the cake to cool completely in the pan – upside down.

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Passover Lemon Almond Sponge Cake with Warm Lemon Sauce

PASSOVER

My parents were the model of discreetness. Social, well-known and very involved with our local synagogue, family mealtimes were nonetheless private affairs, the six of us finding ourselves around the dinner table every night without guests, friends, family or company of any sort. The food was plentiful but plain, a mix of Russian Jewish cooking, all-American meat-and-potatoes cuisine and 1970’s convenience foods. The holidays in our home followed form and were low-key and simple, never much hoopla or decoration, rarely a lot of special cooking or baking filling our home with culinary memories.

Passover was the exception. The Jewish festival, joyous in its commemoration of the Jews’ exodus from slavery in Egypt towards the Promised Land, was a treat because we went to celebrate – and eat – at the Rosenberg’s house. Mrs. Rosenberg was the Jewish Mama extraordinaire, overseeing her kosher kitchen and her family with love, tradition, an iron fist and a huge personality. And her cooking was everything that my own mother’s was not: extraordinary and delicious! Her Apple-Noodle Kugel warm from the oven, dense and just sweet with a crisp cinnamon-sugar topping, was my ultimate comfort food; I loved it so much that she made a huge baking pan of it just for me as a special Bat Mitzvah gift! She was a legendary cook in our small Jewish community, so spending Passover at her home was sure to mean a fabulous meal, an event looked forward to eagerly by a happy eater such as I.

A dinner with family and relatives.

The rules concerning what is to be eaten and, more importantly, what cannot be eaten by Jews for the duration of the 8-day festival is extremely strict. Jews are forbidden to eat chometz, any food containing barley, wheat, rye, oats, and spelt. No leavening is allowed. The interdiction of these ingredients symbolizes the fact that the Hebrews had no time to either wait for these five grains to grow or to let their baked bread rise as they made a hurried escape from Egypt. Ashkenazi Jews, whose origins are in Europe, also avoid eating corn, rice, peanuts, and legumes while the Sephardi Jews of Northern Africa and Spain do permit them. The days leading up to the holiday thus consist of an intense and thorough cleaning of one’s home in order to rid even the tiniest trace of each and every one of these foods. Followed, of course, by the cooking and baking of dishes and baked goods specific to and allowed during the holiday.

The first night – and for many the second night as well – of Passover is observed with a very traditional and festive ceremonial meal called a Seder at which the story of the exodus is read aloud. The meal follows a very specific order and is a combination of rituals and symbolic foods; food and the rituals surrounding the preparation and eating of meals are intertwined with each and every Jewish holiday, yet none more so than Passover. The meal, the food placed on the table during the reading of the story and the story itself are woven together and intimately connected. In the center of the table is placed a beautiful, decorative plate holding six symbols necessary to the retelling of the story: maror and chazaret, the bitter herbs, normally horseradish, symbolizing the bitterness and harshness of slavery; zeroa or a roasted lamb shank or bone, symbolizing the Paschal sacrificial lamb that was offered in the great Temple in Jerusalem; charoset, usually a brownish-red mixture of nuts, apples, ground cinnamon and red wine representing the mortar the slaves used to build the Pyramids in Ancient Egypt; karpas such as celery, parsley or lettuce to be dipped into salt water representing the tears of the slaves, the dipping process symbolizing hope and redemption; beitzah, a roasted egg, both a symbol of mourning for the destruction of the Temple as well as a symbol of Spring and thus renewal.

The seventh symbol and the most well-known food of Passover is the matzoh, a special unleavened flatbread of Passover-friendly flour and water which is not only symbolic of our escape from slavery and the 40 years spent wandering through the wilderness, but it is eaten as a reminder of what we were running from, a life of slavery and poverty thus inspiring humility and the true appreciation of our freedom. A plate covered with a decorative cloth holding a stack of three matzot is placed on the Seder table next to the Seder plate, each one playing a very specific role during the meal. And finally, the last symbol, near the Seder plate and the matzoh, is placed Elijah’s cup filled with wine; this is for the Prophet Elijah whose visit is said to precede the coming of the Messiah.

This year, I actually made my own homemade matzoh following this wonderful recipe on Leite’s Culinaria. Easy and quite a lot of fun, it made matzoh, while not looking like the boxed we are used to, was absolutely so delicious that even my men who dislike matzoh with a passion, have been enjoying it immensely! Even if you do not celebrate Passover, these make fabulous crispy, thin crackers perfect for dip!

