A Yankee Bakes the South

Biscuits

Biscuits, the quintessential Southern baked good, were my nemesis for years. As a Yankee who married a Southerner, I strived for years to make a biscuit that would meet my husband's lofty expectations. Southern biscuits are at once tender but not cakey, tall but not too flaky, and (of course) are loaded with butter but are not dense. My husband's grandmother was a true Southern cook, and her biscuits (which I could not taste because they exist only in my husband's memory) were my Moby Dick. I searched fruitlessly for years for the right combination of ingredients and technique that would elevate my biscuits to the heights of that warm memory. Whenever I thought I had it, there would be one characteristic denying me perfection--too cakey, too flaky, too tender, too tough, too squat, too tall. Biscuit nirvana eluded me again.

With this recipe, my husband says I am 95% there. I might get a bit closer if I used a soft, bleached Southern flour like Hudson Cream or White Lily, but I don't use bleached flours. However, even if I find all the right ingredients and perfect the techniques, I will never reach 100%, because really, who can compete with the memory of a cherished grandmother? I believe I will end the search here lest I share the fate of the doomed Captain Ahab.

Southern Style Biscuits

Makes about a dozen, 2 1/2-inch biscuits

2 1/2 cups (12 ounces) unbleached all purpose flour (can use bleached if you must)
3/4 teaspoon table salt
1 tablespoon double-acting baking powder (I use Rumford)
4 ounces (1 sticks) unsalted butter, cold and sliced into 8 pieces
10 ounces (1 1/4 liquid cups) buttermilk

Preheat oven to 425 degrees F. Combine flour, baking powder and salt in food processor; pulse to combine. Add butter pieces and pulse until there are no large visible butter lumps (12-15 pulses). You can cut the butter in with a pastry cutter or two knives if you don't have a food processor. 

Put flour mixture into a large bowl and buttermilk. Using a rubber spatula, press mixture together until it's mostly cohesive (if necessary add additional liquid--you can use water--be careful not to over mix).

Turn mixture out onto clean work surface that is very lightly dusted with flour. Pat out into a 9-inch (or so) square. Fold in half and again press out into a square (make sure the dough doesn't get  warm--refrigerate briefly if needed).  Repeat the folding and pressing one last time.

Cut into biscuits using a sharp cutter, no larger than 3 inches. Press the scraps together to make more biscuits, being careful not to work the dough too much. (The latter biscuits won't be as pretty.) If you make the biscuits too large they won't cook properly--the outside will get tough before the inside is fully baked.

Place biscuits on ungreased baking sheet (line with parchment for easy cleanup). Bake about 15 minutes or until tops are lightly golden brown. Eat.

PS for a really Southern, really tasty treat, slice day old biscuits in half, butter, and cook on a griddle before stuffing with bacon, egg, cheese or whatever. MMMMmmmm, grilled biscuits.

Move over Reese's...

I think I just found my favorite way to enjoy peanut butter and chocolate. Mmmm, peanuts.

One shouldn't underestimate the importance of peanuts to the South. In the late 1800s, agriculture in the Deep South was in serious trouble because poor cotton cultivation practices had left the soil depleted, and erosion had then taken its toll. George Washington Carver, born into slavery in Missouri in 1864, was instrumental in promoting the humble peanut and salvaging Southern agriculture. Mr. Carver helped Southern farmers restore their depleted soils by planting peanuts, nitrogen-fixing legumes that not only reinvigorated the soil but also provided an inexpensive protein source. When Carver arrived at the Tuskegee Institute in 1896 to head its agriculture division, the peanut had not even been recognized as a crop, but within the next half century it became one of the six leading crops throughout the United States and, in the South, the second cash crop (after cotton) by 1940. (Source: biography.com)

Now that the history lesson is over, let's turn to this recipe. I've seen many different peanut butter cookie and frosting recipes, but never a cake recipe. This recipe is a divine peanut butter cookie in cake form. Combine it with a chocolate ganache with just a tang from sour cream, and you have heaven in a cupcake wrapper. This cake is so good I have nefarious plans for it that include a Southern version of Boston Cream Pie, with peanut butter and banana cakes encasing a custard and topped with a chocolate glaze and pecans. I think I will call it Memphis Cream Pie...but that is for another day.

