Have you heard?  It’s autumn.  Officially autumn.  There may still be a few heirloom tomatoes resting on your counter, in all their shiny glory.  They might even be sitting next to a bowlful of downy peaches throwing off their luscious scent.  But, listen, the calendar is clear: it’s fall.

The time for produce that bruises to the touch has passed.   Instead, it’s time for fruit that crunches and vegetables that grow beneath the surface and knobby specimens that rumble around the crisper drawer.

It’s also time for cinnamon and nutmeg and cloves and cardamom—warm, toasty spices that you banished to the back of your cupboard during the warm months.  And, hoo-eee, it’s time for maple.  Real-deal, straight-from-the-sap, all-natural maple syrup.

Oh, fall: I’m so glad you’re officially here.

Now, the list of maple uses is long.  The pancakes/waffles/French toast breakfast category only scratches the surface.  Later in the day, it sweetens baked goods and even goes savory, swadling roasted squash or thickening a vinaigrette.

Here, it gets boiled into caramel, along with a stick of sweet butter and a pinch of salt, a process that sweeps your home with the most wonderful smell.  Then it lacquers freshly popped corn and toasted pecans (both of which smell pretty great on their own) and becomes a gorgeously amber, dangerously addictive treat.

The tomatoes and peaches don’t stand a chance.

Maple Pecan Popcorn
Gourmet

I am including the recipe as printed, but I want to amend it with my own word of warning.  My candy thermometer recently bit the dust, so I was flying blind, so speak, with the caramel.  I used the approximate time mentioned in the recipe as a guide and from there, trusted my instinct.  With caramel, I’ve found, instinct is basically smell.  You want just the first whiffs of burnt caramel and then, quick, take it off the heat.  That’s what I did here and it worked like a charm.   The word of warning part is this: Epicurious commenters took issue with the 300-degree temperature listed below, noting that it yielded overly burnt results.  So, take care to follow your instincts and your nose, even if you’re using a thermometer.

1 cup pecans (3 1/2 oz), toasted and coarsely chopped
About 8 cups plain popcorn
3/4 stick (6 tablespoons) unsalted butter
1 1/2 cups pure maple syrup
1/2 teaspoon salt

Toss together pecans and popcorn in a large bowl.

Line a large shallow baking pan with foil, then lightly oil foil and a wooden spoon.

Melt butter in a 1- to 1 1/2-quart heavy saucepan over moderate heat. Add syrup and salt, then boil, without stirring, until mixture registers 300°F on thermometer, 15 to 20 minutes.

Pour syrup over pecans and popcorn, stirring briskly with oiled spoon to coat. Immediately spread popcorn in baking pan. Cool completely, then break into bite-size pieces.

The other night, while Kevin was out wining-and-dining on the town for work, I indulged.  I cooked a pasta studded with brussels sprouts, I watched DVRed episodes of Martha and flipped through old issues of cooking magazines.  Okay, so it’s not exactly the stuff of a wild-and-crazy lady, but, let me tell you: it was bliss.

About those cooking magazines—they live under the living room coffee table.  They’re piled in stacks and whenever I’m in need of a good read, I run my index finger down their spines and pull a couple, carefully and with all the Jenga-skill I can muster, out of the pile.

This time, as I thumbed through a few back issues, I took particular note of the recipes I had dog-earred so many weeks or months ago.  Almost none of them held any interest for me now.  Whether it was trendy ingredients or then-new-fangled techniques, they left me with a collective meh.

 I shouldn’t be all that surprised, I suppose.  I’ve been gravitating toward simple, homey, straightforward recipes lately.  Apple pie.  Baked beans.  Buttermilk pancakes.  This recipe for devil’s food cupcakes, capped with a glossy genache, fits squarely in that list.  It’s a staple, a standard—it’ll never get old.  Kind of like a night in, brussels sprouts and all.

Devil’s Food Cupcakes
Martha Stewart

Yield: A LOT.  There is no yield listed on the online version of this recipe and I was a little bewildered when I filled 12 regulation-size muffin tins, 24 mini-muffin tins and I still has quite a bit of batter in the bowl.  I’m guessing the recipe makes at least 36 cupcakes.  So be sure to adjust accordingly.

