American Cake - Cake #9: Scripture Cake

Time Period: 1870-1899

Also known as "Bible Cake", this spiced fruitcake was popular in the late 1800s as a clever little way of teaching religion; bakers would look up certain Bible verses in order to identify the ingredients. For example:

"and they gave him a piece of a cake of figs and two clusters of raisins. And when he had eaten, his spirit revived, for he had not eaten bread or drunk water for three days and three nights." (1 Samuel 30:12)

"On the next day Moses went into the tent of the testimony, and behold, the staff of Aaron for the house of Levi had sprouted and put forth buds and produced blossoms, and it bore ripe almonds." (Numbers 17:8)

And indeed, this cake incorporates raisins, figs, and almonds. It was popular in community festivals and raffles, and wasn't tied down to any particular denomination of Christianity. Everyone could enjoy it.

Unfortunately, much like the Bible itself, the outside can be very beautiful, but what's in the middle can be ruinous. There are plenty of cakes in this book that have completely rehabilitated my view of what fruitcake can be, and this one looked and smelled wonderful as I was putting it together. Something was off about either my preparation or the recipe, however, and the end result was a liquidy, raw mess that I had to chuck in the trash. It was a terrible disappointment, and while some of the recipes in this book have already become standards of my baking arsenal, I'm never going to attempt this one again.

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American Cake - Cake #8: Granny Kellett's Jam Cake

Time Period: 1800-1869

Is the story of Granny Kellett, her jam cake recipe, and her Civil War beau particularly indicative of American baking culture? Maybe in a folklore kind of way, sure. I'll spare you the particulars of the Kellett family, but this cake has all the hallmarks of old-fashioned Southern matriarchs: You can practically picture kids picking the wild blackberries from fields behind the house, and a steaming kitchen with jars full of jam. If there's any cake that would fit right in at a candlelit holiday dinner, this would be the one.

This is a Kentucky cake through and through. From the blackberry jam to the chopped nuts, the pungent spices to the drizzle of caramel, this cake was made for a bluegrass summer. Though putting jam into spice cakes is not an American invention, Kentucky has taken to it more than any other place, with one particular business (the Heitzman Bakery in Louisville) shipping them out since 1891.

Curiously, though there is a full jar of jam in this recipe, we couldn't really taste it. The spices (cinnamon, nutmeg, allspce, and ginger) are the dominant flavor, with the caramel icing adding a sharp blast of sweetness. Perhaps the jam is more of a moistening agent than a flavor delivery system. It was a very tasty cake, but it's a shame not to highlight the fruit, so if I ever make this one again, I'll probably replace or spike the caramel with some added blackberries.

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American Plate - Bite #88: Crème Caramel

Up until now, I've been content to defer to Libby O'Connell's research and expertise on each of the Bites. When it comes to crème caramel, however, the book's entry focuses on the introduction of French cuisine to standard American households via Julia Child's work, and O'Connnell's touching story of crème caramel's role in her own cooking and romantic background. That puts me in a strange position, which I'll get into in a moment. There's no denying that Julia Child had spectacular timing. Nobody can accuse 1950's America of having delectable gourmet cuisine. Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking opened up a whole new world of elevated food to home cooks all over the country, and The French Chef TV show that followed brought it to an even wider audience. Households that were used to eating nothing but meat and potatoes could now experience the wonders of vichyssoise and potage.

We tend to forget that while Americans have been obsessed with nutrition since the very beginning, treating the act of cooking as an art to be refined and appreciated is relatively modern. The American palate has been getting ever more sophisticated (for food enthusiasts, anyway) since the '60s, and today, there is no shortage of culture aimed at those who appreciate the world of cuisine. Julia Child and the upswing of classical French cooking deserves a lot of credit for this. And like O'Connell, I adore Julia Child. But...

There isn't a word of the crème caramel that refers to anything but French food. No disrespect to its French origins, of course, but I can't help but think that in its current form, crème caramel has switched allegiances. I live in St. Louis, a town founded by Frenchmen and that retains a wealth of French influence in its culture and cuisine. I don't get crème caramel at the local French restaurants, though. I get it at Spanish restaurants. I get it at Mexican restaurants. I get it at Brazilian restaurants. And at all those places, it's not crème caramel at all; it's flan.