This cake is easy to make and you probably have all the ingredients on hand. Make it! Now! I made it into cupcakes, but it would work as a layer cake (two 8- or 9-inch layers) or even a 9 x 13 sheet cake.

Peanut Butter Cupcakes

Makes 24 cupcakes

1 cup (9 ounces) creamy peanut butter
2/3 cup (10 tablespoons) unsalted butter, softened
2 cups (14 ounces) firmly packed brown sugar (light or dark)
6 large eggs
2 cups (10 ounces) unbleached all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup whole milk
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
Sour Cream Chocolate Ganache (recipe follows)
1/2 cup chopped roasted peanuts

Line 2 muffin tins with cupcake papers. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

In a large bowl, cream peanut butter and butter. Gradually add sugar, beating well. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition.

Combine dry ingredients and add to creamed mixture alternately with milk. Stir in vanilla.

Fill each cupcake paper about 2/3 full. Gently tap pan on counter to remove any air bubbles. Bake for about 15 minutes or until top springs back when touched gently. Remove cupcakes from pan immediately and let cool completely. Frost with chocolate ganache and sprinkle with peanuts.

Sour Cream Chocolate Ganache

12 ounces semi-sweet or bittersweet chocolate, chopped (good quality chocolate chips are fine)
14 ounces sour cream

Place chocolate in microwave-safe bowl. Heat on high power for 30 seconds; stir. Repeat 1 or 2 more times, or until chocolate is completely melted. Immediately stir in sour cream, beating until uniformly colored. Pipe or spread on top of cooled cupcakes.

 

This cake will really get you going!

Today's cake is brought to you by the letter P. This is the "mystery ingredient" cake from my last post - have you guessed it yet? (If  not, you really weren't trying. This is not rocket science.) It's prunes!

This cake hails (again) from the Southern Heritage Cakes Cookbook, and is has the oddly dolled-up name of Prunella Cake. I'm not sure why they "fancied up" the starring ingredient's name, but I'll bet you a dollar that there is some unfortunate soul whose mother really thought the name was pretty and gave it to her daughter, who in all likelihood was homely as hell. I can only hope that the poor girl developed great fortitude from the teasing she endured in her childhood, studied hard and became a highly respected physician, and that she didn't just end up with low self-esteem, marrying a hard-drinking, abusive sloth of a husband that she supports by working the split shift at Waffle House. But I digress. And wish we had a Waffle House here, roaches and all. Well, maybe not the roaches. Oh, and try not to think about roaches when you are working with prunes, but especially when you are working with dates. It's scary how much a dried date looks like the body of a cockroach.

Back to the cake - there are many Southern cakes that used dried fruit, mainly apples and raisins, but also other fruit including dried plums (aka prunes). There are also several fruitcake recipes that use a variety of dried fruits. Two prune cake options were available; I chose this one because of the name.

Despite the name, this is mostly just a spice cake with some chopped prunes tucked inside. A bit of prune juice (made from soaking the prunes in hot water to plump them) is also added to the frosting. Even this addition does not draw as much attention to the prunes as you might think - no one in my office guessed that prunes were in the cake. Everyone thought they were (very soft) raisins. And the cake was well received.

So if you have a special someone that needs a little help to get things moving (and won't eat Activia), slip them a piece of this cake. They'll never know what hit them.

Prunella Cake

Makes one 9 inch cake

1  cup prunes, coarsely chopped
3/4 cup water
3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons (8.5 ounces) sugar
3 large eggs
1 3/4 cups (8 ounces) all purpose flour; divided
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 teaspoons ground nutmeg
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 1/2 teaspoons ground allspice
1 cup buttermilk
Buttercream icing

Put prunes in a small bowl. Bring water to a boil and pour over prunes. Let prunes soak for at least 10 minutes.  Drain, reserving 3 tablespoons juice for frosting.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Line two 9-inch cake pans with parchment or waxed paper and butter edges of pans. Set aside.

Cream butter and gradually add sugar, beating well. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Scrape down bowl and beat a few more seconds.

Combine 1 1/2 cups flour and remaining dry ingredients; add 1/3 to creamed mixture. Add 1/2 of buttermilk, then another 1/3 of flour, remaining buttermilk, and then remaining flour. Scrape down bowl halfway through and at end of mixing.