3/4 cup unsweetened Dutch-process cocoa powder
3/4 cup hot water
3 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 1/4 teaspoons coarse salt
1 1/2 cups (3 sticks) unsalted butter
2 1/4 cups sugar
4 large eggs, room temperature
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 cup sour cream, room temperature
Chocolate Genache Frosting (see below)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line standard muffin tins with paper liners. Whisk together cocoa and hot water until smooth. In another bowl, whisk together flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt.

Melt butter with sugar in a saucepan over medium-low heat, stirring to combine. Remove from heat, and pour into a mixing bowl. With an electric mixer on medium-low speed, beat until mixture is cooled, 4 to 5 minutes. Add eggs, one at a time, beating until each is incorporated, scraping down sides of bowl as needed. Add vanilla, then cocoa mixture, and beat until combined. Reduce speed to low. Add flour mixture in two batches, alternating with the sour cream, and beating until just combined after each.

Divide batter evenly among lined cups, filling each three- quarters full. Bake, rotating tins halfway through, until a cake tester inserted in centers comes out clean, about 20 minutes. Transfer tins to wire racks to cool 15 minutes; turn out cupcakes onto racks and let cool completely. Cupcakes can be stored overnight at room temperature, or frozen up to 2 months, in airtight containers.

To finish, use a small offset spatula to spread cupcakes with frosting. Refrigerate up to 3 days in airtight containers; bring to room temperature and garnish with chocolate curls just before serving.

Chocolate Genache Frosting
Martha Stewart

1 pound good-quality bittersweet chocolate, finely chopped
2 1/3 cups heavy cream
1/4 cup corn syrup

Place chocolate in a large heatproof bowl. Bring cream and corn syrup just to a simmer over medium-high heat; pour mixture over chocolate. Let stand, without stirring, until chocolate begins to melt.

Beginning near the center and working outward, stir melted chocolate into cream until mixture is combined and smooth (do not overstir).

Refrigerate, stirring every 5 minutes, until frosting just barely begins to hold its shape and is slightly lighter in color. Use immediately (ganache will continue to thicken after you stop stirring).

The magic of pie is this: one moment your kitchen counter is cluttered with a tin of flour, an empty pie plate, a couple sticks of butter and a pile of fruit.  In a couple hours, this rather boring assortment has become a sight to behold (not to mention taste).   Into that flour, you cut some very cold, best quality butter.  Add a pinch of salt, a stream of water and you have yourself the ragged beginnings of a pie dough.  It gets gathered up in a slip of plastic wrap, shaped into a compact disc and stashed in the fridge.

Next, you turn to that fruit.  If you’re like me, you only have eyes for apples right now—which is a very good thing when you’ve still got a half-peck of your apple orchard haul waiting to be put to work.  If you’re using apples, wield your peeler and wind it along the apples, leaving a curling red ribbon in your wake.

The peeled apples are next sliced, evenly and thinly.  Pause now and then to treat yourself to a slice; it’s best to keep up your energy.   It’s September and you’ve got a mountain of sliced apples before you, so you do the only reasonable thing: you add cinnamon, sugar and nutmeg.   Throw in a bit of flour too, to thicken up the juices the apples will give off in the oven.

Let’s review: you have pie dough chilling in the fridge; your hands are sticky; a mountain of cinnamon-scented apples sits before you.  Oh, life is good.

Next comes the part that always, always gives me trepidation.  Dust your counter top with a bit of flour, unwrap one round of pastry dough and start to roll it thin.  You’ll know almost immediately what kind of pie crust experience it will be—too wet and sticky; too dry and crumbly; or, thank heavens, perfectly supple and smooth.  If you fall in the first category, add flour and if you fall in the second category, add a small amount of very cold water, knead the dough a couple times and start over.  Whatever you do, remember that you are in charge here, buster.  If it helps, feel free to say things like: “Take that, you unhelpful pie dough.”  Add expletives as needed.  Once you’ve got a nice thin round rolled out, fit it into your pie plate and fill it with those apples.

You’re not going to like this, I know, but now you have to do it all over again with the other round of pie dough.  But, take heart!  There is pie dough crimping in your near future, which is all the inspiration you need, no?  Once that second round is rolled out, gently drape it over the apples, which are mounded up nice and high.  Trim any excess dough and begin to pinch the edges together.  (See here, for a visual.)