Mrs. Rosenberg’s holiday meal – her Passover Seder - would invariably begin with a bowl of homemade chicken soup with hand-shaped matzoh balls, always inspiring hours of debate over the quality of firm versus fluffy matzoh balls, followed by her magnificent brisket, a rich, root-vegetable-laden beef stew. The brisket would be served with matzoh farfel kugel, a seasoned savory baked pudding made with crushed matzoh, matzoh meal, onions and eggs as well as green vegetables, mashed potatoes and homemade Kaiser rolls, matzoh meal replacing the flour. Dessert was a traditional Passover sponge cake and a luxurious dried fruit compote, long-simmered prunes, apricots and raisins. A traditional feast filled with traditional foods found on so many Passover tables across the country. We would all joyously sing and laugh throughout the meal, the children waiting impatiently for the search for the Afikomen, the middle matzoh of the stack on the holiday table, which was hidden during the meal by Mr. Rosenberg and inspiring an animated search by the youngsters, the winner receiving a small gift, usually a fifty-cent piece.

Cooking and eating during Passover is a meticulous, studied affair, and many of us go out of our way to prepare special foods. Those Passover meals have left a warm memory and following in Mrs. Rosenberg’s culinary footsteps is never easy. Every year as this holiday approaches, I scour a multitude of cookbooks old and new for Passover-friendly recipes – flour and wheat products, grains and leavening agents are all forbidden. There is no way that I can go eight days without sweets in the house! As my own mother was not a baker, I grew up eating canned coconut macaroons and jelly smeared on matzoh to soothe my sweet tooth. All grown up, I spend quite a bit of time every year researching recipes and baking. This year, I was determined to create a cake that one-ups the old-fashioned, traditional Passover sponge cake, that inimitable standby, that emblematic myth of the holiday. Usually dry. Usually flavorless. A risky choice.

I scoured old cookbooks, played around with a few recipes, found a box of potato flour in my grocery store as I realized that all of my boxes of matzoh meal and matzoh flour had disappeared in the move. I had already made the Lemon Sauce and wanted something to accompany that smooth, luscious, tangy sauce. Lemons, almonds and a splash of vanilla. And I got beating! Egg whites, that is.

The cake was perfect! It rose to dizzying heights! Light and fluffy like a great Passover sponge cake, the ground almonds, nonetheless, produced a sponge denser and moister than average. The lemon and almond flavors were delicate yet present and the beautiful, smooth, tangy Lemon Sauce complimented it all to perfection. Whether for Passover or any other time of the year, this cake deserves a celebration!

Other festive Passover – but not only – sweets from Life’s a Feast:

Chocolate Almond Torte

Strawberry Mascarpone Cheesecake

Chocolate Espresso Pecan Torte

Chocolate Chestnut Fondant (omit the flour)






For more fabulous Passover recipes, visit these favorite blogs: Labna & Food Wanderings

PASSOVER LEMON ALMOND SPONGE CAKE With Warm Lemon Sauce

4 large eggs, separated
1 cup sugar
Finely grated zest and juice from ½ lemon, preferably organic or untreated
¼ tsp vanilla extract
½ cup ground almonds
½ cup potato flour
Pinch salt + few drops lemon juice for whites
Handful slivered blanched almonds to decorate, optional

Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C). Have ready a springform pan – I used a 7 ¼ inch-diameter x 4 inch-high springform but a regular 8-inch pan is fine, too.

Separate the eggs; place the yolks in a large mixing bowl and the whites in a medium bowl, preferably plastic or metal. Add a pinch salt and a few drops lemon juice to the whites and set aside.

Using an electric mixer, beat the egg yolks for a couple of minutes until thick and pale. Add the sugar and continue beating until thick and creamy. Beat in the zest and juice of ½ a lemon and the vanilla extract until well blended and thick. Quickly beat in the ground almonds.

Using very clean beaters, beat the egg whites on low speed for 30 seconds, then increase the speed to high; beat the whites until thick, glossy and peaks hold. Do not overbeat until the whites are dry. Using a spatula, gently but firmly fold the stiff whites into the lemon almond cake batter in 3 additions. Fold in the potato flour with the third addition of the whites in order to avoid overworking the batter. Fold in the whites just until all the lumps of white have disappeared.

