Sam’s Cake Pavlova, So Long Beacon Hill

Friday will be the last night I sleep in my studio—my home for the last four years.  I’ll soon be shipping off to Boston’s North End.  But as I type this, I’m currently in Beacon Hill penned in by boxes; stacks of old Gourmet magazines; and a dubious gang of bottles, each with about a thumb’s worth of liquor. 

There is leftover Hiram Walker creme de cacao from a chocolate martini phase,  when I had my first job as a café manager and took to drinking sweet drinks served in martini glasses. Perhaps a way to usher me into adulthood, gently.

And rosso vermouth from a make-your-own-Manhattan-at-home stage.  An attempt to survive a post-apocalyptic breakup.

Some Speyburn single malt from the time in my life when I tried to like scotch.

Dark rum courtesy of the summer I spent teaching myself to use a charcoal grill.  Fueled by enough Dark and Stormy cocktails to quell the fear that I’d set my city patio on fire and singlehandedly burn down Beacon Hill. 

Plus a long, thin-necked Galliano bottle that I took after raiding my grandmother’s cellar.  I quickly learned that I am, perhaps, the only person still alive who likes the canary yellow digestif.

The stories these bottles could tell.

But this is not space for that.  At least not today.  Today, today (!) I am going to tell you about the last—and epic—party that was held on my eighteen by six feet garden terrace, an outdoor space that I will miss very much.

A dear friend—someone who knew me well before the swift entrance into adulthood, neurotic grilling, and scotch—recently became affianced to lad who tolerates me calling him JamBug.  (Hi Theresa!  Hi JamBug!)  It was quickly decided we needed to party the shit out of my patio, one last time.

So we did.  On a Sunday night in early August.  We set the patio aglow with small glass votives; hung tea light-filled Ball jars from tree branches; and strung big bulbed lights all over the place.  The space flickered like it was filled with fireflies.

And then eighteen people were overserved.  And fed. With stuffed mushrooms, pickled shishito peppers, and Pimm’s No.1 cup cocktail cubes.  Sumac deviled eggs; pimento and cucumber tea sandwiches (crusts intact); and tomato, peach, burrata, basil salad. 

Fed a beautiful polenta artichoke tart, courtesy of a Maria Speck recipe.  Fed two porchetta plus herbed potatoes courtesy of Dave Schneller.  Essentially we stuffed ourselves.  With pig-stuffed pig, mushroom-stuffed mushrooms, egg-stuffed eggs … you get the idea.  Plus we had molasses and plum ice cream sandwiches.  And Sam’s Cake pavlova.

Allow me to explain Sam’s cake.  Theresa’s family has a restaurant.  This restaurant has a cake.  A cake named after her father, who used to make the dessert.  Famously made the dessert.  He passed away when Theresa and I were in high school.  So we honored him and his yellow-caked legacy, which also included a vanilla pudding-like component and berries.

To lighten it a smidgen I substituted pavlova.  Given all the eating we were to do.  A meringue with unsweetened whipped cream, plus pastry cream, and peaches, and berries followed.

Simple.  But a stunner.  Light as a feather.  Touched by Sam and graced by a ballet dancer, as the pavlova story goes.

A hell of a way to start a marriage. A hell of a way to end a party.

Sam’s Cake Pavlova

Ingredients:

for the pavlova

Adapted from Smitten Kitchen

2 tsp white vinegar

2 tsp vanilla extract

1 tbsp cornstarch

2 cups superfine (castor) sugar (see notes section)

8 egg whites (reserve 4 yolks for the pastry cream)

pinch of salt

for the pastry cream

Adapted from Tartine

2 cups whole milk

½ vanilla bean, split, seeds scraped and pod reserved

¼ tsp salt

3 to 4 tbsp cornstarch

½ cup + 1 tbsp sugar

4 egg yolks

4 tbsp unsalted butter

for the topping

1 pint heavy cream

1 tsp orange blossom water

2 small peaches

1 cup blueberries

1 cup raspberries

Instructions:

Start this at least a day before you plan to serve it to make assembly much easier. 

To make the pavlova:

Set the oven at 250 degrees and place a rack in the center.  Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper and draw a 7-inch diameter circle on each one.

In a small bowl, mix the vinegar and vanilla extract.  In another small bowl, mix the cornstarch into the sugar.

In the bowl of a stand mixer, whip the whites and salt on low, increasing the speed to medium, until soft peaks form, and a trail from the whites becomes visible, and very tiny bubbles form that are uniform in size (about 2 to 4 minutes).