Next, lightly paint the pie lid with some egg yolk whisked with milk or cream.  Shower the lid with sanding sugar or sugar in the raw, cut slits in the dough to let steam escape while the pie bakes and slide the pie back into the fridge to firm up.

When the pie is chilled and the oven preheated, transfer the pie (on a baking sheet, to catch any runaway juices) into the oven, where a final magic will happen, rendering the pie dough a deep, shiny golden.   The bad news is that you have to let it cool.   I’m sorry about that, I am.  But while it cools it will send its homey fragrance throughout your home.  In the case of apple pie, you can’t find a more autumnal scent without jumping headfirst into a pile of leaves.

Once it’s cool, admire your handiwork.  Recall that you started out with a collection of mere pantry staples.  Now, you have a pie.  A gorgeous, flaky, fallish pie.  Cut yourself a slice and enjoy.

Classic Apple Pie
Adapted from Martha Stewart

3 tablespoons all-purpose flour, plus more for work surface
1 recipe pie dough (below)
1 large egg yolk
1 tablespoon heavy cream
3 pounds assorted apples, such as Macoun, Granny Smith, cortland, Jonagold, or empire, peeled, cored, and cut into 1/4-inch-thick slices
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
Sanding sugar, for sprinkling

On a lightly floured work surface, roll out one pie dough disc into a 13-inch round about 1/8 inch thick. Fit dough into a 9-inch pie plate. With a sharp paring knife, trim excess dough. Chill again until firm, at least 30 minutes.

Roll out remaining disc of pie dough to about 1/8 inch thick. Place on a parchment-lined baking sheet, and chill.

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. In a small bowl, whisk together egg yolk and heavy cream; set aside. In a large bowl, toss the apples with the lemon juice, granulated sugar, flour, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt. Remove pie shell from freezer, and fill with apple mixture. Dot with butter.

Cover the apples with the second pastry round, trimming any excess.  Pinch the edges of the bottom and top dough together to seal.   Crimp the edges.  Brush the top of the pie with the reserved egg wash and sprinkle generously with sanding sugar.  Using a sharp paring knife, cut three slits into the top of the pie.  Freeze or refrigerate until firm, at least 30 minutes.

Place pie plate on a baking sheet, and bake until crust just begins to brown, about 20 minutes. Reduce oven temperature to 350 degrees and continue baking until crust is golden brown and juices are bubbling, 35 to 45 minutes. If the crust begins to get too dark, drape a piece of aluminum foil over the top. Transfer to a wire rack to cool.

Basic Pie Dough
Martha Stewart

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, (spooned and leveled)
1 teaspoon salt
16 tablespoons cold (2 sticks) unsalted butter, cut into pieces
1/4 to 1/2 cup ice water

In a food processor, combine flour and salt; pulse to combine. Add butter; pulse until mixture resembles coarse meal, with just a few pea-size pieces of butter remaining.

Sprinkle with 1/4 cup ice water. Pulse until dough is crumbly but holds together when squeezed with fingers (if necessary, add up to 1/4 cup more water, 1 tablespoon at a time). To help ensure a flaky crust, do not overprocess.

Transfer half of dough (still crumbly) onto a piece of plastic wrap. Form dough into a disk 3/4 inch thick; wrap tightly in plastic. Refrigerate until firm, at least 1 hour (and up to 3 days). Repeat with remaining dough. (Disks can be frozen, tightly wrapped, up to 3 months. Thaw before using.) Makes 2 disks.

I know I should be digging in my heels, clinging to the last vestiges of summer with all my might.  I should be slipping out of the office at even the slightest hint of warm sun.  I should be lifting the lid of the grill every single night.  I should be roaming around farmers’ markets, arms full of juicy tomatoes and fresh corn.  I should be giving all the sundresses I own one last go-round.

But I’m just not.

Instead, I relishing every little cool breeze that blows my way.  I’m unearthing my sweaters from storage.  I’m fantacizing about apple pies and roasted brussels spouts and rich stews.  I’m keeping an eye out for the slightest change of color in the leaves on the trees.  I’ve got it bad for fall.

