Chocolate Beet Cake

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.

All the Honey-Ginger Buttercream a Birthday Can Handle

Apologies. I got gusted up in the fall breeze and dropped in the middle of the brussel sprout harvest on a coastal California farm where I went on an unchecked pie-baking spree. The leaves fell and I was whisked home in time to move all my worldly possessions to yet another house before I was utterly incapacitated by the generous gift of a lovely old sewing machine. I spent days engrossed in anachronistic craftiness before I looked up in the middle of threading the bobbin to realize I hadn't yet unpacked so much as a sock. So I busied myself bulding a cozy fort in the basement nook that was to be my room, and before I even caught my breath it was time to bake a birthday cake.

I don't generally like cake. I like pies and cookies -- moist, rich, chewy things, not dry overly-sweet crumbly things. I was mulling over the cake problem as I chewed thoughtfully on a chunk of ginger root one morning (ginger is a stimulating and salutary habit I've recently developed). And suddenly I knew the cake I wanted, its flavor and texture wafted to me on the golden wings of a ginger-dream.

Molasses Cake with Honey-Ginger Buttercream

Prep: Set out 16 eggs, two and a quarter pounds (9 sticks) of unsalted butter, and a quart of soured milk (or fresh milk + 2 T. vinegar). Butter and flour two 9 or 10" cake pans (2" deep, at least) and a 9 x 13" baking dish. I have a woefully underequipped kitchen, aside from my cast iron treasures; so I used my glass-bottomed springform pan and the old #9 skillet. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.


In one very large bowl, whisk together 8 c. all-purpose flour, 3 tsp. baking soda, 4 tsp. salt, 2 T. ground cinnamon, 1.5 T. ground ginger (I ran out and had to use part fresh ginger, which worked fine), 1 tsp. ground cloves, and 2 c. oat bran. Yes, bran. Not because birthday cake should be healthy -- because that's silly -- but because it should be moist and chewy. Moist chewiness is the particular province of oat bran, not wheat or others, so don't substitute.

In another large bowl, cream 1 lb. butter and add 10 eggs, 3 c. molasses, and 1 qt. sour milk. Add the liquids to the dries, mix it all thoroughly but not excessively, pour the batter into the pans and spread it evenly. Bake about 45 minutes, till a knife comes out clean.

The cake can sit out, covered with plates or plastic, for a day at least, and stays plenty moist. When the cakes are entirely cool, loosen them from the pan-sides, invert the pans onto a cookie sheet, and rap them smartly till the cakes fall out. Trim off any unevenness and make the skillet-cake a little smaller and straight-sided. They are ready to frost and serve.

Honey-Ginger Buttercream

This buttercream can be prepared a few days in advance or just before use. Since the ingredients are so few, the honey must be exquisite and the butter perfect. Bring 1" of water to a simmer in a large, deep skillet. Separate the remaining six eggs, stashing the yolks in the fridge for custard or somesuch and keeping the whites in a metal bowl. Add 1 c. honey, and maybe a pinch of cream of tartar if you have it on hand (I didn't). Whisk till well-blended. Place the metal bowl in the skillet of water and immediately start beating it - at first on low, gradually raising the speed as the whites fluff. When the whites are glossy and form soft, curled peaks, remove the bowl from the heat but continute beating till the whites have cooled a bit (3 minutes or so). Beat in 1 tsp. vanilla and 1/2 tsp. salt.

In another large bowl, beat 5 sticks butter till fluffy and creamy. Add the egg white-honey mixture incrementally to the butter, beating thoroughly between additions. Now it is time for the ginger. I am still not exactly certain how much ground ginger I added, but I'll wager it was at least a tablespoon, and maybe two. The issue here is that the butter mellows out the ginger bite -- so you'll have to add more than you think you should. Taste and adjust, taste and adjust. You should have a fluffy frosting that sweeps in with a rich honey-butteriness and finishes with a warm ginger zing.


Pack the cakes in your backpack (they're sturdy; they'll be fine!) along with the frosting and bike 20 blocks to the birthday house. Assemble the cake on site just like in the picture. There will be just enough frosting for the two round layers and the back-up 9 x 13" cake, provided you don't eat too much in the process.

Wacky Cake vs. Chicken Shit

I come from a long line of women who wash their saran wrap and reuse coffee filters -- for coffee that's been cut with chicory. My take on this heritage of thrift can be economically expressed with the following Poor-Richardesque maxim: real privation breeds innovation, but miserliness breeds mold.

For example, there was a time when poultry and eggs were expensive commodities. So my foremothers raised their own or, when birthday time came around (11 times a year) invented eggless Wacky Cake. Innovation. Nowadays chicken is cheap because we've developed sufficient technology to cut our chicken with shit. Miserliness.

(A chef I worked for in Seattle refused to eat chicken because in culinary school he learned it could legally contain 7% shit by weight. I think he was full of it himself. Sure, a lot of chickens are treated unethically and taste bad, but chicken shit is fragrant enough you'd think we'd notice. And once I saw him pop a bite of chicken when he didn't think I was looking. But the Russians have weighed in on his side).

In any case, we've all got a couple of vegan housemates or Depression-era great-aunts who want their chocolate cake minus the eggs. And that's when you whirl into the kitchen and whip up Wacky Cake: the Retro-Vegan Wonder. My Mama used to make it for my birthday, decorated with a streublich-looking coconut cream cheese icing and wild roses. I also recommend it with peanut butter, but that goes for most everything.

In one large bowl, whisk together 3 c. flour (whole-wheat or spelt or whatever), 1.5 c. sugar (or your favorite sweetener -- I've used a smaller volume of agave nectar with success), 1 tsp. salt, 2 tsp. baking soda and cocoa powder to taste. My old recipe calls for 3 T, but that's borderline miserly. I like 1/3 c., or else melted dark chocolate added with the liquids.

Add the liquids to the bowl: 2/3 c. cooking oil (try coconut oil or even olive oil -- the tang tends to cook out just fine), 2 T. vinegar (yes, vinegar), and 1 T. vanilla. Pour 2 c. water on top and stir it all together. Toss it in a greased 9 x 13" pan and bake 25-30 minutes at 350 degrees Fahrenheit.