American Plate - Bite #84: Pizza

As I've no doubt mentioned tons of times, some of the Bites of this project are far easier to obtain than others; I'm still blown away that I was able to get my hands on some beaver tail. There are other entries that will be somewhat challenging to source, but on the flip side, some of the entries are so easy that they can basically be put off until whenever it's most convenient. Say, a global pandemic? Even trapped in our homes, it's no trouble at all to enjoy a Bite that is so common to Americans, it can be found in every settlement in the country. Styles and toppings may differ, but just about everyone loves pizza.

You'd be hard pressed to name a more representative food for America, even if its origin lies in Naples, Italy. So how did it travel from being served to visiting royalty in 1889 to being served on every street corner in the USA? Well, the first pizza parlor was founded in New York City in 1905, but it took until the end of World War II to become a national phenomenon. Soldiers returning from the Italian battlefields told tales of the delicious concoction, and once it caught on with teenagers, it was the hip new snack that every cool kid wanted to eat. It didn't take long to become a commodity for franchise owners, and the marriage of pizza and fast food gave it another popularity explosion.



Different regions celebrate it in different ways, of course, from the deep dish Chicago style to the cracker-thin St. Louis style. I tend to prefer the good ol' fashioned New York style, and when it comes to toppings, I may be one of the few remaining people who love a pizza piled high with delicious, salty anchovy.

Whether it's the cornmeal crust of Pi, the cheesy goodness of La Pizza, or the experimental toppings of Dewey's, there's no shortage of terrific local options. But no matter where in America you call home, there's no doubt a slice of heaven waiting nearby.

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American Cake - Cake #11: 1-2-3-4 Cake

Time Period: 1870-1899

When you think of the platonic ideal of "American cake", the 1-2-3-4 cake is likely what pops into your head: Yellow/vanilla sponge with a chocolate icing. The use of vanilla extract in cakes dates to about the Civil War (no correlation that I know of, but wouldn't that be wild?) and recipes for this type of cake started popping up shortly thereafter. Versions of it have been traced to an 1870 Michigan newspaper, a couple of regional cookbooks, and finally, The Joy of Cooking in 1931.

It's called 1-2-3-4 Cake because of the proportions of its ingredients. 1 cup of butter. 2 cups of sugar. 3 cups of flour. 4 eggs. Recipes vary on what else gets added, but this one makes sure to include a little liquid (milk) and some leavening (baking powder). There were also a couple of other interesting details. I generally use all-purpose flour for my baking, but this recipe insisted on cake flour. I didn't think there'd be much of a difference, but was amazed to see how much more quickly cake flour combined into the batter. This is also one of the rare times I made a frosting on the stovetop instead of in the stand mixer.

The circumstances this cake was baked in are (hopefully) once in a lifetime as well. It was meant to be a birthday cake for Tiddy in March, but that became impossible. For one, it was made in the midst of organizing the stuff we just moved into the new house; you can see the boxes in the background of the picture. I had to hunt through piles of dishes to track down all the pans and racks that I'd need. And then there came a little thing called global pandemic, which has affected every aspect of life, as you can imagine. Finally, though, we were able to amass all of the necessary ingredients and equipment, and I was able to give Tiddy a belated dessert.

So, how was it? Frankly, a bit dry. I think sponge should be moist enough on its own, and not need an assist from the frosting. I don't know that this recipe will be going into the cake rotation, but overall, though, it's not too bad. It's certainly better than the other desserts available in the culinary world right now.

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American Cake - Cake #10: Chez Panisse Almond Torte

Time Period: 1963-1979

Whatever your opinion on what Alice Waters' ethos has brought to the world of food, there's no denying that she's an influential force in the recipes that flowed out of California in this time period. Her pastry chef, Lindsey Shere, was a rancher with an Italian heritage who baked the restaurant's desserts in a back cottage. I'm not sure how symbolic of America as a whole this adapted recipe of Shere's is, but I'm always happy to see an almond cake come my way. The recipe calls for almond paste, which I generally taste in those (non-fortune) cookies served at Chinese restaurants. None of the stores around me carried it, but it was easy enough to order.

Though I love my stand mixer, I'm secretly delighted every time I see a recipe that calls for the mixture to be made in a food processor, because I know I'm about to save all sorts of time and dish washing. I was able to throw the batter together one morning, and by the time some friends stopped by to play board games, it was baked and cooling. When I served it at dinner that night, it had a wonderful moistness in the center while still keeping that tasty crust on the outside. I can see why this torte was a hit back in the day, and it'll be joining modernity as well, because this one is definitely going into the recipe rotation.

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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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