Increase the speed to medium high and slowly sprinkle in the sugar mixture.  After about a minute, add in the vinegar mixture.  Increase the speed and whip until glossy, stiff peaks form (about 5 minutes).

Spread half the meringue to fit inside one of your circles on one of the prepared baking sheets, smoothing it out and making sure the edges are higher than the middle.  (You’ll need a well an inch or two deep in the center to create a space for the pastry cream and fruit to go.)  Repeat with the remaining meringue on the other sheet.

Bake both meringues for 1 hour plus 15 to 30 minutes, or until the shells are dry and cream-colored.  (Look at the shells around 60 to 70 minutes; you don’t want them to take on too much color, if they are rotate the pans and drop the oven temperature about 25 degrees.)

When the outside meringues are as described above and feel firm to the touch, turn the oven off and leave the door ajar, leaving the meringues inside.  (I used a fork to keep the oven propped open.)  Let the meringues cool completely in the oven.

Peel the cooled meringues off the parchment paper and store in an airtight container, or wrap tightly with plastic wrap, until ready to use.

To make the pastry cream:

Place a fine mesh sieve over a large bowl.

In a medium saucepan, place the milk, scraped vanilla bean seeds and pod, and salt, and place over medium-high heat; stir occasionally, to prevent scorching, and bring to just under a boil.  Remove the pod.

In a medium bowl, whisk together the cornstarch and sugar. (3 tbsp will yield a slightly runnier cream, while 4 tbsp will yield a firmer cream; I used 3 tbsp and thought it was a perfect counterpoint for the meringue.)  Whisk in the yolks.

When the milk is ready, slowly pour about 1/3 of the hot milk into the egg mixture, whisking constantly.  Pour a little more of the hot milk into the egg mixture and whisk again.  Repeat once or twice more, and then pour the egg mixture into the remaining hot milk mixture and cook over medium heat, constantly whisking, until the custard becomes as thick as lightly whipped cream, about 2 minutes (you’ll want to see a few slow bubbles to ensure the cornstarch cooks, but do not allow the cream to fully boil or it may curdle.)

Remove the cream from the heat and quickly pour it through your sieve into the bowl.  Let cool for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally to prevent a skin from forming.  When the cream is about 140 degrees, whisk in the butter in 1 tbsp pieces.  (Whisk until the cream is smooth before adding the next piece.)

Cover the cream with plastic wrap, pressing the wrap directly onto the top of the cream (to prevent a skin forming).  Refrigerate until ready to use.

To make the whipped cream:

In the bowl of a stand mixer, whip the heavy cream until it becomes stiff and cloud-like; whip in the orange blossom water for another few seconds. Cover and refrigerate until ready to use.

To serve:

Slice the peaches.  Place each meringue onto a serving dish. 

Spoon pastry cream into the center of each meringue until you deem fit (I spooned until it started to gently run down the sides of the meringue).  Scatter the peach slices and blueberries equally between the two meringues.  Divide the whipped cream evenly between the two and then toss the raspberries on top.  Serve immediately.

(Alternatively—if you are feeling brave—you could try stacking the two meringues, alternating the pastry cream, fruit, and whipped cream.)

Serves 12 to 16 people

Notes:

 -The pastry cream can be made up to 5 days ahead of time.  The meringue and the whipped cream can be made 1 day ahead of time.

-You could probably cut the pastry cream in half; you’ll have a little extra if you don’t, but I’ve never heard anyone complaining about leftover pastry cream.  You can use it as a simple sauce with fresh fruit, or to add to cakes and trifles.

-If you can’t find superfine sugar, whirl granulated sugar in a food processor until it becomes finely textured.

-You probably won’t be able to serve 16 people if you stack the pavlova.  Each pavlova on its own will conservatively yield 6 generous portions and 8 smaller ones.

Whole Wheat Stone Fruit Marmalade Cake, Only a Minor Mess

There is no socially acceptable way to eat an August peach.  Especially in an office setting.  Believe me, I’ve tried. 

I’ve tried one-handed with a paper towel cupped under the fruit.  I’ve tried hovering in the corner, hunched over my miniature garbage can like Quasimodo.  I’ve tried the three-bite approach. (Definitely not recommended unless someone is standing by, Heimlich-ready.) 

I’ve found the best way to eat a peach is with the office door closed. And to be far, far away from the keyboard so as to prevent an unfortunate incident where the letter F gets sticky and remains this way no matter the number of disinfectant wipes used. 

