Great Chieftain o' the Puddin'-Race

I've been hoarding this recipe for a while now; since its creation, in fact.  It was the first cake I invented, and it's my favourite.  It earned two passing mentions on the local radio, and it was my claim to marginal fame.  I've been stubbornly reluctant to let it go, and yet all of its elements have been in the Recipe Box for a few months.

 
Born around the height of the Great Cupcake Fad, this cake actually began life in the form of the little cloud-topped, cup-shaped treats.  The basic components were chocolate cake, chocolate ganache and swiss buttercream, none of which is particularly unusual and all of which are easily translatable into a scrumptious layer cake.

The final component of my Whiskey Cake is the secret... You may be able to guess what it is.

Unsurprisingly, I wasn't even the first to think of putting whiskey in a chocolate cake: I was inspired by this recipe for Chocolate Irish Tipsy Cake that my mom once made for St. Patrick's Day.  It's quick, simple and delightfully delectable.  As much as I enjoy baking things from scratch, it can be hard to beat a simple box cake every now and again, and the addition of the instant pudding pack really gives the cake a ton of moisture.  Topped with this Hot Buttered Whiskey Glaze from Jack Daniel's, all I can say is - yum!

In a way, I can't give away the exact recipe for my cake because the recipe isn't exact.  I put whiskey in everything, but never in the same amount.  It's in the cake (pre-bake, substitute for part of the measurement of coffee, or other liquid such as water if called for), in the ganache and in the buttercream (you would think it wouldn't hold it, but it does).  For the latter two especially I use the pour-and-keep-pouring-til'-it-tastes-right method; let your taste buds be your guide  By the time it tastes right to me my olfactory senses are buzzing too...

I've always opted to use Irish whiskey (Jameson is great if it's on sale) because I'm not a huge fan of the smokey peat of Scotch whisky.  Last week, however, the idea was to honour the great Scottish bard Robert Burns, and so a Whisky (without the 'e' - trust me, it can be a touchy topic) Cake it had to be.

The most labour-intensive aspect of this cake is making the buttercream.  I've commented on it before here (and chocolate cake here and ganache here), but briefly: 1.) Beat a meringue to a stiff peak.

2.) When the meringue has cooled to room temperature, chop more unsalted butter than you ever want to think about or see and beat it into the meringue, a few pieces at a time,

3.) It'll look gross...

4.) Then it will look even worse...

But, 5.) If you and your hand mixer are able to power through it, the result - a light silky smooth buttercream - will be worth it.  Just don't think about the butter. 

(A side note: if you are lucky enough to have a stand mixer I'm sure I don't have to tell you to use that instead of a hand mixer, but make sure that you use the paddle attachment for the butter-beating; it will ensure far-fewer air bubbles, which is really what you want for a smooth surface on your cake).

Once the buttercream is finished, add your whiskey, and if you haven't put it in the ganache yet, throw some in there too.  For the cake itself, split your cake layers (best done after the layers have had a brief stint in the fridge or freezer), and spread a layer of ganache on each.  If your ganache hasn't set, you can try adding more melted chocolate (reheat the ganache a bit first so it doesn't freeze up) and cool it all again, or you can use a thin layer of moderately loose ganache and let it set on the layers in the freezer for a few minutes.  Once the layer of ganache is firm, spread a layer of buttercream on top.  Stack on the next cake layer and repeat until you get to the top layer, which should not have ganache on it.

Cover the cake with the remaining buttercream, pipe on borders or a design if desired, and enjoy!

Perfectibaking

Maybe it was the man who invented a machine to find the perfect chocolate chip cookie.  Maybe it was learning about the chemistry behind these sweet treats.  Maybe it was just high time to forget the science and take a big bite through the crispy caramelized edge of an oven-fresh chocolate chip cookie and straight into its gooey melting centre.

I haven't made chocolate chip cookies in a surprisingly long time, and have had a wide range of success with my past batches.  One of my earliest baking memories, in fact, was making chocolate chip cookies.  It was a joint effort with my sister when we were being babysat, and our abilities were questionable at best.  Let's just say that our oven use was supervised, but our measuring wasn't... and salt does look a lot like sugar; Rochelle from Sport Relief Bake Off knows.  More recently I used a recipe from a Mrs. Fields' cookie cookbook, and loved them!  That's why this time I tried to find the same recipe online, leading me to Mrs. Fields' blog and her Blue Ribbon Chocolate Chip Cookies.

The recipe called for more chocolate than I had on hand (one bar) and for dark brown sugar when all I had was light.  So I adapted; I cut the recipe in half to offset the lack of chocolate (my waistline may also have thanked me) and, in an attempt to return some of the deeper caramel flavour, substituted one tablespoon of molasses for one tablespoon of the light brown sugar.  My adapted recipe is in the Recipe Box.