If the purpose of this Bite is to celebrate the fact that Americans have expanded access to elevated food, and in particular the deliciousness of this custard and caramel delight, I'm all for it, but we should include a hearty "Gracias" alongside the "Merci" that this book extends.

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American Plate - Bite #14: Beaver Tail

Well, this is surprising. Some of the Bites on the American Plate list are so common that it'd be an event if I didn't eat them twice a week. Some are more specialized, but I know exactly where to go to pick some up. A few present a significant challenge. And then there's beaver tail, for which I fully expected I'd have to skip and substitute something else. I even called it out with some certainty in my initial post as being impossible to track down. Turns out, I was wrong! Tiddy has a list project of his own, which involved stopping by the Soulard Farmer's Market, and lo and behold, one of the vendors there was selling full beaver carcasses, complete with tail. I jumped at the chance, and good thing I did, because the vendor told me I was snagging the last one of the season. Are beavers secretly popular?

The book's entry on beaver tail essentially breaks down into two topics: The fact that people don't really eat this anymore, and a description of the two groups that did, in fact, eat it more out of necessity than anything else. Early Native Americans, of course, had very active lifestyles, and needed the caloric bomb that the fatty beaver tail provides. The other big group was fur trappers, who had to spend the winter out tracking down materials for coats, collars, and hats. Beavers were extremely handy from a trapper's point of view; the pelt could be sold, and the tail could be eaten. Beaver populations actually dwindled in the east because of all this trapping, which helped spur western expansion. Heck, I live in St. Louis, which was founded by fur traders.

Buying beaver was the first step; figuring out what to do with it was the next challenge. The book includes a preparation for grilling the tail, but we had an entire animal on our hands. Lots of internet articles and YouTube videos were consulted. The tail was relatively simple, once the messy work of chopping it off was done. Tiddy did all the butchering work on this one (for which I definitely owe him one), and we took it over to his parents' place. They were excited to be part of the process, and his stepdad grilled the tail on a charcoal grill until the skin bubbled up and I could peel it off. I prepared a quick marinade of Cajun seasoning, butter, and black pepper, and we brushed it on the meat and re-grilled until it was done.

How did it taste? Well, the book refers to it as "gamey-tasting fat with swampy overtones," and I can't improve on that description. I'm glad I ate it, but am not in a hurry to do it again. As to the rest of the beaver, Tiddy carved off a pound or so, and incorporated it into a gumbo with andouille sausage and other Cajun seasonings. Served on rice with some corn on the cob on the side, it was pretty damed tasty! Again, probably not worth the work of carving up a rodent, but made for a decent lunch, and a fascinating experience.

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American Cake - Cake #7: Lemon and Molasses Spice Marble Cake

Time Period: 1800-1869

Marbling is not an American invention. European bakers used this technique long before we did, but by the mid-1800s, it caught on here, most likely thanks to German immigrants. Professional bakeries offered this eye-catching design, but home cooks soon discovered that if they just dyed part of their batter with molasses and spices, they could recreate the effect. Or, they could use the method of just making two separate batters and swirling them together, which is what this recipe does.

It took until the end of the 19th century for chocolate to be incorporated into the dark batters, improving the range of marble cake flavors even further. No chocolate in this one, though. Half spice cake, half lemon cake, this cake uses the neat trick of dividing up the eggs; the yolks went into the molasses cake, and the whites went into the lemon one. In order to punch up the overall lemon flavor, there's also a simple preparation of lemon glaze to pour over the top.

That doesn't mean the overall preparation is simple, though. When a recipe requires two separate cake batters and egg whites whipped into soft peaks, you can either own three stand mixers, or you can prep one batter, transfer it to a bowl, clean the mixer, prep the second batter, transfer it to a bowl, clean the mixer, and prep the egg whites. I do not own three stand mixers, so this cake took...a while. In order to ensure a good swirl, I looked up a YouTube video about how best to combine the batters without making it look muddy.