Gently pour the batter into the springform pan. Dust with a couple of tablespoons slivered almonds.

Bake in the preheated oven 30 – 45 minutes, depending on your oven and pan size. The cake is done when puffed, set and golden. Gently press on the top of the cake and it should feel set, much like an angel or sponge cake. A tester inserted in the center should come out dry.

Remove the pan from the oven onto a cooling rack and allow to cool before unmolding. Carefully run a long, thin blade around the sides to loosen the cake while still warm.

Serve the Lemon Almond Cake with Warm Lemon Sauce.

WARM LEMON SAUCE

2 cups water
1 cup sugar
Finely grated zest and juice from 1 lemon, preferably organic or untreated
2 Tbs cornstarch or potato starch (for Passover)
2 Tbs butter, cubed and softened 

Bring the water to a boil.

Sift the cornstarch or potato starch into the sugar in a medium heatproof bowl and stir. Whisk in the boiling water then, when smooth, return to the pan and continue cooking over low heat, whisking or stirring, for 8 to 10 minutes until thickened to the consistency of a sauce. Whisk in the lemon zest and juice. Remove from the heat and whisk in the butter a cube at a time until the buttered is melted and incorporated and the mixture is smooth. Strain through a mesh strainer if necessary. Store in a jar in the refrigerator; to reheat, simply put the gelled sauce in a saucepan and heat very gently over low, stirring or whisking constantly, until pouring consistency (not too runny) and warm. Strain.

Serve warm.

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Chocolate Orange Sponge Cake

Darkness and Light

A lonely person in the middle of a forest. 

– Henning Mankell in The return of the Dancing Master 

 I stare into my own eyes, at my own face, skin sallow under the glare of lights much too harsh. Age runs her silver fingers through my hair, mocking my every attempt at feigning less years than I actually own. My eyes slide across the stage behind me; men and women scurry about like rats forever chasing after some elusive deed in the simple act of looking busy, following the same old unwritten script they must follow every morning of the year. Poor souls. Those lights with their neon violence bounce off of every surface making the outside pewter gray even drearier yet somehow luminous in its natural softness; the stillness outside more infused with life and light than the living brightness inside.

Early morning haircut, settled into the deep faux-leather chair waiting for someone to come and yank, pull, tug; neck bent back in an unnatural position until the ache is too much to bear, water hot, cold, tepid awakening me from my trance. I leave feeling lighter, a sparkle of elation even as the skies above are drained of their own brilliant light. Where is the darkness that follows me about like a faithful dog at my heels or a secret admirer, always two steps behind?

Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. 

No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness 

has always got there first, and is waiting for it. 

– Terry Pratchett 

I fell asleep in darkness and woke in darkness. The skies pale, a brooding mist hangs from the discolored clouds, and blends with my mood; anger, self-doubt, haunting sadness. This darkness comes and goes without heed to the time of day, with no care as to the cast of the sky. The color black or shades of gray in brushstrokes across my soul. Days monotonous, skies the same monochrome as my spirit. I drag my body from my bed, stumble bleary-eyed, weary into the kitchen to begin my day. Coffee, rolls, jelly cold and sharp. The radio shouting wars and political battles broken only by the aggressive onslaught of music or fervently grinning announcers. I focus on the pages of a paperback and concentrate on the words, the story. Husband pokes me in the ribs, dog bounces around my feet, urging me to pay attention, making me smile. Yes, I can do this. Again. One more day.

A tale of darkness dwelling deep inside, a story of ghosts illuminated, transparent, intangible, as persistent as the devil. Unromantic darkness wrapped around me like clothing, or like a shard of glass buried under my skin. Light when it materializes comes from somewhere else. A sudden thought, a kind word, the face of a friend. My spirit, that eternal eddy of darkness, has a talent to suck the light, drain the skies of even the most minor hint of vibrancy. If I allow it. Sometimes it is easier, less energy, less effort to simply fall backwards into the abyss. We each of us allow ourselves to be lured by the simple luxury of waves of sadness or worry lapping softly, rhythmically against our ankles and miring us in the muck of our lives. Until a sliver of light pierces the surface.

When it is dark enough, you can see the stars. 

