Tag: cakes

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Queen Cakes

In cake aristocracy, we have the Lady Baltimore (His Lordship has one, too), the Regent, the Prince of Wales, and of course King Cakes. Then there are Queen Cakes, somewhat larger than cupcakes, which are traditionally baked in ribbed “patty-pans,” which modern-day paper cupcake liners faithfully replicate.

The recipe is like a pound cake’s, but an essential traditional ingredient is currents. Currants were popular in this country up until the early 20th century when their production and shipment were banned under federal law in 1911 because the plants were unjustly tagged as vectors for a timber blight. The ban was later relegated to local jurisdictions, but it’s unlikely you’ll find currants–fresh, frozen, or dried–in markets. You might find  Zante currants, which are actually dried seedless grapes, which on most days I call raisins. Me, I cut to the chase and use Sun-Maid.

Queen Cakes

Cream 2 cups softened butter with 2 cups sugar, then beat in 8 eggs one at a time. Mix the batter very well, then add a teaspoon vanilla; a half teaspoon mace, and 2 tablespoons brandy or rosewater are traditional, but optional. Sift a teaspoon baking powder with 4 cups cake flour. Mix very well until stiff, but not dry.  Add your “currants” liberally, but toss them with a bit of corn starch first, since they tend to clump. Use softened butter to grease your “patty-pans” (cupcake pans to us commoners) and paper liners. Fill cups a little over half-way with batter, and bake at 350 on the middle rack until golden and springy. Allow to cool completely before removing from pans. Feel free to top with royal icing.

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Buttermilk Gingerbread

Cream a stick of softened unsalted butter with a half cup of light brown sugar. Beat until fluffy. Mix well with two beaten eggs and a half cup of sorghum molasses. Sift one and a half cups of flour with a half teaspoon of baking soda, a heaping tablespoon of ground ginger, and a teaspoon of each of cinnamon and ground cloves. Blend into butter with a half cup buttermilk. Mix very well and pour into a buttered loaf pan. Bake at 350 for about an hour, until the loaf pulls from the edges.

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Our State Cake

It should come as no surprise to any of you that most states in our Union actually have official state foods, and it should be equally unsurprising that most are desserts.

Official state foods include Lane Cake, the State Dessert of Alabama, as well as the comparably famous Smith Island Cake, which is that of Maryland. Utah has a State Snack Food (Jell-O!?), and it’s quite telling that the State Snack of Texas is tortilla chips and salsa while that of New York is yogurt. California has all of four State Nuts (almond, pecan, walnut, and pistachio). By my reckoning, Oklahoma has won the state food contest hands down by officiating a State Meal: Chicken-fried steak, barbecued pork, fried okra, squash, cornbread, grits, corn, sausage with biscuits and gravy, black-eyed peas, strawberries, and pecan pie.

Unofficial state foods are often the subject articles assigned to some junior editor for filler/fodder in any given dozens of click-bait slide shows. On any given one of these fluff pieces, you’ll inevitably find a Mississippi mud cake, which is not our official state cake. In fact, unless you count large mouth bass, oysters, white tailed deer, or wood ducks, Mississippi doesn’t have a state food.

Mississippi mud cake is more fudge or a brownie than a cake, and that’s likely how it began, but around fifty years ago in the 70s when all sorts of craziness was going on (yes, I was there), marshmallows—inexplicably and unnecessarily—were introduced, likely because the resulting swirls are reminiscent of currents and eddies. Me, I think marshmallows are a vile alteration, and Australians seem to agree, since the Aussie mud cake—no, they do not call it Murrumbidgee mud cake—is marshmallow-free and smooth as silt.

One icon deserves another, so here’s Tammy Wynette’s recipe for Mississippi mud cake, which she says was taught to her by her mother, Mildred Lee.