It wound up looking pretty good, though my tube pan tends to give cakes that sad streak - I'll need to research if there's any way around that. And it wound up tasting pretty good - like the Martha Washington Great Cake, it tasted better on the second day. Unlike Martha's cake, though, I'm not sure the flavor justifies the work this cake requires. If I ever MUST make another marble cake and have a half day to devote to baking it, this is a perfectly enjoyable recipe, but it's doubtful that this one is going into the dessert rotation, unless I'm really in the mood to wash every dish in the house twice over.

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American Cake - Cake #6: Strawberry Shortcake

Time Period: 1800-1869

Wild strawberries were one of the tasty items awaiting American colonists when they crossed the Atlantic. The berries got put into jelly, syrup, and sweetened drinks, but it didn't take very long for people to figure out that they could combine the berries with the already-popular shortcake recipe to get something special. Crumbly shortcake/biscuits had been served since the very beginning of America, and despite a warning in an 1835 book claiming shortcakes were unhealthy, their popularity did not wane.

Strawberry shortcakes were a luxury, but humbler recipes for it began to pop up around the Civil War. Barely a handful of years later, it was already considered an American institution, helped along by the ability to ship the berries by rail. It's easy to see why they caught on so forcefully. Strawberry shortcake is extremely tasty, and simpler to prepare than a lot of other cakes.

As my delightful assistant hulled the berries and tossed them with sugar, I pulled together the dough. From there, it was a simple matter of cut, bake, and stack, with some homemade whipped cream on top for added effect. It's a perfect little summer dessert.

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American Cake - Cake #5: Shoofly Pie

Time Period: 1870-1899

Shoofly Pie is the first creation I made from this time period. This is the era that railroads became firmly entrenched in America, which radically altered the baking landscape. Recipes that were once considered regional began to spread, and ingredients/equipment that were once inaccessible became readily available to average home bakers. Shoofly, named after a popular circus mule (who in turn was probably named after the popular song of the 1830s), and whose name was branded onto the molasses this pie is made from, radiated out of its Pennsylvania home and became popular nationwide.

So, let's address what has to be everyone's first question when they see this recipe. Why is a pie included in a book named "American Cake"? Not only does it have the spongy texture of a molasses crumb cake, but according to historian William Woys Weaver, Shoofly started life in 1876 as "Centennial Cake", and was eaten without any crust. The crust was added later so that people could eat it with their hands. Shoofly may be one of the few recipes that has successfully jumped families like that.

Shoofly is one of those rare baking creations that does not use eggs, making it perfect for cold weather baking. Hens don't lay eggs in the cold, and heat ruins molasses. Thankfully, we live in the 21st century, so temperature regulation isn't an issue for us, and I could make this pie any old time.

In addition to molasses and spices, this recipe incorporates coffee, which I think added a very nice flavor. You can tell from that picture that the expanding baking soda in the filling burst through the crumb topping and broke it up somewhat, but overall, I was pretty pleased with this one, and am definitely using it as my go-to Shoofly Pie recipe the next time I need to whip one up.

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American Cake - Cake #4: Classic Pound Cake

Time Period: 1650-1799

Pound cake was not invented in America; like a lot of our early culture, it was imported from England. However, it's got plenty of history here, being mentioned in American recipes dating back to 1754. Electric mixers make its preparation a lot simpler than in those days. Baking a pound cake in the nineteenth century involved steps like washing salt out of butter and then rubbing it to a cream-like consistency with a wooden paddle, and finely grinding sugar with a mortar and pestle. One thing that hasn't changed is adherence to its name. Now, as then, it's made with a pound each of butter, sugar, flour, and eggs.

Using unbleached flour would be closer to what original American cake makers would have done, but we work with what we've got, so all-purpose it was. I also got what's known as a "sad streak" - that circular dip around the top center of the cake. The book absolves me of any guilt about this, since not only is it considered good luck in the American South, but the artfully-arranged photo used to show off pound cake in the book has an even deeper one.