The recipe is very straightforward: whisk the dry ingredients in one bowl, cream the butter and sugar in another before adding the egg, molasses and vanilla, and then combine everything.  As with most recipes, over-mixing should be avoided.

After mixing, scoop out tablespoon-sized balls of dough, roll them up, and arrange them on the baking sheet.

I expected quite a bit of spread from the cookies - to be honest I thought they might have been one giant cookie when I took them out - but I took a chance and they were fine.  They spread at the start of the bake...

And then they puffed up.

They surprised me again when they didn't fall back down after I took them out of the oven... These were not the same cookies I'd made from the cookbook.  I don't know if that was because the base recipes were different, I checked the cookbook and the recipes are the same (thank you Mrs. Fields!), so it seems that either my method (ignoring the directions in the recipe or not ignoring them) changed, or the addition of molasses really made quite a difference.  I remember those initial cookies as being relatively flat, crispy on the outside and soft in the middle; the kind you could bend a bit without breaking.  This batch also bends without breaking, to a point, but are far thicker.  They aren't cakey or dry, but a bit crumbly in a good way.  The edges and surface have that carmelized sweetness, and the overall flavour is very nice.  I simply don't know what happened to give them their height; maybe it's my memory that's faulty.

I checked out this handy guide from Handle the Heat, but it didn't shed much light on my particular batch, as the only thick cookies she baked were the product of adding more flour to the recipe, which I didn't do.  She also reports that they were undercooked and gooey in the middle, which mine were not.  (That is, however, in line with what cookie machine guy suggested - see link above).  It seems like I'll just have to make them again - or a few more times - to experiment.  Darn.

Speaking of experiment, I made a discovery with this micro-batch of cookies: an ex-Balvenie canister holds one dozen of them, perfectly.

They aren't whisky, but they'll certainly do.

It's Christmas 'til the tree comes down

I love a bargain as much as the next person - possibly more.  Thrift stores are my preferred hunting grounds, but post-Christmas there's a veritable open season in all sorts of shops.  Holiday items receive some of the deepest discounts, which this [new] year led to my baking of some somewhat belated gingerbread people.  At a fourth of its original price, my new Nordic Ware pan was not to be refused.

Naturally, I had to test it; our Christmas tree is still standing, so the smiling little cakes should similarly still be considered seasonally acceptable.  Plus, gingerbread will always be a welcome warmer in the cold winter months.  The packaging on the pan contained a recipe for gingerbread with a serving size of the six small cakes, so that was the recipe I used, with some adaptation.  It can be found here in the Recipe Box.

I added a pinch of black pepper to the other spices to give the cake some extra heat.  I also substituted milk for the cup of water called for on the packaging, some dark brown sugar for a portion of the granuated sugar, and I added a second egg.

The batter is thick until the addition of the liquid, but once the milk (or water) has been stirred in it is easily poured into the wells of the pan.

As the recipe was - it seemed - written for the pan, I thought that the cakes would probably not rise too high and spread out of the wells...  I should have listened to my instincts that the wells looked too full.

My gingerbread people needed to go on a diet after their sojourn in the oven.  The pan claims that 'Baked goods rise evenly, cook uniformly and are finely detailed thanks to the excellent thermal conduction of the heavy walls'.  The pan certainly is weighty, and from previous pan experimentation I thought that the light coating might reflect heat for an even bake, even before reading their statement that 'A special heat-reflective exterior and premium nonstick surface assures perfect results'.  Well... given that the recipe could have filled two pans, I'm not sure that it would be fair to judge the rise against this first test run.  The cake did bake uniformly, however, and the recipe was tasty.  If the downside was a surprise double-batch, that can't be considered a bad thing - two for the price of one!

The pan did make good on its claims of detail and easy removal, although it did also call for preparing the pan in the normal way, with grease and flour, despite its 'premium nonstick surface'.  This was just as well, because I felt like experimenting by adding a bit of cinnamon to the flour for a little extra flavour - I think it worked!  Once out, the cakes just had to be separated from each other, and from their overly-large backsides.  The first step was easy, with a small sharp knife.

Step two was fairly simple, if a little bit messier.  Using a tiny turntable, I removed the backs of the cakes in the same way you would split a layer of a round cake.  If your cakes overflow like mine, definitely wait for the cakes to be cool before moving on to this.  Better still, split the batter into two batches, making twelve gingerbread people.

I decorated the people halves with royal icing to make them colourful and to accentuate the details from the pan.  If you don't feel like wasting the time, they would also look nice with a sprinkling of powdered sugar.

For the blobby halves I plopped a couple in a pair of bowls and served with fresh cream whipped with a hint (but not too subtle) of brandy.

Taste trumps beauty.