– Charles Austin Beard 

And I bake. The darkness of chocolate, a shower of cocoa like earth sliding through a sieve. Egg whites whipped and beaten, thick, thicker, opaque phantoms unwilling to blend easily, putting up a fight, continually bobbing to the surface, imposing themselves. And the light. Bright like a Florida winter sky, radiating a clear, chilly warmth. Oranges. In this season of darkness, we crave the dense, the heavy, the rich. Yet break the spell with something light, moist, ethereal. A sponge cake. The heavenly darkness of chocolate to soothe the soul brightened with the essence of orange to lift the spirit.

Chocolate Orange Sponge Cake

1 ¼ cups flour
¼ cup cocoa powder
1 tsp baking powder
Scant ½ tsp salt and a small pinch for the egg whites
6 large eggs, separated
1 ¼ cups sugar
¼ cup cold water *
¼ cup freshly squeezed orange juice *
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 tsp orange extract (I use Nielsen-Massey) or 1 tsp finely grated orange zest
Couple of drops lemon juice for the whites, optional

* For a slightly stronger orange flavor, use ½ cup freshly squeezed orange juice in all, and no water.

Preheat the oven to 325°F (160°C). Have ready an ungreased 10-inch tube pan with removable tube.

Sift the flour, cocoa powder, baking powder and salt into a small bowl; stir or whisk to blend. Set aside.

Measure out the orange juice and the water. Replace the water with more orange juice for a more pronounced orange flavor.

Separate the eggs. Place the whites in a mixing bowl (plastic is preferable to glass); add a few grains of salt and a drop or two lemon juice to help stabilize the whites. Place the egg yolks in a large mixing bowl.

Beat the yolks with an electric beater on high speed until thick and pale. Add the sugar and continue beating until very thick and creamy. Beat in the vanilla and orange extracts.

Add the dry ingredients to the yolk/sugar mixture in three additions, alternating with the cold water in two additions, beating after each addition until blended, scraping down the sides as necessary.

Beat the whites on high speed (start on low speed for 30 seconds, then work up to medium then high speed) until very dense and stiff peaks hold.

Delicately fold the whites into the cake batter: begin by folding in about a third of the whites in order to lighten the heavy batter so as not to “break” the whites (knock out the air). Then fold in another third, then the final third. Make sure there are no pockets or lumps of whites left yet try not to overmix the batter.

Pour into an ungreased 10-inch tube pan and bake in the preheated oven for 55 - 60 minutes until set. Press very lightly on the surface of the cake; if the indentations remain and if the cake “hisses” when pressed – as if the batter is still a mousse and not yet set - then allow the cake to bake for an extra few minutes.

Cool inverted. Once the cake is cool, run a long-bladed knife or cake spatula around the sides and around the center tube to loosen. Lift the tube and cake out from the outer pan. Run a knife carefully underneath the cake to loosen from the bottom of the cake pan all around. Very carefully turn over, lift out the center tube, then upright onto a serving platter.

Serve dusted simply with powdered sugar or drizzle with a chocolate ganache. To intensify the orange flavor, use an orange scented chocolate (such as Lindt Excellence Orange Intense) to make the ganache.

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VANILLA BEAN CINNAMON SPONGE BIRTHDAY CAKE

Writing … frees us from the mass identity we see in the making all around us. 

In the end, writers will write not to be outlaw heroes of some underculture 

but mainly to save themselves, to survive as individuals. 

– Don Delillo 

Salty, sour, bitter, sweet projects lined up on my desktop, teasing, taunting, mocking my laziness, the disorganization of my muddled mind, the disarray of my life. One story down, how many to go? Another birthday come and gone in the madness that is our life with nary a cake in sight. As I get older, I wonder if I get wiser or just crazier. But one thing I do know and can swear by; the more work that piles up on my desk, the more deadlines close in, menacing with their drawn claws and bared teeth, the more I am stimulated, the better and faster I write. I feel like Mike Mulligan and his trusty old steam shovel Mary Anne.

Meanwhile, I spend my days at my desk weaving tales, yet no time for my lonesome little blog. I shut down social media and close myself in a bubble of words and visions. Topics historical, political, personal crowd together, elbowing each other for space, surging forward to be the first out of my fingertips and onto a virgin page.

I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, 

what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means. 