Making matters worse, the weather has turned all cool and crisp and sunshine.  The past few days have been much more late September than late August.  And, well, I love it.  I’m ready.

But I know I’ll regret this attitude come January (not to mention February and March … and, who am I kidding, April).  So I’m trying to re-orient myself to pre-Labor Day reality.  Happily, this peach cobbler is really helping in this regard.  If there’s anything that can snap me out of my autumnal reverie, it’s a layer of diced stone fruit, sweetened up just a little, and capped with craggy, free-form biscuits.   When I pulled it from the oven, the fruit juices bubbled up along the edges of the pan and in the gaps between the biscuits, sending up that perfume that only a peach can emit.  It’s the smell of summer and it’ll be gone too soon.

Peach Cobbler
Loosely Adapted from David Lebovitz

3 to 5 peaches, depending on size, pitted and chopped
1/4 cup granulated sugar, divided
1/4 teaspoon corn starch
1/2 teaspoon kosher or sea salt, divided
1 cup all purpose flour
1/2 cup coarse cornmeal
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 stick (4 tablespoons) unsalted butter, diced and chilled (plus more for the dish)
1 cup buttermilk

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

In a buttered baking dish, toss together the peaches, 2 tablespoons sugar, 1/4 teaspoon salt and the cornstarch.

In a bowl, whisk together the remaining sugar and salt, the flour, cornmeal, baking powder and baking soda.  Using a pastry blender (or two knives or the tips of your fingers), cut in the butter until the mixture has a pebbly texture.  Using a fork, stir in the buttermilk.

Using two soup spoons, dollop the biscuit batter on top of the diced peaches.  Bake for 30 to 40 minutes, until the biscuits are lightly browned and the peaches are bubbling.  Allow to cool slightly before serving.

On Sunday afternoon, I visited a little corner of hell.  It wasn’t subterranean, it wasn’t all that hot, but hell it was, right there in Lincoln Park, at the corner of Kingsbury and Sheffield.  Chicagoans might recognize this location: it’s the site of Chicago’s brand new, super(-duper)-sized Whole Foods—a sprawling spectacle of food and booze and carts and people.

To be fair, I’m kind of a sucker for spectacles and I actually quite this new Whole Foods.  But I apparently only like it before the hour of 9 a.m., or some similarly unpopulated hour.   I can tell you one thing for sure: I do not like it at the hour of 3 p.m. on a Sunday.

Crowded doesn’t even begin to describe the chaos unfolding inside the glass-encased mecca of wholesomeness.  There was a full-on bumper-cart roller derby playing out—and that was just in the produce section.  The aisles were unpassable, the check-out lines snaking as far as the eye could see.

I found myself in the midst of this nightmare yesterday afternoon.  But, I deftly navigated my way through the store, checking off the items on my list—cursing no fewer than a dozen customers along the way.   I twiddled my thumbs as I waited in line.  I piled my items on the truncated conveyor belt.  I was this close.

As the cashier began to beep, beep, beep my items across the scanner, I rummaged through my purse, extracted my wallet and reached for my debit card.  Not there.  No credit cards.  No debit cards.  They were in the lovely little clutch I’d carried to the wedding the night before.  Only four dollars in cash.  I nearly died on the spot of embarrassment (not to mention grocery shoppers’ exhaustion).  A dejected trip home, a Kevin to the rescue, and a LOT of whining later, we retrieved the groceries and I swore off grocery shopping for at least a couple weeks.

Luckily, I stocked up on this trip.  Because of the wedding, which was in Northern Wisconsin, we missed our Sunday morning farmers’ market.  But, no matter: Whole Foods was brimming with beautiful seasonal produce, not just harried (and harrying) customers.  I couldn’t resist some Michigan blueberries displayed right by the front door.  I picked up a couple pints, envisioning a cake that could double as both dessert and breakfast—my favorite kind.  And this bundt is a perfect example of the genre: tender and a little sweet, stained with juicy blueberries and dusted prettily with a halo of powdered sugar.  And late Sunday afternoon, it was just the antidote to grocery shoppers’ exhaustion.