2 sticks melted butter
4 eggs, slightly beaten
1 ½ cups plain flour
1 ½ cups pecans, chopped
½ cup cocoa
2 cups sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
½ teaspoon salt
Mix together sugar, cocoa, and butter and eggs. Add flour, pecans, vanilla and salt to above. Bake 35 minutes at 350 degrees in a greased 9×13 oblong pan.
Topping:
Cover with miniature marshmallows and return to oven to melt.
Cream:
½ cup milk
1/3 cup cocoa
1 stick melted butter
1 box powdered sugar
Sift cocoa and powdered sugar, add milk and butter. Mix until smooth, then put on top of cake.

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Deconstructing White Fruitcake

Over the years, much has been made of Eudora Welty’s white fruitcake which she first mentions in her introduction to The Jackson Cookbook, published by the Jackson Symphony League in January 1971. Welty writes:

I daresay any fine recipe used in Jackson could be attributed to a local lady, or her mother—Mrs. Cabell’s Pecans, Mrs. Wright’s Cocoons, Mrs. Lyell’s Lemon Dessert. Recipes, in the first place, had to be imparted—there was something oracular in the transaction—and however often they were made after that by others, they kept their right names. I make Mrs. Mosal’s White  Fruitcake every Christmas, having got it from my mother, who got it from Mrs. Mosal.”

A predominant theme of Southern literature—indeed, of Southern life itself—is the past as a vital, influential narrative. Welty herself called memory “a living thing.” Our minds recapture memories to bring color, shape, and voice to our past; we are galleries of ghosts. Sometimes our past is hidden beyond the reach of reason in some object or sensation that will return to mind the faces and voices of former times. Welty affirms this process of evoking the past in saying, “I often think to make a friend’s fine recipe is to celebrate her once more.” Recipes such as those in The Jackson Cookbook, for Welty and her contemporaries, became keys to a still-vibrant communal past.

“Mrs. Mosal” was Marie Antoinette (her friends called her Toni . . .) Mosal (née Alexander). Born in Hill, Texas, attended Centenary College in Louisiana, where she might likely have met her husband, John Mosal, Sr. In time, John Mosal became president of the Jackson Foundry and Machine Company, whose iconic mill-type building still stands at 300 West South Street.

Oddly enough, The Jackson Cookbook itself does not contain Mrs. Mosal’s recipe, but rather one from “Mrs. D.I. Meredith,” whose daughter Shirley was Welty’s classmate at Central High, and whose husband was a manager at the original McRae’s Department Store cattycorner from the Governor’s Mansion on the corner of N. West and N. Congress Streets.

MRS. MOSAL’S WHITE FRUIT CAKE

Cream 3 sticks of softened butter with 2 cups of sugar. Gradually beat in 6 whole eggs, a half cup of whiskey and 2 tablespoons pure vanilla extract. In a separate bowl combine 3 cups flour sifted with 2 tablespoons baking powder. In another bowl, mix 1 pound chopped candied fruit (pineapple and cherries), 1 pound chopped nuts (pecans, walnuts, or a blend), and a cup of flour. Add dry ingredients to creamed butter, then fruit and nut blend. Mix very, very well. Pour batter into a lightly greased and floured tube pan or 2 loaf pans (my recommendation). Bake at 325 for 90 minutes; tent with foil for the last 30 minutes. Serves 16.

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Skillet Upside Down Cake

Oil and line a 9″ skillet with parchment paper. Drizzle in 1/4 cup melted butter, and layer with sliced pineapple and cherries. Sprinkle chaotically with light brown sugar. Pour in vanilla-flavored sponge cake batter and bake until sides have pulled in from the pan. Cool well before inverting on a plate. Refrigerate before slicing and serving.

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The Rainbow Cake

Jake saw an image of a rainbow cake somewhere and just had to make one. It wasn’t even called a rainbow cake in any sort of caption; it was just a random image on a blog somewhere, but he found it beautiful, and I did, too.

But when he said he wanted to make one, well, I kinda tingled in my toes. You’d never know it, but Jake is color-blind. I’m not sure how extensive it is, and he’s not either, but when he pointed to that gorgeous slice of multi-colored cake on the monitor and said he wanted to make it, I offered to help.

It was the least I could do.