But such problems assure that you’ve found a good peach.  You know instantly.  Something happens on a chemical level. Much like you know when you’ve found a good mate. (Note: if said person brings you espelette pepper jelly for no apparent reason; suggests you watch Harold and Maude; and doesn’t balk at your lack of AC in a July heat wave, you can be pretty sure he’ll be around for longer than a summer peach.)

But back to fruit.  You can’t take the dribbles and soft, perfumed flesh away from the peach.  At least, you shouldn’t.  Of course, this messiness is not limited to peaches alone.  Just the other day it happened with a pluot.

So stone fruits, they drip summer.  Great for eating.  Not so great for adhering to office breakfasting etiquette.  I knew there had to be a way to circumvent this between nine and five.  And—like many problems needing mending and romances worth their weight—it involved cake.

Full disclosure: the version pictured was made with apricots; apricots have now faded from view here in New England.  My suspicion is that the Italian prune plum would be dynamite here, perhaps with a little addition of cardamom and pistachio.  And don’t forget, our lady peach is still reigning. In fact, I suspect any number of the usual stone fruit suspects would do well in this role. As would apples—which is what the original version calls for—if you’ve sworn off your oven for the remainder of August. 

While apricots tend to have less juice than some other summer fruits, I believe this cake to be a very good way to use up office-problematic varieties.  And because the recipe uses whole wheat flour, calls for marmalade, and comes to you in a loaf pan, it can easily be coaxed into a perfectly acceptable breakfast option.  In fact, I was one step away from calling it a bread because—despite the multiple sugar sources in the recipe—it is not super sweet.  But the addictive demerera crunch on top and the cake’s slight butterscotch notes kept me from downgrading it.

Though—and I should be clear here—regardless of what it is called, I still get its crumbs in my keyboard.  But that’s probably just me.

Whole Wheat Stone Fruit Marmalade Cake

Inspired from Ripe: A Cook in the Orchard  by Nigel Slater

Ingredients:

2 cups white whole wheat flour

1 heaping tsp baking powder

few pinches of salt

pinch of cinnamon

heafty pinch of allspice

3-4 fresh apricots (or other stone fruit), pits removed and chopped between ¼-½ inch-sized pieces (about 1 cup, give or take)

¼ cup plus 2 tbsp of a citrus marmalade

zest of 1 lemon (or orange; you can mimic whatever citrus your marmalade is made of)

½ cup butter, at room temperature

a scant cup light muscovado sugar

1/3 cup olive oil

4 eggs

1 tsp vanilla extract

½ cup chopped walnuts

demerara sugar, for sprinkling

Instructions:

Preheat the oven to 325.  Line 1-2 loaf pans (depending on their size) with parchment paper, allowing the paper to hang over the long sides of the pan. Butter the parchment paper and any exposed inside pan parts not covered by the paper.  (Alternatively, you could use an 8-inch round cake or springform pan.) 

Sift together flour, baking powder, salt, and spices into a medium bowl.  In a small bowl, combine the apricots, marmalade, and lemon zest.

In a stand mixer, cream the butter and sugar together until they start to get lighter in color and then slowly pour in the olive oil and continue to beat until well mixed. Slowly add the eggs, one at a time, while the mixer is running on low, until the eggs are fully incorporated.  (Things may start to curdle, keep going.)  Add in the vanilla. Then, with the mixer running, slowly add in the sifted flour mixture until just combined. Remove the bowl from the stand and fold in the apricot marmalade mixture, along with the walnuts.

Pour the cake batter into your prepared pan(s) and toss a few spoonfuls of demerara sugar on top.  Bake for 75-90 minutes, or until a toothpick or cake tester comes out clean when inserted into the cake.  Cool on wire rack before removing the cake from the pan(s).

Makes 1-2 loaves, depending on the size of your pans (see note), or one 8-inch cake

Notes:

-A few things.  My loaf pans are long and narrow.  I have yet to measure their volume.  If you decide to use a loaf pan, you’ll want to fill it only about 2/3 of the way up with batter, regardless of its size.  If you have leftover batter, you can pour it into smaller tins to bake.  Alternatively, you could make a round cake.  Your cooking time may vary slightly, depending on what you use, so just keep a watchful eye.

-I used this recipe for the marmalade.  It’s my favorite.  And I still have one remaining pint in my freezer from February.

-If you don’t have muscovado you can use brown sugar (don’t tightly pack it).

-A wide variety of nuts could work here.  I love walnuts with stone fruits.  I imagine pistachio would be particularly nice with plums and almonds with peaches, as well.

-It’s a bad habit, but I very rarely measure my spices in snack cake recipes.  The original cake (which contains apples) calls for ½ tsp cinnamon and no other spices.