I prefer numbers that, like vegetable-laden cakes, have many factors. I dislike the significant, holy numbers like 3 and 7, and particularly loathe large prime numbers, which remind me of tax-evading misanthropes. So thank heavens that as of yesterday my age is no longer a middling-large prime number. I'm annoyed that 3 is still a factor, but there's nothing for it but to wait out the whole 8 years before I haven't any odd factors at all -- and make myself a birthday cake. It's to be a fudgy beet chocolate cake, with a mixing method that's more brownie-inspired than not, and therefore quite simple. Confession: I'm winging it. Like dirty Mrs. Pigeon on the ledge across the alley.
Beet Chocolate Cake
Prepare 2 cups beet puree: boil three medium beets halfway covered in salted water till quite tender. Drain and let cool. Slide off their skins, chop them roughly, and toss them in your favorite pureeing device. I like the Foley food mill because it means I don't have to add water as I would in a wimpy blender.
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Grease two 9" round cake pans and line the bottoms with parchment. Flour the sides.
Melt over medium heat:
1/2 lb butter
8 oz. unsweetened chocolate
Pour the chocolate mixture into a large bowl and beat well with:
4 eggs
2 cups sugar
In another bowl, whisk together:
1.5 cups ordinary flour
2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
Gradually fold the flour into the chocolate, alternating with the beet puree.
Pour into the baking pans, smooth the tops, and bake until risen in the center and a toothpick comes out clean, somewhere between 30 and 45 minutes depending on the material of your pans and whether or not you have a kitchen timepiece. Cool briefly before removing the cakes from the pan and letting them cool completely on a rack.
Frost with a (mint?) buttercream or cream cheese frosting. It occurred to me afterwards that some lovely dramatic results could be achieved by putting beet puree in the frosting, too. Gold beet puree! I can't wait to make it again. And you know what? Because of all the eggs, the top has a lovely sheen, which the beets turn maroon. You might even serve the cake plain with whipped cream, or do a minimal see-through drizzled glaze job on it. I didn't allow myself enough time to be inventive more than twice. I curdled the first batch of buttercream by trying to simultaneously add Greek yogurt and answer the door -- at which point I started brandishing my whisk with a mad glint in my eye and everybody scampered till the cake got itself under control.