Since this was such an experimental venture, we used a commercial white cake mix and a canned icing; after all, our objective was drag queen appearance over substance. The most indispensable element of the project was two (count ‘em, two!) boxes of McCormick’s assorted food coloring and egg dye. Each box has formulas for achieving eight colors (red, yellow, green and blue as well as pretty purple, orange sunset, teal, mint green and dusty rose).

We used two boxes of cake mix, split the batter into six equal amounts and then colored each bowl of batter. Because there was less batter per baking pan, oven time was reduced by about half.

Jake wanted to arrange the layers to his own satisfaction, but I told him that while that might be interesting, it might be better on this effort for us to stick to Roy G. Biv (less the “i” I think). After a brief discussion, the pans were numbered and labeled. Once cooled, we assembled the cake. It sat overnight in a white icing.

A few friends came over the next day, and with the first slice, everyone went “Ooo . . ! “ and we just grinned.

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Compromise Cake

One of my friends who has an eye out for old community cookbooks at rummage sales, flea markets, and thrift shops ran upon a Christmas Sampler from the girls of Ladies’ Night Out at the First Baptist Church of Florence, Mississippi. Therein I found a recipe for compromise cake, not just any old compromise cake, mind you, but “THE COMPROMISE CAKE.”

The recipe just stopped me in my tracks; just what kind of compromise does this cake represent? Given the zeitgeist I suspected some sort of quasi-political origin such as a traditional dessert for such a Southern political–a barbecue or fish fry–but when I passed the recipe around on social media for clues, a friend, upon seeing the applesauce ingredient, pointed out that apple cakes were traditionally served at hillbilly weddings back in the day, so maybe the compromise is between the groom cake and the bride cake.

That’s how I learned about apple stack cakes, which mountain housewives made from apples they’d dry for the winter. Pieces of apples were threaded onto strings and hung in the rafters or in a special outbuilding that had a small kiln inside for drying fruit and other foods. Dried apples were cooked with water and sweetening into a thick, fragrant sauce. The layers were made with sorghum, applesauce, and flour, thin and crisp, really more like a big cookie than a cake.

Stories were told about poor mountain brides who could not afford a wedding cake and were gifted with stack-cake layers donated by friends and family members. The layers were brought to the wedding, stacked and cut on the spot; the more layers, the more popular the bride. Stack cakes usually had at least five layers and most people believed there should be an odd number for luck. I’m sure someone had a stack or two ready in case things didn’t add up right.

The catch is that because of the dryness of the layers, a stack cake–at any height–must sit for at least two days. Given that time, the moisture from the apples–and more often than not the applesauce between–softens the layers a bit, melding the flavors and making the cake moist and delectable. Cutting into a stack cake as soon as it is assembled is a disservice to the cake and the cooks.

My theory that the cake was intended to go with the couple on their honeymoon in case things got out of hand was gently debunked by Elizabeth Carter, who said, “You’ve told a lovely story about apple stack cakes that is very true, but you missed the point of the Compromise Cake. My mother (who recently—2022–passed away at the age of 91 and I discussed this more than once.”

“My grandmother, aunts, and my mom all make an applesauce fruit cake that contains lots of assorted fruit and nuts, and no eggs. It’s very moist, but only bakes successfully if you put in the required cups of fruit & nut mixture.”

Elizabeth also remembers a newspaper article “back in the 1960s or 70s” about The Compromise Cake that retold the story from an elderly couple.”

“It seems the young bride tried to make the Applesauce Fruit cake their first Christmas but it didn’t go well and her husband didn’t want all the fruit. So to please her new husband they “compromised”, she only put in what fruit and nuts he liked, and added more ingredients as normal cake would have, and it baked just fine.”

Another correspondent, Kate, wrote, “I am going through my recipe box and just came across The Compromise Cake recipe. It is in my hand, and I believe I wrote it more than 50 years ago. The recipe is exactly as you have written with one exception: my recipe includes 2 Tablespoons of cocoa. I do not recall ever making the recipe, but vaguely recall having eaten it somewhere and having been impressed with it, copied the recipe.”

