Sitting in Bars with Cake: Lessons and Recipes from One Year of Trying to Bake My Way to a Boyfriend
Page 7
For the cake:
1 cup (2 sticks/230 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1½ cups (300 g) sugar
3 large eggs
1 cup (280 g) pureed peaches (canned is fine; you’ll need one 15-ounce/425-g can of sliced peaches, drained)
½ cup (85 g) white chocolate chips, melted and cooled slightly
2½ cups (315 g) all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
For the frosting:
¼ cup (50 g) sugar
2 large sprigs mint, torn
½ cup (1 stick/115 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature
4 cups (400 g) confectioners’ sugar, sifted
1 to 2 tablespoons milk, if needed
Mint leaves, for garnish
To make the cake: Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Butter two 9-inch (23-cm) round cake pans, line the bottoms with rounds of parchment paper, and dust the pans with flour, tapping out the excess.
Beat the butter and sugar together until creamy, then add the eggs, one at a time, scraping down the sides of the bowl. Add the peaches and the white chocolate.
In a separate bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, and salt. Working in batches, stir the flour mixture into the butter mixture. Divide the batter between the prepared pans.
Bake for 25 to 30 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center of a cake comes out clean. Let cool for 5 minutes, then loosen the sides with a knife and invert onto wire racks to cool completely. Peel off the parchment and transfer one layer to a serving platter.
To make the frosting: In a small saucepan, combine the sugar, mint, and ¼ cup (60 ml) water and bring to a boil over medium heat. Let cool completely, then strain into a cup and discard the mint; you should have about 3 tablespoons of mint simple syrup.
Beat the butter and confectioners’ sugar together until smooth, then beat in the syrup until fluffy and smooth, adding milk a little at a time, if needed. Spread some of the frosting over the bottom cake layer, top with the second cake layer, and spread the remaining frosting over the top and sides. Garnish with mint leaves.
The Guy Who Took My Cake
I must have given this guy the impression that I was very literally trying to get rid of my cake as, without a word, he took it from my hands and started offering it to other people at the bar, flat-out stealing my job. To stop him would have been to acknowledge there was a strategy behind the distribution, so I looked on helplessly as he worked the crowd, handing out the spoils of my labor. It was only when I saw him start advertising to a group of single girls that I felt it grounds to intercede, gently guiding him back to our table and reclaiming what was left of the beautiful cake.
While I privately resented him the rest of the time he sat with us, I had to give him credit for his tenacity.
I suppose this gesture should have been interpreted as helpful, not as an effort to overthrow my one-woman hostessing show. The guy had no way of knowing that this particular cake took me two-and-a-half hours to make and I only had fifteen to eighteen small- to medium-size pieces at my disposal.
I won’t pretend I’m not subconsciously and constantly on the lookout for examples of gentlemanly behavior in our crumbling society, but the only thing I really needed this guy to do in that moment was sit still and eat my cake, preferably elaborating about how good it was.
Guys prove to be helpful when you least need them to be.
Melonhead Cake with Fizzy Frosting
For guys who don’t understand your directions, intentions, or unspoken tactical plans.
For the cake:
½ cup (1 stick/115 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 cup (200 g) sugar
1 cup (250 g) pureed cantaloupe or honeydew melon
4 large egg whites
½ teaspoon cream of tartar
3 cups (375 g) all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
½ cup (120 ml) ginger ale
For the frosting:
½ cup (1 stick/115 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature
4½ cups (450 g) confectioners’ sugar, sifted
3 tablespoons ginger ale
1 to 2 tablespoons milk, if needed
To make the cake: Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Butter two 9-inch (23-cm) round cake pans, line the bottoms with rounds of parchment paper, and dust the pans with flour, tapping out the excess.
Beat the butter and sugar together until creamy. Add the melon.
In a separate bowl, using an electric mixer with the whisk attachment, whip the egg whites and cream of tartar together until soft peaks form, and set aside.
In a third bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.
Working in batches, stir the flour mixture into the butter mixture, alternating with the ginger ale; stir until just combined. Stir in half of the egg whites to lighten the mixture, then gently fold in the remaining whites. Divide the batter between the prepared pans.
Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center of a cake comes out clean. Let cool for 5 minutes, then loosen the sides with a knife and invert onto wire racks to cool completely. Peel off the parchment and transfer one layer to a serving platter.
To make the frosting: Beat the butter and confectioners’ sugar together until smooth, then beat in the ginger ale until fluffy and smooth, adding a little milk if the frosting is too thick. Spread some of the frosting over the bottom cake layer, top with the second cake layer, and spread the remaining frosting over the top.