Toss prunes with remaining flour and fold into the batter. Pour batter into prepared pans and bake for about 30 minutes, or until toothpick inserted into center of cake comes out clean.

Remove from oven and let cool in pans on wire rack for 10 minutes. Remove cake from pans and cool completely. Fill and frost with buttercream icing. Please note that the icing recipe just makes enough for a thin filling and frosting for the cake. If you want to decorate the cake, make 1.5 batches of icing.

Buttercream Icing

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
16 ounces powdered sugar
2 tablespoons lemon juice
3 tablespoons prune juice

Cream butter until smooth. Gradually add powdered sugar. When mostly blended add juices. Beat until smooth.

Pound Cake, plus a Mystery Ingredient

Look! Up in the sky! It's a bird...it's a plane...it's....a mystery ingredient.

I'm sure you can fairly easily guess what the next cake will feature. For those who don't know what it is, I'll give you a hint: it used to be a key ingredient in Dr. Pepper. Stay tuned for the cake featuring the mystery ingredient; it will be here soon.

But for now you'll have to be satisfied with perhaps the most pedestrian of all cakes, and probably the grandaddy of them as well: pound cake. However, this isn't just any old pound cake, it's a cream cheese pound cake.

Substituting cream cheese for some of the butter in pound cake adds a subtle flavor that is divine. My husband and I couldn't stop cutting off piece after piece today - not a healthy snack, but one that is oh-so-delicious.

Traditional pound cakes are named such because they had one pound each of eggs, sugar, flour, and butter. More modern pound cakes vary the ratio to make a cake that is slightly less dense, but still extremely rich. This recipe in particular is very buttery, and I think it would still be a good cake if you cut the butter back by a third (heck, even Paula Deen is eating less butter these days!)

I'm not sure the South can claim pound cake as its own, but it certainly is a staple of the afternoon tea set in fine Southern drawing rooms. This recipe again comes from the Southern Heritage Cakes Cookbook. (I'm using this tome frequently, but others are on the horizon.)

If you are not much of a baker but still want to make a cake, pound cake is for you. It's easy, you can make it in a loaf pan, and it's so rich it doesn't need a frosting. You can double this recipe and bake it in a greased 10-inch tube pan. Increase baking time by approximately 20 minutes.

Cream Cheese Pound Cake

Makes 1 -9x5 inch loaf

3/4 cup (6 ounces) unsalted butter, softened
4 ounces cream cheese, softened
1 1/2 cups (10.5 ounces) sugar
3 eggs
1 1/2 cups (6 ounces) sifted cake flour
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 325 degrees F. Generously grease a 9 x 5 inch loaf pan (I also like to line the bottom with parchment).

In a large mixing bowl, combine butter and cream cheese and beat until combined. Add sugar and beat until light and fluffy, about 5 minutes.

Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Add flour to creamed mixture and mix well. Stir in vanilla.

Scrape batter into greased loaf pan. Bake for about 50 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center of the cake comes out with only a few loose crumbs.

Cool in pan for 10 minutes; remove from pan and cool completely.

Cornbread - No Sugar Allowed?

If Richard Dawson were to ask a Family Feud contestant to name a food that is associated with the South, it's a safe bet that 'cornbread' would be an answer worth a lot of points.

Cornbread also rates as one of the most contentious disputes between Southerners and damn Yankees, right behind iced tea. But, in the inverse of the iced tea debate, the South is against sugar. While sugar is permissible in corn grits and corn pudding, putting sugar in your cornbread is heresy. More on that later.

Belying its simplicity as a staple food, countless recipes for Southern style cornbread abound. Southern Living has 81 Southern cornbread recipes on its website. There are variations for white or yellow cornmeal, which fat you use to grease the pan, and even which kind of pan in which to bake it. But traditionally, a cast iron skillet is the pan of choice for making cornbread with a crispy crust and moist crumb.

Do you remember the photo from my first blog post with butter melting in a cast iron skillet? I said then that skillet would be featured in this blog, and here it is already. This skillet is not only traditional, it's also from the South and had a long history of making cornbread before I was even born. A dear friend gave me this skillet because it had become too heavy for her to lift. It was perfectly seasoned and allowed me to cook better Southern food the day I received it.