– Joan Didion 

Yet, yet, I finally had the time to bake my birthday cake; better late than never. The day after, I began pulling out flour and sugar, cinnamon and my box of fragrant vanilla beans, stacking them all up on the counter under my kitchen window. As the hours flew by, and then another day, I would occasionally pause in between words, sentences, paragraphs and forage in the cupboard for one more thing I had forgotten, bars of chocolate, baking soda and cocoa powder. A box of heavy whipping cream. Ah, yes, the jar of jimmies, the chocolate sprinkles. I rifled among the pots and kitchen equipment and found my round layer cake tins and added them to the increasing mountain of supplies on the countertop. And then son appeared.

“Will you bake a chocolate layer cake for a friend’s birthday party tonight? I’m invited and offered to bring a cake.”

Well, am I simply a nice mother willing to bend over backwards to help my child? Or am I just thrilled when one of my sons asks for something homemade? Tickled pink that they are proud enough of my baked goods to bring them to friends, no matter how often they themselves spurn a slice of cake or a cookie themselves? My son coming home after the party and telling me that the cake was eaten in seconds flat, that the birthday girl, when asked a day or two later how the party went could only repeat over and over again “You missed an awesome cake!” is reward enough.

And so a day later, I finally made mine. It has been ages since I made this wonderful sponge and knew that I wanted to flavor it with seeds from a vanilla bean rather than the usual liquid extract and a dash of cinnamon. I paired it with my son’s favorite Simple Chocolate Buttercream and with a drizzle of Orange-Chocolate Ganache. But as I found the sponge too delicate for the buttercream, I will make it again and sandwich the layers with stabilized (a bit of gelatin) whipped cream, the whole topped with the ganache glaze. And I also think that this perfect sponge would make a wonderful 3-layer cake instead of two.
 

Writing is my way of reaffirming my own existence. 

– Gao Xingjian 

 

VANILLA BEAN CINNAMON SPONGE LAYERS
This is a classic sponge, light and ethereal, to which I have added the seeds from one vanilla pod/bean and a dash of cinnamon which I know will work so well with the chocolate and orange of the buttercream frosting and the orange-chocolate ganache.

3 Tbs milk
2 Tbs (30 g) unsalted butter
¾ cup (150 g) sugar
1 vanilla bean or ½ tsp liquid vanilla extract
3/4 cup (95 g) flour, lightly spooned into measuring cups and leveled
1 tsp baking powder
¼ tsp salt
½ tsp ground cinnamon, optional
5 large eggs
A few grains of salt + drop or two of lemon juice to stabilize whites

Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C). Butter and line two 8-inch (23 cm) round cake tins (measure along the bottom of the tin) with parchment paper.

Prepare the ingredients:

Place the butter and the milk in a small saucepan. Over very low heat, gently warm the milk and butter until the butter is almost but not completely melted. Remove from the heat and swirl the pan until the butter is completely melted. Set aside to cool slightly.

Measure or weigh out the sugar into a small bowl.

In another small bowl, measure or weigh out the flour, baking powder, salt and cinnamon and stir together.

Using a small, sharp knife, slice the vanilla bean down the center and scrape out the seeds.

Separate 3 of the eggs, placing the 3 yolks in a large mixing bowl. Add the 2 remaining whole eggs to the 3 yolks in the large mixing bowl. Place the 3 whites in a small to medium mixing bowl, large enough to hold the yolks when beat into a meringue. Add a few grains salt and a drop or two of lemon to the whites.

Make the cake:

With an electric mixer, beat the 2 whole eggs and the 3 yolks together with 6 tablespoons of the sugar and the seeds from the vanilla bean on high speed, for 4 to 5 minutes until the batter is very thick, light and fluffy and the batter drops off in a slow ribbon when the beaters are lifted. Beat in the vanilla if using the extract.

Using very clean beaters (wash the beaters if you only have one pair), whip the egg whites on low speed for 30 second, then increase the speed to high and continue beating until foamy. Once the whites go from foamy to opaque, gradually begin adding the remaining sugar about a teaspoon at a time. Beat until all the sugar has been added and the meringue is thick and glossy and soft, moist, shiny peaks hold.

Gently fold in a third of the creamy egg white meringue into the cake batter to lighten it, then fold in the remaining beaten whites in two more additions. Sift or spoon half the flour mixture over the batter and gently fold it in before adding the remaining flour and folding in just until incorporated, making sure that no pockets of dry ingredients have formed. Do not over mix.

