birthday cake

It just seemed appropriate to celebrate my great grandma Vae's birthday by making a recipe that must've been destined to come into my hands -- Vanilla Wafer Cake. While she pulverized the cookies and made them into batter, I apparently used to climb into any cabinet to get into a box of my own and would scream bloody murder if denied. Four generations between us, but clearly we both love those cookies!

Executing this queer little recipe was a near-herculean task and a definite comedy of errors. Vae's instructions are beautiful, certainly, but pretty vague. I'd love to know how many ounces of Nilla Wafers were in that "25-cent box" she refers to, and I'd really love to know how the heck she ground up all those cookies without a food processor. Right now my favorite image involves her pouring them into a sack and pounding them to dust with a hammer on the sidewalk. Still wearing a skirt and heels.

How long did it take her to get the icing (a cooked icing, no less!) to the soft-ball stage?? Because it took me almost an hour. Then I spent another 45 minutes fiddling with a bowl of, let's face it, hot caramel and trying to whip it into something resembling icing. All this after spending a good half hour getting the cake together and fudging this and that to make it less a thick goop and more a pourable batter.

It was an interesting, and highly enjoyable, process, and you'll be glad to know I've simplified things for you quite a bit. Below you'll see the original recipe, because it just looks so darn cool, but scroll down a bit farther to find a fleshed-out recipe that'll guarantee a much less haphazard and prolonged time in the kitchen.

(Oh, and this cake is rich, decadent, and totally sinful. As all cakes should be...)



cake
3/4 cup sugar
1 stick of butter, softened
4 eggs
1/2 cup milk
1 box Nilla Wafers
1 cup chopped pecans
1 cup coconut flakes
1 1/2 tsp. baking powder

Cream together the butter and sugar, then add the eggs one at a time. Add the milk. Pulverize the cookies in a food processor till they are finely ground. Add the cookies to the batter, then fold in the pecans, coconut and baking powder. Grease and flour either two round 9-inch pans or a 9x13 pan. Spread the batter in the pans, then bake at 325 for 30 minutes.

icing
2 cups sugar
1 stick of butter
1 can of evaporated milk
1 tsp. salt

Put all ingredients into a small saucepan. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to low to maintain a rolling simmer. Allow to simmer for 45-50 minutes (haul out a good book), stirring occasionally. Remove from heat, and allow to cool for 30 minutes. If you're making a sheet cake, poke holes into the cake and pour the icing all over the cake. If you make a layer cake, allow the icing to cool completely, then beat at a high speed for 7-8 minutes or until spreadable. Ice the cake, and serve!

penmanship

It's been awhile. I've been away. My fingers have been idle... at least in the literary sense. Sure, I've been cooking. Almost every night, in fact, and now I have an even bigger table to feed. The only problem is, I haven't really felt... inspired. Inspired to try something new, something different, something fresh. To unearth and savor old family recipes that have long been forgotten. And, you know, write about it.

But inspiration attacked me this weekend in the form of a warped, battered navy cookbook from the 1940s -- my great-grandmother Vae's copy of The Household Searchlight Recipe Book.* Modestly sized, virtually free of photography and sepia-toned, the book is a treasure trove of the delicious (cheese soup, butter cake) and the bizarre (Baked Heart, Prune Whip). But the most precious thing it contains is several recipes in Vae's scrolling, perfect cursive.

My Nanny still loves her handwriting so much it makes her a bit misty, and I can't deny the emotional pull of seeing the words she labored over sixty years ago. There are so many delightfully old-fashioned phrases... "sweet milk" to distinguish from buttermilk, "oleo" instead of butter or margarine, "a 25-cent box of Vanilla Wafers" instead of, well, I have NO idea what size that'd be today.

Sure, it's cheesy and dorky and smacks of sentimentality, but I just can't help it. I can't wait to try Vae's toffee bars and sand tarts and her sister Grace's recipe for pecan pie... I can't wait to feel like I'm connecting with a woman I've only ever known through stories, getting to know her in the place where she must have churned away hours by herself, a place where she expressed herself and created beautiful things. When I make her recipes, it's like I get a little slice of time in the kitchen, right next to her. Are these recipes precious to me? Beyond words.

And I can't wait to try every one!

*Where did those wonderfully sturdy cookbook names run off to? Now cookbook titles are all fancy-schmancy... "From Vines to Wines," "Earth to Table," "Harvest for Hope"... huh?

oregon - a visual feast!

Every Saturday, near Portland State University, local farmers and growers spread out the jewels of their labor for all to marvel over and enjoy. And during our recent family trip to Oregon, we cut out a couple hours for time at the farmers' market and were not let down. From picturesque piles of crisp winter vegetables...


... to mounds of sun-hued carrots...


... to the French radishes I've longed to taste for a year, there was a wealth of beautiful, delicious food at our fingertips. We ate the radishes that night during dinner, dipped in dairy-fresh butter and sprinkled with salt, and though my brothers wrinkled their noses at the taste, I was happily satisfied. They were just as mild and sweet as promised by my beloved French cookbook! And accompanied by sheep's milk cheese, crusty baguettes and sauteed asparagus (all gleaned from the market), they were the perfect summer's meal.



To my husband's great delight, we found a singularly calorie-packed lunch at The Grilled Cheese Grill... a hamburger nestled between 2 grilled-cheese sandwiches instead of buns. I have no words for this divine combination. There was a lot of joyous groaning as we ate.



Now, I consider myself a gigantic pastry snob since I had my pick of patisseries in Paris for a year, but the Hazelnut Cream Danish at Pearl Bakery left me claiming, at a rather embarrassing volume, "This is the best thing I've ever put in my mouth!" The perfect amalgamation of textures, from creamy to flaky, is housed in this peerless little pastry... rich hazelnut cream, bedecked by crushed hazelnuts, nestled in layers of buttery croissant. The fact that this danish is now over 1,000 miles away from me brings me infinite sadness.

Our trip was a wonderful chance for family bonding, inside jokes and intimate conversations, but who cares about that when you're constantly stuffing your face with amazing food?! To read my reviews of the restaurants we visited in Oregon, visit my Yelp page.