So, how was it? Not bad, not great. The outside crust was pretty tasty, but the the center was what Mary Berry would call "close-textured". It was extremely dense, and a bit dry. Maybe I left it in the oven too long? Maybe the batter was overmixed, and I knocked the air out of it? I'll likely attempt pound cake again in the future, and will try to make these kinds of tweaks, along with some flavor experimentation, like the addition of some lemon zest. Some cakes are best in their purest forms, but pound cake has probably stood the test of time because of its adaptability and constant change. Maybe it's American, after all.

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American Cake - Cake #3: Martha Washington Great Cake

Time Period: 1650-1799

Back before elections assumed national importance, local votes were a big deal for a lot of communities. In the earliest days of America, towns would have a holiday on election day, and gigantic Election Cakes would be baked to mark the celebration. Similar cakes were baked to mark other festive occasions. Around Christmastime in 1797, George Washington returned home to Virginia after his two terms as president, and Martha Washington is said to have baked a great cake much like this to honor his homecoming. "Great" cakes were called such because they held a huge quantity of spices and dried fruit and were extremely dense.

Fruitcake does not enjoy an admirable reputation in America these days, but colonial Americans wouldn't recognize what modern citizens rightly despise. There's good news for fruitcake, though: People are beginning to realize that if you can ignore what fruitcake has become and adapt an old-fashioned recipe, instead, it can be downright tasty.

This cake had a lot of interesting facets to it. For one, the first step was to wake up at the crack of dawn so I could begin soaking currants in white wine. Once the fruit was in a covered bowl to stay warm and happy while it sucked up the booze, I went back to bed. A couple hours later, I sprang up to get to work. The batter itself started pretty standard; eggs, flour, sugar... The usual stuff. But then instead of adding milk for the liquid component, it was the remainder of the wine once the currants were strained out.

That wasn't the final twist. Once the currants were stirred in, and the batter went into the loaf pan, it was time to bake. Most cakes go into a hot oven for a short burst of time. This one was the complete opposite. It went in at an extremely low temperature and baked for more than two hours.

Once it was out and cooled, Tiddy and I sliced into it. It was fairly decent, and I looked over the recipe again, noting that it promised that this cake gets better the more it sits. We tried some more hours later, and lo and behold, it was true. The flavors had melded even more, and the texture had firmed up. So, it's time to see what a little patience will bring: I'm writing this just before bedtime, and am looking forward to seeing what another overnight rest will do for this cake.

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American Plate - Bite #36: Spanish California Rabbit Stew

One of the nuances of the American Plate Project is how readily available each of the Bites is. It's pretty simple to get my hands on a hot dog or a banana, but things like Lincoln's favorite cake and lamb's quarters will probably come later in the process. Once in a while, though, I get a shot at one of the more esoteric items on the list, and fortunately, the stars aligned this past week to get to one of the most niche Bites in the bunch.

American history is full of stories about the colonies and the Civil War, but we'd do well to teach more of the history surrounding our expansion. Around the 1830s, a steady stream of wagon trains set out west, with pioneers settling vast swaths of land. Of course, some of that land was already occupied, but that sure didn't stop anyone. Encouraged by President Polk, Congress delcared war on Mexico in 1846, and over the next several years, the United States acquired loads of territory, be it by invasion, annexation, or purchase.

As with many stories of conquest, the new citizens and the existing ones eventually blended into a single community, which gave rise to a whole new regional cuisine, and eventually the modern Tex-Mex we all enjoy today. We talk about foods that represent America often, but the dishes that were born from the combination of pioneer Americans and Latino citizens are really far more American than a lot of the things we often ascribe national identity to. I'm looking at you, apple pie.

Encarnación Pinedo's 1898 cookbook, El cocinero español, described a lot of these wholly American creations melded from Old World and New World influences. As hares were plentiful in the Southwestern region (and still are), they were a very popular protein to cook with, and Pinedo included multiple ways of stewing them in her book. Of course, the recipe needed some slight adaptation from its 1898 version, which read:

"Cut the rabbit in small pieces. Fry in very hot fresh lard with small pieces of pork fat. Fry over a quick fire, and when it begins to brown, add some chopped onion, garlic, and salt. Let it cook. Then add tomatoes, olives, chopped mushrooms, one or two spoonfuls of flour, and powdered oregano. Cover it with a chile sauce, leaving the casserole covered, and cook it over a moderate flame."