Although faced with scores of recipes, I was able to whittle down the list pretty easily. After reviewing the first few pages of results from Southern Living , I noticed that most of the "different" recipes were just republished versions of an earlier one. I also wanted a basic, no-nonsense recipe: no self-rising cornmeal and no fancy ingredients. Further, while many recipes require that you combine the cornmeal with boiling water before proceeding, I wanted something easier.

Out of force of habit, I turned to Cook's Illustrated to see what they had. Heretics! Blashphemers! Cook's version of Southern cornbread had sugar in it! I couldn't possibly use sugar in my recipe, could I? Wouldn't a Southern baker be dispatched to hunt me down if someone discovered that I used sugar in a Southern cornbread? Or was it possible that sugar wasn't anathema after all?

Intrigued, I turned to the Jiffy Mix website. In case you have been hiding under a rock for the last 50 years, Jiffy Mix is the staple cornbread mix used by Southern (and Northern) households for decades. A quick perusal of the ingredient list yielded - voila! - sugar. Encouraged by this finding, I cobbled two recipes together to make my cornbread.

Perhaps it's my tainted Yankee tastebuds, but I found this cornbread to be excellent. The small amount of sugar I added boosted the corn flavor, and the texture was superb - moist, but easily crumbled into a pot of beans. My Southern husband approved, and he's a tough critic. My biscuit recipe took years before he gave it the nod. Luckily for me, this one was a hit from the get-go.

Southern Cornbread (with a Yankee twist)

Makes enough for 10-inch skillet. If using a smaller skillet, reduce recipe proportionately. Remember, area of a circle is pi times radius squared.

1 1/2 tablespoons bacon drippings (mmmm, bacon)
2 cups buttermilk or clabbered milk*
1/3 to 1/2 cup water
2 large eggs
2 1/4 cups (12 ounces) yellow cornmeal
1 heaping tablespoon sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt

Preparation

1. Heat oven to 450°.
2. Coat bottom and sides of a 10-inch cast-iron skillet with bacon fat. Heat in oven for 10 minutes. (Skillet may smoke a little.)
3. In a large bowl, whisk together buttermilk, 1/3 cup water and egg.
4. Add cornmeal, stirring well. Stir in sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. If the batter is very thick, add additional water. It should be pourable, not scoopable.
5. Remove pan from oven and pour batter into hot skillet. Enjoy the sizzle.
6. Bake at 450° for 20-25 minutes, or until golden brown.
7. Remove from oven and immediately turn cornbread onto cooling rack. Cool for 5 minutes, then serve while still steaming. Yum.

*In a pinch, clabbered milk will suffice. For each 1 cup of buttermilk, substitute scant cup of milk and 1 tablespoon white or cider vinegar. Let vinegar/milk mixture stand several seconds until curdled.

Popular pea-cons...

Remember when I said that almost all the recipes in the Southern Heritage Cakes Cookbook (SHCC) contained pecans and/or coconut? Well, this one not only has half a pound of pecans, it also has a full cup of bourbon! It's called Bringhurst Pecan Cake (my best guess is that it's named after a plantation.)

Depending on where you were raised, you may pronounce pecan 'PEE-can', 'puh-KAHN', or even 'PEE-con'. The pronounciation varies even in the South, from Alabama to Georgia to Texas all having  variations - but most Southerners agree it's puh-kahn. I didn't see a pronounciation guide in the SHCC, but they did have a chart illustrating different varieties of pecans. I had no idea there were that many varieties, since they are all sold here just as pecans. I'd like to do a tasting to see the differences. (Learn more fronm the Texas Pecan Board, or the University of Georgia.)

Pecan prices soared in 2011, due mainly to a severe drought in Texas and increasing demand from China. This means I will likely swap less expensive English walnuts for pecans in some recipes. My hunch is that the early Southerners used whatever nut was plentiful, and these nuts are easily interchangeable if you don't mind a slightly different flavor profile.

Now, on to the cake. How can you go wrong with pecans, butter, and bourbon? The answer is, you can't. It's pretty boozy on day one, but by day two it mellows into a sublime confection. With all the booze, nuts and fruit, you might be saying to yourself, 'this sounds a lot like fruitcake.'  I am certain that with a few modifications, this could make an excellent fruitcake. It probably needs a bit less sugar; I'd add some orange peel and zest, and baste liberally with bourbon for a couple of months. But with a hot cuppa Joe, it makes a great afternoon treat just the way it is. It's also easy to make, since there is no decoration or fussing.