Make a well on one side of the batter and pour the warm melted butter/milk mixture into the bowl. Gently but thoroughly fold this mixture into the batter. Again, do not over mix.

Divide the batter between the 2 prepared pans, gently smoothing the tops. Bake for about 20 minutes, until the top is light brown and springs back when gently touched in the center. Remove the pans from the oven onto cooling racks and immediately and carefully run a shapr knife around the edges to loosen the cakes from the sides of the pans; this will keep the cakes from ripping as they cool and shrink slightly. Invert the cakes onto wire cooling racks, pull off the parchment paper then invert back, right side up, onto the racks and allow to cool completely before frosting.

SIMPLE & EASY CHOCOLATE BUTTERCREAM FROSTING

12 ounces (350 grams) powdered/confectioner’s sugar
8 ½ tablespoons (120 grams) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
1.76 oz or scant 7 Tbs (50 grams) unsweetened cocoa powder
4 tablespoons very hot water

Using an electric hand mixer, cream the butter and the powdered sugar until light and fluffy. Add the cocoa powder and the hot water and beat, scraping down the sides as necessary, until well blended and fluffy.

ORANGE CHOCOLATE GANACHE DRIZZLE
Once the cake is decorated, save the remaining ganache to spoon over ice cream or even chill and form into truffles or use in the center of molten lava cakes.

Orange Chocolate Ganache (this recipe can easily be halved):
3.5 oz (100 g) Lindt Excellence Orange Intense or equivalent orange-scented 70% dark chocolate
½ cup (125 ml) heavy cream

Chop the chocolate and place in a small heatproof bowl. Bring the cream just to the boil and pour over the chopped chocolate. Stir until the chocolate is completely melted and the ganache well blended, smooth and creamy. Leave to thicken at room temperature, stirring occasionally, until drizzling consistency. If you like, allow to get very thick and then thin with a bit of Cointreau.

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VEGETABLE RISOTTO & CHOCOLATE SPONGE CAKE

OFF TO MARKET WE GO


Our final day in Lyon. We woke up to sunshine pouring in between the cracks in the curtains and rolled out of bed and down to the dining room for breakfast. Over coffee, orange juice and our newspapers, we discussed the only one must-do-today on our list before heading off to Annecy: the market. And not just any market. Les Halles de Lyon Paul Bocuse, the nec plus ultra of this city’s markets, the Mecca for gourmets and gourmands alike. We had seen the rest of the city, the archeology museum and the old Roman ruins, the bourgeois luxury of Centreville, we had eaten in the bouchons and wandered in and out of traboules, we basked in the atmosphere of this old, glorious city and now we had a full morning for discovering Les Halles.


You see, we are market fiends. Wherever we travel, whether small town, country village or cosmopolitan metropolis, we search out the market: sprawling across a paved parking lot, tiny booths gathered in the town square or multi-storied covered complex, we are drawn as moths to a flame. We collect markets as others collect stamps or coins, with the same glee as teens collect autographs, the same satisfaction with which vamps collect broken hearts. While other tourists are sitting in sidewalk cafes or searching out the famous monuments, we, camera in hand, are heading towards the market.

Budapest, Bilbao or Brest, we adore meandering the alleyways, discovering the unusual ingredients, the local specialties. Most of our summer in the tiny, picturesque port town of Le Conquet on the Brittany coast was spent wandering in and out of the noisy market stalls, buying scoops of bigorneaux, bulots, huge, plump crabs right out of the ocean. Throwing in a sweet kouign amann or slices of dense, prune-studded far we had for the perfect meal. The vast three-story Central Market in Budapest, vibrant and full of fabulous treasures, was as exciting an attractions as the gorgeous, jewel box of an Opera House where we heard Mozart’s Cosi Fan Tutte, entranced, or the Old World Tea Salons with their velvet chairs, gilded fixtures, carpeted floors, the rich, thick slices of Dobos Torte and cherry tart eaten amid the ghosts of aristocrats past. Our final day in Bilbao, that glorious city of Basque cuisine and contemporary art, was spent at the Ensanche Market in the old part of town, staring at slices of blood red cured meats, chains of sausages, delicate powdered sugar cookies inviting us from behind their glass windows. Markets. We simply can never get enough.

