simple autumn wedding cake

Alcohol often leads to a surge of confidence in people. So it's no surprise that I agreed to make a wedding cake for my friend Holly after a night at the bar. I woke up the next day with the sinking feeling of making a promise I couldn't keep. But I decided to stick to my word and go for it.

I'm incredibly fortunate to have laid back friends. Over the last few years, I've been in quite a few weddings and all of the brides have been wonderful. Rather than throw high-pressure, high-maintenance events, they've had simple, beautiful, non-traditional days that I will remember forever. So with no direction and knowing that any attempt would be appreciated I went forth. 

My first attempt was a ginger, carrot cake. Another girlfriend and I tried it out one Friday evening a few months before the wedding in her new house.

It was an utter disaster.

We made the cake and put it in the oven. Then we talked in the kitchen over a few glasses of wine while it was baking. At some point, I leaned back against the oven and the door fell off. We scrambled to keep it in place, at least as long as the cake was still baking and managed to rig it to stay on.

We managed to scrape through disaster number one only to find that the cake was super crumbly and fell apart when we removed it from the pan.

So we scratched that recipe.

My second attempt went far better. This one, a carrot apple cake, didn't break anything and stayed together wonderfully. I brought a taste to the bride and groom and they gave it the green light. So that was that.

I have been utterly in love with naked cakes lately. There's something so simple and natural looking about them and I prefer the sparse frosting. I made the cakes the day before. The morning of the wedding I frosted them and headed to Eastern Market to buy fresh flowers to decorate. The reception was at the Gaelic League, so I brought the cake there and threw some flowers on top.

It wasn't perfect looking, but it didn't have to be. Love is always a little flawed.

simple autumn wedding cake

2 cups whole wheat flour

1 1/2 cups granulated cane sugar

2 1/4 teaspoons baking soda

1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

1 1/2 teaspoons cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon ground cloves

1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg

2 teaspoons unsweetened cocoa powder

1/4 teaspoon salt

1 cup vegetable oil

4 large eggs plus 1 egg yolk, lightly beaten

1 1/2 cups grated carrots

1 1/2 cups grated granny smith apple

1 cup chopped raw walnuts

Preheat oven to 350° F. Grease three 9-inch round cake pans and coat in a light layer of flour. Mix all of the dry ingredients in a large mixing bowl. Combine oil and eggs in a small bowl, then add to dry mixture. Add the carrots, apples, and walnuts until just mixed.

Divide the batter into the three pans and cook for about 25 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Place on a cooling rack for 10 minutes and then remove cakes from pan to cool completely.

*I frosted these cakes with a simple buttercream. The recipe will make a three layer cake. I made two batches to get four layers. I had no extra frosting, but two leftover layers of cake. Fortunately, this cake is still delicious without frosting.

Lemongrass Udon Soup

There is something about a bowl of noodles that's inexplicably comforting.

For me, udon tops the list. Biting into those thick, chewy noodles is the food equivalent of falling into a bed made with a giant comforter and so many down pillows that you feel you are sinking. A bowl of udon soup is the perfect compliment for a melancholy mood. The kind that is painful

but beautiful too

so you sort of bask in it while it's around. Those are the sort of days when a noodle shop is the most splendid thing you've ever seen. It's better still if it's raining. You watch the fragments of light caught in drops sliding down the window. You are lost in the steam from the bowl in front of you.

My udon is never comparable to the stuff found in a good noodle shop.  And the noodle shops here aren't comparable to the noodles I had in Japan. Old men hanging around a counter. Picking out your bowl from a vending machine that shoots out colorful chips. Not knowing what you are ordering, but certain that it will be amazing.

I just found out that my dearest friend is coming to Michigan from Japan on holiday this summer. It will be this first time back since he moved there 7 years ago. I am elated. I only wish he could bring me a bowl of noodles in his suitcase.

Lemongrass Udon Soup

Recipe adapted from Food, Pleasure, and Health

4 cups of vegetable broth
1 package of udon noodles
4 scallions
1.5 tbsp fish sauce
1.5 tbsp soy sauce 
1 lemongrass, chopped
5 cremini mushrooms, sliced
bean sprouts and cilantro, to garnish

In a medium sauce pan bring broth, scallions, lemongrass, fish sauce, soy sauce, and mushrooms to boil. Reduce heat and simmer for 20-25 minutes. Cook the noodles seperatly according to package instructions. Add cooked noodles to broth and serve. Garnish with bean sprouts and cilantro.

earl grey tea loaf

A few weekends ago I went on a bit of a Virginia Woolf kick. I have never read any of her novels, though I intend to. But I'm currently engrossed in reading her letters, which are collected in six volumes. I picked up one of those as well as a book of correspondence between Woolf and Vita Sackville-West, with whom she had a love affair which simmered into a friendship.

The letters are enchanting, from both women. I can't stop reading and re-reading passages more beautiful than anything anyone could ever say. And I can't help but feel a yearning to be privileged and English in some other time. As if it would make me a better writer or more desperately in love. Take this passage from a letter from Virginia to Vita.

I try to invent you for myself, but find I really have only 2 twigs and 3 straws to do it with. I can get the sensation of seeing you—hair, lips, colour, height, even, now and then, the eyes and hands, but I find you going off, to walk in the garden, to play tennis, to dig, to sit smoking and talking, and then I cant invent a thing you say—This proves, what I could write reams about—how little we know anyone, only movements and gestures, nothing connected, continuous, profound.

It's Perfect.

At the end of that rainy, English weekend I made an Earl Grey tea loaf, which seemed fitting. I am terrible with conversions, and completely botched the correct measurements for the tea loaf. Somehow it turned out well enough, but I won't bother with sharing my flawed directions here. I found the recipe on Vanillyn.

pistachio & currant camping bars

When I was around 7 years old my best friend and I made an elaborate scheme to run away to the woods. We marked the date on my calendar and planned everything down to the most minute detail. We hoarded jugs of water and snacks. Our bags were packed, our red wagon was loaded. I don't remember what stopped us from going. Perhaps we were discovered by a perplexed parent. Maybe we always knew deep down that we weren't really going to go.

Even as a child I loved camping. In the summers, my dad would set up his giant green army tent in the back yard and we would sleep outside. When we took family camping trips it always rained and the people next to us always jammed to CCR and drank cheap beer around the campfire late into the night.

Lately, all I can think about is camping. Days spent hiking through the forest and reading on the beach. Stopping in your tracks to gaze at the stars because you forgot how beautiful they are without imposing city lights. The wafting scent of a campfire from your unwashed hair. Subsisting on only bison jerky, trail mix, and beer.

This year I thought we could expand our camping food repertoire. I love larabars and I've seen a lot of homemade versions floating around the 'net. I love a pistachio, so I thought I'd make some with those. I liked the bars a lot and will definitely be trying different combinations of fruits and nuts.

Pistachio & Currant Camping Bars

1/2 cup pitted dates
1/4 cup pistachios
1/4 cup almonds
1/2 cup dried currants
1/2 tbsp water

In a food processor, blend the dates, pistachios, and almonds until a crumbly dough is formed. Add the currants and process until combined. If the mixture seems too dry, add a tiny bit of water at a time until it begins to stick.

To shape the bars, put 1/4 of the mixture into wax paper and press into a bar shape. I used a small cutting board for the top and bottom and a large knife to flatten the sides.

Store in the refrigerator.

Makes 4 bars.