Although the recipe calls for 2 1/2 cups raisins, I substituted dried apricots since I can't stand raisins. I recently read an adage that rang true: "Raisins in what appear to be chocolate chip cookies are the reason I have trust issues." So feel free to substitute whatever kind of dried fruit you'd like -  dried cranberries would be great.

This cake performed beautifully, releasing cleanly from the heavily greased tube pan. I don't think it would work well in a pan with intricate designs due to the large pieces of fruit and nuts, but you could use a couple of loaf pans with good results. 

Bringhurst Pecan Cake

1 cup unsalted butter, softened
1/2 teaspoon table salt
2 cups (14 ounces) sugar
6 large eggs, room temperature
4 cups (18 ounces) all-purpose flour, divided
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 1/2 tablespoons grated nutmeg
1 cup bourbon whiskey (recommend Maker's Mark)
2 1/2 cups (12 ounces) raisins or other dried fruit in raisin-sized pieces
2 cups (8 ounces) chopped pecans

Heavily grease a 10-cup tube pan (or 2 five-cup loaf pans). Preheat oven to 325 degrees F.

Cream butter in a large mixing bowl; gradually add salt and sugar, beating well. Add eggs, one at a time, beating mixture well after each addition.

Combine 3 3/4 cups flour, baking powder, and nutmeg; add to creamed mixture alternately with bourbon, beginning and ending with flour mixture. Mix well after each addition.

Dredge dried fruit and pecans in remaining 1/4 cup flour; stir into batter.

Spoon batter into greased pan(s). Bake at 325° for 1 hour and 15 minutes for tube pan (approximately 55 minutes for loaf pans), or until toothpick inserted in cake comes out with only a few loose crumbs. Cool cake in pan(s) 15 minutes; remove cake from pan(s), and let cool completely.

Mayflower Grape Cake, an enigma

Some recipes make you question their origin. Were they invented by a frugal housewife, crazy chemist, or hungry stoner? While stoner recipes don't tend to hold up well to reexamination, there are other excellent recipes that beg the question of what circumstance prompted their creation, or at least what set of events gave them their name.

Such is the case with the mysterious Mayflower Grape Cake. I've only seen it called thus in the Southern Heritage Cakes Cookbook, and wonder why an ostensibly Southern cake is named for the ship that carried the pilgrims to a place that is definitely not in the South. Massachusetts is so gawdawful Yankee liberal that, according to many Southerners (and some Yankees, too), the Commonwealth¹ of Massachusetts perches on the precipice of disaster, what with gay marriage and Romneycare. It's a wonder that the entire state hasn't been swallowed up by a great earthquake or sea monster. (I'm certain that any natural disaster that befalls the state will be blamed on one or both of these abominations, or maybe on high taxes. My question is, if God wanted to make an unequivocal statement on either subject, wouldn't he have done something on the day the bill passed? If a hurricane devastates the state now, it seems a stretch to assert that it's God's way of saying that a bill passed 57 months ago was immoral. Doncha think?)

But I digress. It is possible, perhaps even plausible, that Pilgrims or other early settlers invented a cake flavored with, or at least adorned by, grapes. The first white inhabitants of the United States struggled mightily to provide enough sustenance to the flock (apparently they weren't paying attention to their Native American neighbors). The harsh New England climate proved difficult for farming, but local berries and grapes were plentiful. The settlers may have made do with what was available, including grape juice, to concoct desserts. Hey, it's a theory.

But inventions aside, how did the cake find its way into a Southern cookbook? One possible answer lies in the various Societies of Mayflower Descendents, with chapters in every Southern state. The North Carolina chapter even offered a literary prize from 1931 to 2002 called the Mayflower Cup. This shows that Mayflower descendants take their heritage seriously. So it stands to reason that as Mayflower descendants migrated South to more hospitable climes, they took their newly created recipes with them, and passed them down to their sons and daughters. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

But how is the cake? The cookbook photo shows a cake with icing that has sagged a bit. It's a little like that in real life, too. I wasn't able to use any of the filling for decoration as depicted, because my filling set up really, really firm, as you can see in the above photo. In fact, the recipe I have included here uses less cornstarch than the original so you can actually spread the filling without smooshing the cake. But the flavor is intriguing. The combination of grape juice and lemon juice has a sweet yet tangy flavor that's hard to put a finger on. The color is attractive, although mine turned out more rose-hued than purple. It may be because I used Meyer lemons. At any rate, it is an attractive filling.