EMBARRASSING MOMENTS WORTH REVISITING
(that everyone should promptly forget)
(1) That time when everyone around us was on a date
(2) The first seventeen times I tried to order a drink at the bar and couldn’t remember what I was supposed to do
(3) That time people discovered whole pieces of sweet potato in their cake because I hadn’t properly mashed them
(4) That time I ran into one of my friends and was too embarrassed to tell him and his date what we were up to
(5) That time my friend tried to rip out my other friend’s nose stud thinking it was a crumb
(6) That time when the cake tasted like cardboard and everyone was nice about it anyway
(7) That time when no one at the bar wanted any cake
(8) That time someone decided to kiss me for cake
(9) That time the bouncer wouldn’t let me inside the bar
(10) That time I got frosting all over my dress
Cakes for Meaningful Get-Togethers, Affirmative Encounters, and Reflective Solo Eating
After a year of so many newly acquired tastes—from batter to boys to bars—here are the final cakes to accompany the stories that influenced me the most, holding more weight than all the cakes I made combined. What follows are surprising dessert combinations extracted from this flavor-filled dating strategy—an experiment that taught me more about myself than about baking, dating, or dudes. These are the cakes you make to leave an impression—one you’ll remember far longer than that guy who asked for your number, and well after the last bite is gone.
The Guy Who Was a Hot Rocket Scientist
I almost fell over when this guy told me he was a rocket scientist. I thought maybe this was a joke, as rocket scientists were only supposed to be this good-looking when portrayed by actors on cable shows about spies.
Since I assumed he already had an equally brilliant and beautiful fiancée with whom he shared a small dog, I was beyond surprised when the rocket scientist not only sat down to have some cake, but put his arm around my chair while eating it. I considered this the next most appropriate move to putting his arm around me, which still meant things were moving pretty fast. “This is some legit cake,” he pronounced, in what I can only describe as a husky, all-American genius voice.
It was like we were instantly best friends. I kept
waiting for him to put together that I was far too quirky for his khaki-pants personality, that I knew about as much about science as he knew about decoupaging, that there was precious little overlap between our tribes, and that he could go ahead and go back to his table, but that moment never came. One thing led to another, and the two of us were playing the state capitals game with his friends and my friends until the bar closed at two in the morning.
We had bonded solely because he liked my baking and I liked to bake. The cake had leveled us to the same playing field, just two people reveling in a shared sugar high, and we were somehow—even if temporarily—a team.
The shortest distance between you and a handsome genius can be computed down to a single serving of cake.
Curry Carrot Cake with Gingery Frosting
For exceedingly educated engineers, fiery chemists, and/or flirty rocket scientists.
For the cake:
½ cup (1 stick/115 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 cup (200 g) sugar
3 large eggs
2 cups (210 g) grated carrots
2½ cups (310 g) all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon curry powder
½ teaspoon salt
1 cup (240 ml) plain yogurt
For the frosting:
2 cups (480 ml) Greek yogurt
½ teaspoon ground ginger
3 tablespoons honey
2 teaspoons lemon juice
Carrot shavings, for garnish
To make the cake: Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Butter two 9-inch (23-cm) round cake pans, line the bottoms with rounds of parchment paper, and dust the pans with flour, tapping out the excess.
Beat the butter and sugar together until creamy, then add the eggs, one at a time, scraping down the sides of the bowl. Stir in the carrots.
In a separate bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, baking soda, curry powder, and salt.
Working in batches, stir the flour mixture into the butter mixture, alternating with the yogurt; stir until just combined. Divide the batter between the prepared pans.
Bake for 35 to 40 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center of a cake comes out clean. Let cool for 5 minutes, then loosen the sides with a knife and invert onto wire racks to cool completely. Peel off the parchment and transfer one cake layer to a serving platter.
To make the frosting: Whisk the yogurt, ginger, honey, and lemon juice together. Spread some of the frosting over the bottom cake layer, top with the second cake layer, and spread the remaining frosting over the top and sides. Garnish with carrot shavings.
The Girl Who Didn’t Have Cake for Her Birthday
She was surrounded by at least a dozen friends for her birthday, although there were no balloons, no presents, and there was definitely no cake. I couldn’t help but find the whole situation rather socially unacceptable: who were these thoughtless friends of hers who hadn’t thought to bake her a birthday cake or, at the very least, buy her one from the store? What was the point of even getting together to celebrate?
Seeing as how my entire cake still happened to be intact, I walked over and offered the birthday girl and her so-called party the whole thing, handing off this conveniently appearing dessert they hadn’t ordered but had possibly meant to bring. About a third of the friends were guys, one of whom even generously bought me a Shirley Temple as thanks for the cake. But I wasn’t doing this for them, of course—I was doing it for the girl.
Yes, I was straying from the mission—to first and foremost seek out suitable boyfriend material in the form of the oblivious cake-eaters—but when it really came down to it, I knew what was right.
Cakeless birthday parties are your call to arms.
Chocolate Chick-ory Cake with Dandelion Frosting
A gender-bending dessert for male and female cake-eaters alike.