So is it any wonder that our last, our final morning in the glorious, gastronomic city of Lyon was spent at the Les Halles Paul Bocuse, the wonderful enclosed marketplace? Nothing is left of the original mid-19th century Les Halles des Cordeliers, the covered market built to regroup many of the cities fast-disappearing markets. The modern glass building now the home of just under 60 commerçants and restaurants was finished in the early 70s and has evolved into the haut lieu of la gastronomie lyonnaise, rather surprising when one steps into the glass and cement building. If one doesn’t take too close a look at the stalls, if one only glances around at the basic lines, walls, floors, ceilings, bathrooms, one could easily imagine that one is standing in an average American high school gymnasium!

But begin your voyage… wander up and down the alleys, the multitude of alleys, it seems to go on forever, take that first, quick glance at the elegant glass cases filled with perfect rounds of every imaginable type of cheese sitting in picture-perfect straw baskets, the rows upon rows of marinated vegetables, olives, salads, perfectly aligned sardines glistening in their tiny individual containers, the urchins, shrimps, clams, crabs, the garnet red meats, raw, cured and smoked, stacked up or spread out in mouthwatering temptation, the huge bunches of sausages dangling from shiny aluminum racks like so many ballgowned debutantes waiting for the next dance. And the pastries, luscious, amazingly intricate, graciously decorated pastries sitting proudly, flaunting their beauty, trying to outshine the perfect little chocolates nestled in rows beside them.


I want one of everything! JP pulls me over after our first run through and sits me down on a bar stool and orders us coffees. It is too early for lunch and a snack he won’t hear of! He has his heart set on escargots and he is loathe to ruin his appetite, and as guardian of mine, he will not let me fill up on anything before that plate of steaming, fragrant snails is set before me, the better to savor every single mouthful.


Coffee cup drained, I leave JP to his newspaper purloined from the barman and stroll back and forth between the merchants, snapping pictures, pressing my nose against the panes of glass as I oooh and ahhhh over each luscious delicacy, each perfect pastry, breath in the heady, briny odor of seafood, the pungency of the cheeses, the spicy scent of the sausages. He finally joins me and pulls me away from my overzealous admiration and informs me that we must choose the best place to eat lunch. We walk back and forth between the tiny restaurants hidden behind bars and seafood displays, read menu after menu as he tries to remember what he has read about each spot. We find ourselves in front of La Maison Rousseau, all wood paneling, brass railings and an air of the sea, le marin, about it. It looks promising but it is still too early, no diners with plates piled high with seafood or sipping bowls of steaming bouillabaisse to inform us. But he believes he has heard great things of this restaurant from friends so in we go.


Giggling and excited like kids expecting a surprise, we order our escargots and a glass of chilled white wine apiece. The much-awaited plates are finally placed before us and the heavenly, divine, fragrant garlic-infused steam rises and coils up around our heads making us giddy. Each plump, chewy snail is tucked inside his own golden swirl of a shell, bathing in the rich buttery jus, le beurre d’escargots, the garlicky, parsley green butter created for these babies, a perfect marriage. We delicately scoop out each thick snail careful to avoid being spit on by boiling butter, and slide it onto our tongue. Soft pieces of freshly baked bread are used to soak up more of the golden green liquid and are popped into our mouth. The chilled, slightly pungent bite of the wine is cool respite from the zesty, rich, sinful flavor of the snails. This is truly our idea of decadence!


And what more perfect way to end our wonderful few days in this magical city?

Here are two wonderful recipes, true comfort food in my home, a way to cleanse the system after indulging in richer, heavier more decadent fare. The perfect, flavorful risotto made with a seasonal selection of vegetables, some steamed, some roasted, some sautéed. And finished off with a handful of freshly grated, tangy, salty Parmesan cheese. And follow it with a slice of one of my favorite cakes, a light, tender chocolate sponge cake, the perfect backdrop for a dollop of freshly whipped cream, one perfect scoop of your favorite ice cream or sorbet or simply served with a tumble of berries. Or plain, just as it is, with coffee for breakfast the next day.