I didn't even bother with the white cake recipe in the book because it used shortening, and because I have worked hard to perfect my own easy and lovely white cake. I can guarantee that the cake I used was better than the original recipe.

Disappointingly, the recipe uses a 7-minute icing. I don't like 7-minute icing because you can't easily decorate with it, but I did like the light texture and subtle grape flavor of this version. It's also a pale lilac color, which is a pleasant change from most bland white icing. 

I do declare I will make this cake again, although I might try a grape-flavored Italian buttercream (using grape juice concentrate for flavor) instead of a 7-minute icing.

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1 For an explanation of this distinction without a difference, visit mentalfloss.com

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Mayflower Grape Cake

2 1/4 cups (9 ounces) bleached cake flour* 
12 ounces sugar
1 tablespoon + 1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
6 egg whites (3/4 cup), room temperature
1 cup whole milk, room temperature
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
1 1/2 sticks (6 ounces) unsalted butter**, softened
Grape Filling (recipe follows)
Grape Frosting (recipe follows)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Line two 8 or 9-inch pans with parchment (if using 8-inch pans they must be 2 inches deep); spray with nonstick cooking spray.

Measure dry ingredients into bowl of stand mixer or a large bowl. In a small bowl, lightly whisk together milk, eggs and vanilla. Add butter and all but 1/2 cup of the milk/egg mixture to dry ingredients.

Beat at low speed until dry ingredients are moistened, about 20 seconds. Increase speed to medium-high and beat for 1 1/2 minutes to aerate mixture and add structure (if using a hand mixer use high speed). Turn mixer off and scrape sides and bottom of bowl.

Add remaining milk/egg mixture and beat at medium (or high) speed for an additional 30 seconds. Scrape bowl again.

Divide batter evenly into baking pans. Tap pans lightly on counter to remove any large air bubbles.

Place pans in oven on middle rack and bake until light golden brown and toothpick inserted in center of cake comes out with only a few loose crumbs, about 25 minutes. Due to variations in ovens, check at least 5 minutes before the stated time. Cool in pan for 10 minutes then invert onto cooling rack. Cool completely.

Split each cake into 2 layers and spread Grape Filling (reserving 1/2 cup for topping) between the layers. Spread Grape Frosting on sides and top of cake. Use remaining Grape Filling to decorate top of cake. Chill until serving time.

Grape Filling

1 cup sugar
1/4 cup + 1 tablespoon cornstarch
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup grape juice
1 cup water
1/3 cup lemon juice
2 tablespoons unsalted butter

Combine sugar, cornstarch and in medium saucepan. Stir in grape juice. Bring to a boil over medium heat and boil for 1 minute, stirring constantly. Remove from heat, stir in lemon juice and butter until well blended. Pour into medium bowl and cover directly with plastic wrap. Cool completely.

Grape Frosting

1 1/2 cups sugar
2 egg whites
1/3 cup grape juice
1 teaspoon corn syrup

Combine all ingredients in large double boiler. Beat on low speed with electric mixer until well blended.

Place over simmering water and beat constantly, at high speed, for 7 minutes or until stiff peaks form. Remove from heat and continue to beat until frosting is thick enough to spread.

 

* Substitute 2 cups (9 ounces) all-purpose flour for a cake that is a little coarser in texture.

**I always use unsalted butter. If you use salted butter, cut the salt to 1/4 teaspoon.

***Just kidding. There is no three-asterisk text. Made you look!

 

 

 

Robert E. Lee Cake

 

General Robert E. Lee (1807-1870), one of the South’s most venerated heroes, was affectionately known to Southerners as Marse Robert. He was respected by leaders on both sides of the Mason-Dixon, and many historians believe that had he accepted Lincoln’s offer of command over the Union Army, the Civil War would have been over much more quickly. Others, however, have called into question his skill as a strategist. We will never know because ultimately Lee decided to resign from the Union army.