Here’s the recipe from the Ladies’ Night Out from the First Baptist Church of Florence, Mississippi.

The Compromise Cake

1 1/2 c. applesauce
1 c. raisins
1 c. chopped pecans
1 1/3 c. sugar
2 c. cake flour
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
1/2 tsp. cloves
1 1/2 tsp. baking soda
1 c. chopped dates
1/2 c. shortening
2 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla

Lightly oil and flour a 10-inch tube pan; refrigerate. Combine applesauce and soda; set aside. Mix raisins, dates, and pecans; set aside. Whip shortening with sugar, add eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Combine flour and spices; add 1/2 cup flour mixture to raisin mixture. Gradually mix very well remaining flour with shortening. Add applesauce and fruit/nuts mix. Stir in vanilla. Spoon batter into prepared pan. Bake at 350 degrees for an hour, or until toothpick dry. Cool thoroughly before removing.

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Aunt Jesse’s Heirloom Red Velvet

Great cakes come from the tried-and-true recipes from those who have made them. Most of the best of them involve complicated procedures that aren’t that time-consuming at all if you’re a practiced home cook, and everyone should experience the magic of taking one of these beautiful cakes from the oven. After beaming at your creation for a few minutes, you can decorate; the cake is your canvas, and you are the artist of this most temporary of masterpieces.

Legend has it that the original recipe for the red velvet cake is from the kitchens of the Waldorf-Astoria, but there’s no solid opinion on that. The cake became popular here sometime after World War II, when the South began to become much more a part of the nation as a whole. Me, I think that the red velvet cake is a variation of the old devil’s food cake and that the name changed because many good religious women were just not going to bring Satan’s bounty to their tables. It has the same texture, and while no cocoa is used in the icing, the cake’s primary flavoring is cocoa.

This is a family recipe, one of the dozen or so I still have from my mother’s hand. I’m almost sure she got it from her grandmother Eula, who came from a line of exceptional cooks. Her sister, my Aunt Leila, became legendary for her cakes, pickles and preserves. They were all very strict Baptists, and I suspect they were among the ones who would simply not feed their folks devil’s food; doubtless they didn’t want to nurture what they knew was a genetic predisposition for devilment. (It didn’t work.)

Two elements of this recipe betray its age. First is the leavening, which involves that chemistry set action of putting baking soda in a bit of vinegar and watching it foam. The acidic buttermilk in the batter provides additional frothing and the end result is, well, velvety. Many of you will probably take issue with the amount of food coloring involved, but try to relax; besides, it’s so much fun dribbling that red food coloring into your white batter and swirling it in.

Second is the “boiled icing”, meaning an icing that is produced pretty much in the way you would make a sauce or a gravy, by heating starch in a liquid. In some cookbooks, this is referred to as a “roux icing”, but if so, it’s a very, very raw roux indeed. The advantage to this type of icing is that you don’t have to warm it to ice your cake (in fact it needs cooling), and it tastes so much better than that lard and confectioner’s sugar gloop you get at the supermarket.

If you really want it good, cool layers and wrap in wax paper individually overnight before stacking and frosting.

Batter: 1 cup vegetable shortening, 1 ¼ cup sugar, 2 eggs, 1 teaspoon vanilla flavoring, 2 ¼ cups plain flour, 1 teaspoon salt, 1 tablespoon cocoa, 1 cup buttermilk, 2 ounces red food coloring, 1 teaspoon baking soda and 1 tablespoon vinegar. Cream shortening and sugar, and add well-beaten eggs and vanilla. Sift flour, salt and cocoa three times. Add dry ingredients alternately with buttermilk. Blend in food coloring. Dissolve soda in vinegar, and fold into batter. Bake in 3 layers at 350 degrees.

Frosting: 1 ½ cups milk, 4 ½ tablespoons flour, 1 ½ cups butter (3 sticks), 1 ½ cups sugar, 1 ½ teaspoons vanilla flavoring. Gradually add milk to flour in double boiler, stirring constantly until it is thicker than pudding. Remove from heat and stir until cooled. Cream butter and sugar for at least ten minutes, then add vanilla and continue creaming until fluffy. Add flour and milk mixture to creamed butter and sugar and beat at least ten minutes or until no grains of sugar can be detected. Frost and sprinkle with crushed walnuts or pecans.