VEGETABLE RISOTTO

9 oz (250 g) round rice for risotto, Arborio, Vialone Nano or Carnaroli
@ 5 cups (1 ½ l) warm chicken or vegetable stock
2 shallots, finely diced
1 small to medium-sized carrot, trimmed, peeled and finely diced
1 red pepper
1 zucchini
½ bunch thin green asparagus
½ cup of oil-packed sun-dried tomatoes, drained and patted with a paper towel then sliced into strips
½ tsp chopped dried thyme leaves and 1/4 tsp chopped dried rosemary
2 Tbs freshly chopped flat leaf parsley
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Butter or margarine and olive oil
½ cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese or more to taste + to serve

Trim the asparagus and cook in salted boiling water for 3 – 5 minutes until tender but not mushy. They can be slightly crunchy if you prefer. Drain and rinse under cold water then pat dry. Slice into 1-inch long (2 cm) chunks and set aside.

Trim and seed the red pepper and cut into 6 or 8 chunks and roast in the oven under the grill until charred and tender. Remove from the oven and slip the roasted slices of pepper into a small plastic sandwich bag and leave for just a few minutes: the heat will condense and the moisture will get under the skin and make slipping off the skin easier. Remove from the sandwich bag and, using a sharp paring knife, slip off the skin. Cut the tender pepper “meat” into largish bite- sized pieces. Put aside.

Trim and cut the zucchini into large dice. Place a tablespoon of olive oil and a knob of margarine in a large skillet. When the oil is hot, add the zucchini dice and, tossing often, sauté until browned. Remove from the pan and add about 2 tablespoons butter or margarine and an equal amount of olive oil. When the butter is melted, add the diced shallots and carrot and, tossing and stirring, cook until softened.

Add the rice and stir so all of the rice is coated with oil. Cook for a few minutes, stirring constantly, until the rice is translucent. Add the strips of sun-dried tomatoes. Now begin adding the warm stock, 2 ladles at a time, stirring the rice up from the bottom. As soon as the rice has absorbed almost all of the stock, add another 2 ladles and continue cooking, stirring constantly.

After about 15 minutes, add the zucchini and the herbs and continue cooking. After an additional 5 minutes gently stir in the red pepper and the asparagus pieces. Continue to cook until the rice is very tender and creamy, adding more stock as needed until the rice is perfect risotto consistency: creamy not al dente.

Remove the risotto from the heat and stir in about ½ cup of freshly grated Parmesan cheese or more or less to taste. If you like your risotto creamier and richer, simply stir in 2 tablespoons of butter or margarine until melted and well blended.

Serve hot with a bowl of extra grated Parmesan on the side.


This is a year-round dish and you can use any seasonal vegetables. Either pre-roast, sauté or steam your vegetables or add at the beginning of the recipe so they can cook at the same time as the rice.

PERFECT CHOCOLATE SPONGE CAKE


1 1/4 cups flour
1/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
6 eggs, separated, preferably at room temperature
1 1/4 cups sugar
1/2 cup cold water
2 teaspoons vanilla extract

Preheat the oven to 325°F (160°C).

In a small bowl, blend the flour, cocoa powder, baking powder and salt.

Separate the eggs. Place the whites in a mixing bowl (plastic is better than glass for beating whites) with either 3/4 teaspoon cream of tartar or, as I do, a few grains of salt and 1 or 2 drops of lemon juice. Either will stabilize your whites. Set aside.

Put the yolks in a very large mixing bowl. Beat them with an electric beater on high speed for a few minutes until very thick and pale yellow. Add the sugar gradually and continue beating for another couple of minutes. It should be pale and very thick.

Add the dry ingredients to the yolk/sugar mixture, alternating with the cold water and vanilla (dry-wet-dry-wet-dry), beating after each addition until blended, scraping down the sides as necessary.

Beat the whites until stiff peaks hold (you can reserve a couple of tablespoons of the sugar and add them gradually to the whites towards the end, after soft peaks start forming. This will really stiffen the whites).

Delicately fold the whites into the cake batter: begin by folding in about a third of the whites in order to lighten the heavy batter so as not to “break” the whites (knock out the air). Then fold in another third, then the final third. Don’t overdo it or, again, you will knock out too much air.

Pour into an ungreased 10-inch tube pan (preferably with removable bottom). Bake in the preheated oven for 55 - 60 minutes until set. If you think it is done, if the cake is risen high and seems baked through simply press the top very lightly. If you hear a foamy sound – don’t worry, if your hear or feel that foamy sensation you will know it – simply let the cake bake for another couple of minutes. If the cake is not perfectly baked through it risks falling as it cools. Cool inverted before carefully lifting the center ring out of the pan then loosening and lifting the cake (with help!) off of the bottom and placing on a serving plate.

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