Lemon-Blueberry Bundt
Adapted from Cooking Light

2 tablespoons granulated sugar
3 cups all-purpose flour (about 13 1/2 ounces)
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 3/4 cups granulated sugar
1/4 cup unsalted butter, softened
grated zest & juice of one lemon, divided
4 large eggs
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 (16-ounce) container reduced-fat sour cream
2 tablespoons buttermilk
2 cups fresh blueberries
1 tablespoon powdered sugar (optional)

Preheat oven to 350°.

To prepare cake, grease a 12-cup Bundt pan and dust it with 2 tablespoons granulated sugar. Set aside.

Lightly spoon flour into dry measuring cups; level with a knife. Combine flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt, stirring with a whisk.

Place 1 3/4 cups granulated sugar, butter, and rind in a large bowl; beat with a mixer at medium speed until well blended (about 2 minutes). Add eggs, 1 at a time, beating well after each addition (about 4 minutes total). Beat in vanilla, lemon juice, sour cream and buttermilk. Add all but 1 tablespoon of the flour mixture; beat at medium speed just until combined. Toss blueberries in reserved dry ingredients; gently fold into the batter. Spoon batter into prepared pan. Bake at 350° for 1 hour or until a wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool in pan 15 minutes on a wire rack; remove from pan. Cool completely on wire rack.

Sprinkle with powdered sugar (optional).

It’s a conundrum, that’s what it is.  Ever since getting back from our wine country redezvous (say that ten times fast), I’ve been hell-bent on cooking and baking.  California’s produce enticed me at every turn: in farm stands dotting the shoulder of the roads that snaked through vineyards; on the plates at incredible restaurants; hanging from the trees that innocently adorned people’s front yards (Can you imagine: a lime tree in your yard?  I can’t.).   It was inspiring—which has it’s upsides, namely the celebration of summer produce that’s been happening in my kitchen.

But it’s got its downsides too.  I’ve got a vacation to tell you about!  I’ve got a show and tell to conduct!  But the kitchen is calling and I can’t seem to sit down long enough to put together a post that does wine country justice.

So, if you want a sneak peek of the forthcoming photos, head over to Flickr.  Because, for now, I’ve got a peach galette that I’m dying to tell you about.  The peaches—plump and florally fragrant and juicy—are just showing up in our markets here in Chicago.  And we all need to strike while this iron is hot—vacation post be damned.

Here’s what I suggest—take your ripe peaches, slice them thinly, toss them in a bit of brown sugar, flour, cinnamon and, of course, a splash of bourbon.  Then, tuck these gussied up slices into a cornmeal-flecked pastry shell.  Galette style, don’t bother with a pie plate or lattice tops or anything of the sort.  Simply pile the peaches on the pastry round and fold the pastry up around the fruit, until just a few enticing slices are open to view.  Brush this with buttermilk and sprinkle it with raw sugar.

An hour’s turn in the oven later, you’ll have a mind-bogglingly good dessert—a gently sweet pastry that has a faint crush, thanks to the cornmeal, and a saucy and sultry filling that is pure summer—that will have you scampering back to the market for another paper bag full of peaches.  That’s where I’m headed, at least.  When I get back, a wine country post (and something lovely and peachy) shall be ours.

Peach-Stuffed Cornmeal Galette

For the Crust (Cooking Light):

1 3/4  cups  all-purpose flour (about 7 3/4 ounces)
1/3  cup  granulated sugar
1/4  cup  cornmeal
1/4  teaspoon  kosher or sea salt
1/2  cup  cold butter, cut into small pieces
1/3  cup  fat-free buttermilk, plus more for brushing
1 tablespoon raw or sanding sugar, for dusting

To prepare pastry, lightly spoon flour into dry measuring cups, and level with a knife. Combine flour and next 3 ingredients (through salt) in a food processor; pulse two times. Add butter to flour mixture; pulse 4 to 5 times or until mixture resembles coarse meal. With processor on, slowly add 1/3 cup buttermilk through food chute; process just until dough forms a ball. Gently press dough into a 4-inch circle on plastic wrap; cover. Chill 30 minutes.

For the Filling & Assembly:

2 to 4 peaches (depending on size), sliced thinly
1 tablespoon brown sugar
1 tablespoon flour
generous pinch cinnamon
small pinch kosher or sea salt
1 tablespoon bourbon (a splash of vanilla will do, too)

Preheat the oven to 350.  Mix the filling ingredients together in a large bowl; set aside.