Lee surprised almost everyone by his resignation in 1861. In a letter earlier that year he had denounced secession as a betrayal of the Founding Fathers and thought a peaceful compromise was the best solution. Torn between competing allegiances, Lee asked commanding Union general Winfield Scott if he could stay home and not participate in the war. The general replied "I have no place in my army for equivocal men."¹ Shortly thereafter, Lee made the difficult decision to take up arms in defense of his home state of Virginia. 

Like General Lee, this cake prevaricates - it straddles the flavors of orange and lemon, trying not to choose one side over the other. Traditionally, the cake itself has lemon zest and juice and the filling is luscious "lemon jelly," aka lemon curd. Finally, orange, with a touch of lemon, perfumes the icing. I decided to take the ambiguity to Pat-like² levels and stirred orange marmalade into the lemon curd.  Many tasters had difficulty pinpointing the flavors, so I call the experiment a success.

This sponge cake has the unusual additions of baking powder and cream of tartar. I'm not sure if the cream of tartar was added because the baking powder was supposed to be single-acting, or if the recipe writer intended to use both double-acting baking powder and cream of tartar. I erred on the side of the latter, although I expect the recipe would turn out fine without the cream of tartar.

Sponge cake purists might scoff at the idea of chemical leavening, since highly whipped egg yolks and whites usually suffice as the leavening for this type of cake. However, I appreciate the help because I have baker's block regarding sponge cakes - they often turn out really flat for me. I haven't decided if I over-beat or under-beat the eggs to cause that problem. But add baking powder, and problem solved!

As for the icing, I feel this recipe, like most American buttercreams, has far too much sugar. It's a simple recipe: butter, powdered (confectioner's) sugar, a bit of liquid, and a flavoring agent (the liquid can double as the flavoring agent, as in this case). I used three times as much butter as the recipe directs to tame the sweetness, but even then I didn't approach the ratio in my traditional easy buttercream: 1 ounce of butter to each ounce of powdered sugar. Use more butter to suit your taste - this is an extremely flexible recipe. For this cake, lemon and orange juice add a bright citrus flavor in addition to making a spreadable consistency.

My conspiracy theory side is convinced that coconut and pecan growers financed the Southern Heritage Cakes Cookbook (possibly in collusion with Domino sugar). It seems every recipe calls for coconut, pecans, or both, whether integral to the cake's flavor or not. For this cake, I don't believe the coconut is essential so feel free to omit it.

Back to General Lee³: cake plays a role in Lee’s history. Allegedly Lee proposed to Mary Custis (granddaughter of Martha Washington) as she knelt to serve him a piece of cake. It is unlikely that Lee ever tasted his namesake cake, as no recipes for it were published until years after his death. However, legend has it that his wife passed down a favorite "receipt" (recipe) for a lemon cake to their daughter, so it can be deduced that Marse Robert would have enjoyed this cake.

General Robert E. Lee Cake
Yankee Version

 2 cups (9 ounces) unbleached all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon cream of tartar
8 large eggs, separated
2 cups (14 ounces) granulated sugar
2 teaspoons freshly grated lemon zest
2 tablespoons  freshly squeezed lemon juice
dash of salt
Lemon-Orange Filling (recipe follows; make this recipe first)
Lemon-Orange Frosting (recipe follows)
1/4 cup sweetened flaked coconut (optional)

Heat oven to 325 degrees F. Line bottoms of two 9-inch round baking pans with parchment and butter sides of pans (alternately, butter and flour pans); set aside.

Whisk together flour, baking powder, and cream of tartar in a small bowl; set aside. Beat egg yolks in a large mixing bowl until thick and lemon-colored. Gradually add the sugar and beat well. Stir in the lemon zest and lemon juice.

In another large bowl, combine egg whites and salt. Beat until soft peaks form. Fold into egg yolk mixture alternately with flour mixture until no white streaks remain.

Spread batter evenly into prepared pans and bake for 25 to 30 minutes or until a wooden toothpick inserted in center comes out clean or with only a very few loose crumbs. Cool cakes in pans on wire rack for 10 minutes. Remove layers from pans and let cool completely. Split layers in half horizontally.

Spread Lemon-Orange filling between layers. Chill briefly. Frost with Lemon-Orange frosting and sprinkle top with coconut. Refrigerate cake until shortly before serving.