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Pound Cake: A Perspective

My friend John Wills, a fine cook who grew up in east Texas, went to high school in Chicago, attended college in Alaska, and now lives in Maine, told me that of all the Southern recipes he brings to the table, the one that his guests most remember is pound cake.

“To be honest,” he said, “I think a lot of people believe it’s typically Southern because you didn’t have to be able to read to make it, all you had to remember was a pound each of butter, flour, eggs and sugar.”

A good pound cake recipe is essential to any Southern cook’s repertoire, but these days you’ll rarely find a pound cake recipe that doesn’t include milk in some form; Egerton’s “half-pound” recipe in Southern Food (1987) has whole cream. But I’m far from alone in believing that best pound cakes are made with sour cream.

This recipe comes from Winifred Green Cheney’s Southern Hospitality Cookbook (1976). “With no exceptions,” she writes, “this is the best pound cake I have ever tasted.” As with most of Winifred’s recipes, this one is ludicrously meticulous; an eighth of a teaspoon of salt? Resift three times? Honestly. Follow it, nonetheless.

1/2 cups butter, room temperature
3 cups sugar
6 large eggs, room temperature
1 cup commercial sour cream
3 cups all-purpose flour, measured after sifting
1/2 teaspoon soda
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon flavoring (vanilla, lemon, or 1/2
teaspoon vanilla and 1/2 teaspoon almond)
Powdered sugar

Cream butter by hand or an electric mixer until it has reached the consistency of whipped cream. When you think you have creamed it enough, cream some more. Slowly dribble in sugar a tablespoon at a time; beat well. Add eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Stir in sour cream. Put measured flour into sifter with soda and salt, and resift three times. Add flour cup at a time to creamed butter, blending well with mixer on lowest speed. Add flavoring. (I use vanilla and almond along with 2 tablespoons brandy.)

Pour batter into one Bundt pan and one small loaf pan or two large (cake, see below: jly) pans, greased and lined with heavy waxed paper. Bake in a preheated 325° oven: Bundt cake for 1 1/4 to 1 1/2 hours. small loaf for about 55 minutes, large loaves for 65 minutes or until cake tests done. Cool on rack 15 minutes and sprinkle with powdered sugar. Remove from pan and allow to continue cooling to prevent sweating. Yield: 1 (10-inch) Bundt cake and 1 (7- x 3- x 2-inch) loaf cake or 2 (9- x 5- X 3-inch) cakes.

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Yancy’s Carrot Cake

This recipe is the only one you’ll ever need. Many might consider the dark rum optional, but it’s essential; even if you’re a teetotaler, the alcohol burns off in the cooking, and good heavens, you’re bound to know someone with at least one bottle.

I like a mix of gold and dark raisins, and prefer salted pecans to walnuts. Like all great cakes, this one is best made the day before.

Mix thoroughly ¾ cup vegetable oil and ¾ cup warm buttermilk with ¾ cup white and ¾ cup light brown sugar (you don’t have to pack it). Set aside. Sift together 2 ½ cups plain flour, 2 teaspoons baking soda, 2 teaspoons each ground cinnamon and ground ginger, and a couple dashes of nutmeg.

Add half the dry ingredients to the oil/buttermilk mixture, and the rest alternately with 4 well-beaten eggs at room temperature. Add two cups grated carrots, about ¾ cup raisins, ¾ cup chopped nuts and a cup of drained crushed pineapple. Finish off with a tablespoon of vanilla extract and a generous slug of dark rum (okay, three ounces).

Pour batter into a Bundt or two 9 in. layer pans and bake at 375 until fragrant and springy. For the frosting, mix a pound of cream cheese and ½ stick butter at room temperature with powdered sugar to texture, a teaspoon almond extract and grated orange zests. Sprinkle with nuts.