transition and constants

It's September of course, and while I don't feel as if September de facto means the end of summer, there is unquestionably a sense of change in the air, every September. Kids go back to school. Casual Fridays end. You see a more determined look on the faces of people, as if , even as adults, that sense of "school days" and "summer vacation" ends. For a short while, people will be agressive on the trains, as everyone tries to re-establish an "alpha" position, if they are so inclined. And if you're aware of it, you try to move with the flow. They're constants.

And then there are changes, and transitions. I think that all of us, myself included, spend at least part of the summer thinking about change: what are we going to change in our lives? Perhaps it's best to make Labor Day Resolutions, rather than New Year's resolutions. I think that the sense of purpose that we all bring into September, is much stronger than the one we bring into the New Year. But that's just my view.

In terms of transitions, Guy and I are changing our roles in a number of organizations we work with. For example, Guy, who has been the "Baking tsar" for his Chorus for about six years, is stepping back to a part time role. He's tired, and who can blame him? No one feels his "pain" more than I, because I did it right before he did. And as others step in to do the job, there is both a sense of regret, and a sense of relief. Transition frees us up to do other things.

But transition cannot be accomplished without constancy too. I am currently reading that wonderful classic of Italian literature "The Leopard." The key line of that book, as you may know, is that "if we want things to stay the same, everything has to change." Think about it. It makes a melancholic, honest sense, doesn't it?

In that spirit, I am trying to pass on recipes that I've used, and Guy has used, so that the new bakers can fall back on proven classics. This is one of them. I wish I could take ownership of the recipe, but I can't. Although I will "own" variations.

Many years ago, when the wonderful Marian Burros was the food editor for the New York Times, she published a recipe for "summer fruit torte." Anecdotal evidence says it was the most requested reprint in the history of the food section. It got to the point where she would have to reprint it every single year, come September. And the year she said "this is IT. Cut out the recipe and save it ," she got more laments, nasty letters, and phone calls, than for anything else she had ever written. So she went back to reprinting it.

I haven't seen that recipe in a long time, so maybe change has caught up. But I DID re-learn it from Richard Sax, in his seminal "Great American Desserts." I wish he had lived long enough for me to get to know him better. I loved this man. I miss him everytime I make one of his recipes, which he would be the first to disclaim: ("I'm a collector, not a creator"). No one caught the essence of home dessert making better than he did.

This recipe will take less time to make than it did to read the preceding paragraphs. Make it often as we head off into fall and winter, and then make it again.

The recipe I provide makes one, eight or nine inch cake. Double everything and make two, because you won't regret it.

The night before you're going to make the cake, put a stick of unsalted butter out on the counter to make it soft. Then, when you're getting ready to bake the cake, preheat the oven to 350, and butter your pan, or pans if you double this.
Collect your other ingredients, which are a cup of white sugar, 2 large eggs, a scanty cup of flour, a tablespoon of baking powder, a quarter teaspoon of salt, and fruit. I'll talk about the fruit more, below.

If your butter is soft, this will come together in a blink. Get a big spoon, and work the butter until it's soft, and it begins to get a white color, rather than a yellow one. You'll see this: it's very evident. Then stir in the sugar, combining it well. Then beat in the eggs, one at a time. After you've done that, take the dry ingredients and stir them in. Don't overdo this step. Just combine it. Now pour everything into your pan.

Here's the fun part. The original recipe calls for Italian prune plums, cut in half, and pressed into the batter, cut side down. That makes an excellent cake if you like plums, which I do. If you prefer, slice up a peach. Or a nectarine. Or pour in blueberries. Or raspberries. Or combine them. Or, if the weather says "it's fall," use apples or pears. Or cranberries in the winter. Use ANYTHING you want. If you don't have fresh, use frozen or jarred. Cherries are GREAT in this cake, as are apricots (and I could kick myself for not having frozen some of them this summer). Dried fruit works too. Stay away from strawberries and citrus, although do not be shy about citrus peel as a flavor enhancer. In fact, don't be shy about spices in this cake at all. Think about creative combinations. Lemon and blueberries. Cinnamon and apples or pears. Cardomom and cherries. You know you can do it.

When you've finished making your fantasy cake, get it in the oven, and bake it for forty five minutes. Test. You should have a fairly soft center, but not a wet one. If it's wet, bake it for another fifteen minutes. Bake it longer, too, if you want a firmer texture. You are looking for something somewhere in between clafouti, and a soft yellow cake.

Let this cool. DONT try to take it out of the pan. It's too soft to do that. DO cut slices and serve them right out of the pan, homestyle, the way this cake is meant to be eaten.

I don't refrigerate it, and never have a need to. If your home is a little on the cool side, it won't go bad. I just made two of these - one apple, and one blueberry, on a Thursday night, and they kept until Monday afternoon in a relatively cool kitchen, unrefrigerated. If you have people over, you won't have to worry. Theoretically, one of these cakes serves eight. I'd say four, with some good coffee.

You could find yourself making this cake a few times a week. I won't say that would be a mistake. Keeping it and eating it yourself would be. Bring it to the office. Bring it to a party. Share it.