Lemon-Orange Filling

1 1/4 cups sugar
1/3 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice
2 1/2 teaspoons freshly grated lemon zest
4 egg yolks from large eggs
1/3 cup (5 tablespoons, 2.5 oz) unsalted butter
pinch salt
1 cup prepared orange marmalade, room temperature*

Combine sugar and lemon juice in top of a double boiler (off heat). Stir to partially dissolve sugar; add zest and egg yolks and stir to combine. Place pan over simmering water. (If you are an experienced cook, feel free to use a heavy saucepan directly on the heat. But watch for curdling!) Cook, stirring constantly, until sugar dissolves.

Add butter and salt and continue to cook, stirring constantly, for 20 minutes (if using double boiler) or until mixture is thickened and smooth, about 170 degrees F if using a thermometer (do not boil).

Pour filling into a medium bowl and stir in orange marmalade. Let cool completely; chill until ready to use.

Lemon-Orange Frosting

1 cup unsalted butter, softened (add additional 1/2 to 1 cup butter for richer frosting)
4 cups (16 ounces) powdered sugar, sifted or stirred with whisk to remove lumps
3 tablespoons freshly grated orange zest
3 tablespoons freshly squeeze orange juice
1 1/2 teaspoons freshly grated lemon zest
1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice

Cream butter in large mixing bowl until light and fluffy. Slowly add powdered sugar, beating until combined. Add remaining ingredients, beating until smooth. Store, covered, at room temperature until needed.

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1 Pryor, Elizabeth Brown (2011-04-19). "The General in His Study". Disunion. The New York Times.

2 Please see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pat_%28Saturday_Night_Live%29  if you do not get the reference.

3 Every time I hear the words "General Lee" I don't think of the Civil War leader but rather of a certain '68 orange Dodge Charger.

New Year, New Blog

What better way to begin the new year than to make a resolution that puts undue pressure on oneself? I am starting another baking blog, even though I can't even keep up with my other one (Bacon-n-Bakin).

This blog is a tangent off my first: having lived in the Upper South for over 15 years, I find myself quite nostalgic for it now that I have returned to the Upper Midwest. While I cannot return to the South right now, I can bring myself virtually closer by baking Southern classic recipes from The Southern Heritage Cakes Cookbook and other sources. The Southern Heritage Cakes Cookbook, published by Southern Living magazine, was a yard sale find from several years ago that was relegated to being an ornament on my bookshelf. Recently I dusted it off and opened the pages to find an abundance of appealing cake recipes that reinforced my nostalgia. I could think of nothing that evokes Southern baking more than butter melting in a cast iron skillet, hence the photo with this post. You'll probably see a lot more of that skillet, which was given to me by a dear friend.

A bit of history is in order - I was born and raised in the cold barren plains of North Dakota, and attended a liberal arts college in Minnesota. So to Southerners, I'm a born and bred Yankee. After college, I moved to West Virginia to work at an amazing camp (the NYSC) that I had attended just out of high school. (To those who say West Virginia isn't really the South, I counter with a) it is south of the Mason-Dixon, and b) please count the number of rebel flags that adorn pickup trucks there.) I lived in West Virginia for over 15 years and even married a native son, but if I had remained there until I died, I would never, ever be a real Southerner. But I was happy with being "all right for a Yankee." I couldn't really hope for more.

Although I encountered severe culture shock when I moved to West Virginia, I was amazed by the warmth of the people. Southerners are, by and large, welcoming, gracious, honest and kind. Now I'm not an apologist for the South - it still has a lot to overcome (friends of John Birch you know what I mean). However, there are positive aspects to Southern culture that I admire, not the least of which is the emphasis on eating copious amounts of food abhorred by cardiologists.

While my other blog will focus on bacon and other lovely porcine parts, this one will focus on Southern baking. Cakes will be at the forefront, but I will also cover other subjects such as biscuits and pies.

I won't be following the recipes to the letter:  I refuse to bake with margarine and eschew the use of shortening. I will also inform the recipes with ratios and techniques gleaned through many years of baking. My goal is to reinterpret the recipes, giving respect to their origins but improving them where I can. (Just like a damn Yankee to tinker with what ain't broke, isn't it?)