For the cake:
1 cup (200 g) sugar plus 2 tablespoons
2 heads Belgian endive (chicory), leaves separated
½ cup (1 stick/115 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature
3 large eggs
2 cups (250 g) all-purpose flour
¾ cup (60 g) unsweetened cocoa powder, sifted
2 teaspoons ground roasted chicory root
2 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
1 cup (240 ml) sour cream
For the frosting:
8 ounces (1 block/225 g) cream cheese, at room temperature
½ cup (120 ml) heavy cream
1 cup (40 g) organic dandelion petals
To make the cake: Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Butter two 9-inch (23-cm) round cake pans, line the bottoms with rounds of parchment paper, and dust the pans with flour, tapping out the excess.
In a small saucepan, combine 1 cup (240 ml) of water and the 2 tablespoons of sugar and place over medium heat. Add the endive leaves and cook until soft, about 5 minutes. Drain, pat dry with a paper towel, and chop. Set aside.
Beat the butter and remaining 1 cup (200 g) of sugar together until creamy, then add the eggs, one at a time, scraping down the sides of the bowl.
In a separate bowl, combine the flour, cocoa powder, chicory root, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.
Working in batches, stir the flour mixture into the butter mixture, alternating with the sour cream; stir until just combined. Stir in the endive. Divide the batter between the prepared pans.
Bake for 25 to 30 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center of a cake comes out clean. Let cool for 5 minutes, then loosen the sides with a knife and invert onto wire racks to cool completely. Peel off the parchment and transfer one cake layer to a serving platter.
To make the frosting: Beat the cream cheese, cream, and dandelion petals together until fluffy. Spread some of the frosting over the bottom cake layer, top with the second cake layer, and spread the remaining frosting over the top.
ON GIRLS
A Study of Female Behavior in Bars
(1) That guy they’re hanging out with might just be their brother.
(2) They’re fast and smart enough to suddenly become teammates.
(3) Their cake compliments sway toward the short, sweet, and sincere.
(4) They’ll watch your back when a weirdo’s being weird …
(5) … but emerge from the woodwork if you’re talking to their boyfriends.
(6) They’re also probably wondering what happened to that bygone era when guys knew how to buy girls drinks without making things weird.
(7) There’s always room for debate in what constitutes a “dress.”
(8) Their vocal range reaches a special shrillness after midnight.
(9) They’re more likely to take a piece of cake if they’re working behind the bar.
(10) Bachelorette parties do, in fact, necessitate tiaras.
The Guy Who Asked for My Email Address
It was the kind of place where peanut shells coated the floor, and this guy was dancing in a three-piece suit. He and his friends were trying to keep up with the horrible house music, and I admired their attempts to look like they knew what they were doing. I waited for a break in the noise to ask if they wanted any cake, and all six of them ended up back at my table.
The guy in the suit sat and talked to me while his friends continued to gyrate around us, now far away from the music and staining their dress shirts with frosting. It turned out suit guy had clearly defined manners and a normal-person job, the equivalent of finding a unicorn cheerfully directing traffic along Hollywood Boulevard. He complimented the cake in between slow and courteous bites, and I appreciated his thoughtfulness coming through above the grating commotion of his friends. I felt like we were actually hitting it off.
His friends started drifting away, and it was clear he should probably get my phone number, or I should man up and ask for his. We were stalling, waiting for the other to take t
he lead, when he finally spoke up.
“Can I have your email address?” he asked.
It was with some comfort that I realized this part of the dating process must be as difficult for him as it had once been for me. This was like going back to dialup AOL. At least I had graduated to the high-speed Internet way of asking someone for their number.
Artichoked Cake with Balsamic Glaze
For young men who could use a shove forward in the dating arena, or a little encouragement taking the lead.
For the cake:
½ cup (1 stick/115 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 cup (200 g) sugar
2 large eggs
1 (14-ounce/400-g) can artichoke hearts, drained and chopped
2 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese
2 tablespoons minced scallions
1 tablespoon lemon juice
2½ cups (310 g) all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
For the glaze:
2 cups (480 ml) balsamic vinegar
3 tablespoons brown sugar
To make the cake: Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Butter two 9-inch (23-cm) round cake pans, line the bottoms with rounds of parchment paper, and dust the pans with flour, tapping out the excess.
Beat the butter and sugar together until creamy, then add the eggs, one at a time, scraping down the sides of the bowl. Add the artichokes, Parmesan, scallions, and lemon juice.
In a separate bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, and salt. Working in batches, stir the flour mixture into the butter mixture until just combined. Divide the batter between the prepared pans.
Bake for 25 to 30 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center of a cake comes out clean and the tops are golden. Let cool for 5 minutes, then loosen the sides with a knife and invert onto wire racks to cool completely. Peel off the parchment and transfer one cake layer, bumpy-side up, to a serving platter.