The American Plate provided an udpated recipe for Rabbit in Chile Sauce, and what better time to prepare it than a snowy winter's eve? I definitely still need some practice in butchering meat; the rabbit may have come pre-skinned, but I'm not great at separting a carcass into its component pieces. There was lots of chopping to do, too. As with every recipe, I put in more garlic than is called for, and popped open my last bottle of red wine for the sauce. I don't like the texture of mushrooms, but they add nice flavor, and I wanted to stay authentic to the recipe, so I included them as big chunks instead of minced pieces so I could eat around them. I'm glad that the updated recipe retained the olives, too. They added a very nice bit of salty brine to the stew.

The weather was bad enough that I didn't go out for extra accompaniments such as bread or green vegetables, so I just served the stew on wild rice, which worked out pretty well. Both Tiddy and I enjoyed it a lot, though eating a heavy stew with a glass of red wine meant I was passed out on the couch half an hour later. That's something those Southwestern pioneers sure didn't have the luxury of doing.

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American Plate - Bite #75: SPAM

Americans like to romanticize the humble meals of other counties, but we have plenty of humble ingredients, ourselves. Nobody could ever accuse SPAM of being upscale, but it's been consistently popular since its inception by Hormel in 1937. Named for its components (Shoulder of Pork and Ham), it made its debut at just the right time. Fresh meat was too expensive during the Great Depression, and when WWII kicked off, SPAM was perfect for use in the military as well. Rationing and the short shelf life of certain foods meant that people needed cheap, long-lasting items for their bare pantries, and SPAM fit the bill.

Convenience is not the only thing that sold it, though. As the US military moved from country to country during the war, other nations also started developing a taste for it. It remains popular in places like Korea, Guam, and the Philippines. SPAM also made up a large part of the diet fed to the Japanese American citizens unfairly interned in camps during the war, but when they left, they kept it in their recipe books; SPAM-based sushi (called Spam Nori) is still eaten today.

It even became something of a comfort food in Britain, which led to it being lampooned by Monty Python, which may have led to its adoption as a term for junk email. Wild ride, huh?

It's trendy to criticize SPAM, and while I wouldn't serve it at a dinner party, I share a kinship with some of those citizens just trying to fill up on an inexpensive, easy dinner sometimes. Many a night when I'm trying to pinch pennies, I can turn to a can of SPAM, fry it up in butter and spices, and mix it into a bowl of scrambled eggs. It's not fancy, but it's hearty and simple - two qualities that Americans pride themselves on.

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American Cake - Cake #2: Chocolate Stout Cake

Time Period: 2000-the present

We started in Colonial times, and have now immediately rocketed to the present. One of the hallmarks of modern cakes mentioned in the book is a trend towards celebrating local ingredients, so I wanted to be sure and do that, if possible.

The opportunity presented itself when Tiddy's friends told us they were having a stout party. There would be plenty of stout beers around, as well as two stout stews. I don't like drinking stouts, but stout stews are consistently amazing, so I knew the flavors can really work in cooking.

We told them we'd take care of dessert, and I turned to the Chocolate Stout Cake recipe. It's easily the most massive cake I've ever made. Three full layers of chocolate cake, with ganache frosting between each layer, and covering the entire outside. It took four sticks of butter, four cups of flour, four cups of sugar, and almost two full bottles of beer. I selected the Oatmeal Stout offered by our local Schlafly brewery to embrace local flavors, and because I thought a hint of oatmeal would work well with the chocolate. I got started on baking, dirtying just about every dish in the house.

When I was done, it was towering. It was so tall, I couldn't fit the dome of the cake plate on top. We had to secure it for the car trip by putting a plastic bag over it and by me keeping a death grip on the edges of the cake plate and doing balance exercises that would make a gymnastics coach proud, while Tiddy took turns like an eighty-four-year-old.

But it paid off! The stout stews were delicious, and the gigantor cake tasted pretty good, even if it did put the whole party into a food coma within ten minutes. Maybe next time I'll go for something a little daintier.

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