Unwrap and place dough on a sheet of parchment paper. Roll dough into a 10 to 12-inch circle. Place dough and parchment on a baking sheet.

Heap the filling in the middle of the pastry round, reserving a few pretty peach slices.  Arrange the reserved slices on top of the heap of fruit, fanning them out.  Fold the border of the pastry round up and around the fruit, until only the tops of the arranged slices are visible.  Brush the pastry shell with remaining buttermilk and sprinkle with raw or sanding sugar.

Bake for 1 hour.  Allow to cool slightly before serving.

Ladies and gentleman, start your watermelons: barbecue season has arrived.  Finally.  It took its sweet time and left us wallowing in puddles of rain and shivering under sweaters for many weeks, but it’s here now and I’m more than ready to let bygones be bygones.  So long as barbecue season agrees to stick around until, say, late September, you won’t hear another weather-related complaint out of me.  (What will I write about?)

As (good) luck would have it, we had a barbecue planned on the very first evening that barbecue deigned to grace us with its presence—last Thursday night.  After a very cold, damp, gray week, I was more than a little worried about the forecast for our barbecue.  Even still, we stocked our fridge with beer on Tuesday and stayed up way past our bedtime on Wednesday making baked beans and toasting bread cubes for panzanella.  At work on Thursday, I obsessively refreshed my zip code’s forecast on weather.com, where the chance for precipitation vacillated between 30 and 50 percent all day long.  By the time I left work, I had lost all hope that the sun would shine on us as we grilled.

But, you know what?  The sun did shine.  And it was hot.  And the baked beans were saucy and delicious as usual and this summer’s first panzanella was lovely.  Burgers were grilled to perfection by Kevin and everyone ate and drank and talked and laughed until the sun dipped out of sight.  After that, we lit a couple of candles, not ready to call it a night just yet.  For one thing, we hadn’t yet sliced into this cake: a peanut butter pound cake, baked into a bundt pan’s charming ring and anointed with a thick crown of chocolate glaze.

The recipes for the cake and glaze come from two of my favorite baking blogs: the cake from Bake or Break and the glaze from Joy the Baker.  As if you need any convincing when it comes to peanut butter and chocolate, the cake was wonderful: sturdy and studded with chocolate chips and gently peanuty.  And the glaze, oh, the glaze.  It took on body and tang from the addition of sour cream and depth from a splash of strong coffee.  Best of all, the cake got better as it sat.  I enjoyed my slice just fine at the end of our sun-drenched barbecue, but, by the next day, the flavors had developed and the texture had improved, growing denser and more moist.  It, like the barbecue, is sure to make repeat appearances all summer long.  I hope your barbecue season has gotten off to a good start too.

The recipe for Peanut Butter Pound Cake, at Bake or Break, is here.

The recipe for Mocha Sour Cream Glaze, at Joy the Baker, is here.

You’ve come here for food, I know, not advice.  But, still, I have some advice to offer.  And, this being my blog and all, I’m going to go ahead and give it to you.  So, here goes.  When you forget your friend’s birthday by, say a week or so, there’s really only one thing you should do.  Make her a cake.  And make it good.  If your friend, like my friend Brynn, likes coconut cake and chocolate, then by all means, make the very cake you see pictured in this post.

Actually, the whole “make a cake” piece of advice applies equally well in a number of other settings.  If you’re so busy at work you can’t see straight, make a cake.  If it’s June and the entire weekend was cloudy and cold-cold-COLD, make a cake.  If you’ve heard Martha talk once again about Mrs. Milman’s Chocolate Frosting and you finally just have to make it, make a cake, and slather it with Mrs. Milman’s frosting (turns out that Martha, or Mrs. Milman, rather, is on to something because the stuff is unbelievable).

I’m sure there are a number of other reasons to make cake; these just happen to be the ones that apply to my life right now.   If you’re looking for a cake to turn to, this might just be the one for you.  It’s two light coconut cakes, sliced thinly in half to make four layers.  Each layer is swabbed with a pearly reduced coconut milk.  The layers are then stacked up like bricks—a vanilla-coconut frosting serving as the mortar.  For good measure, I also scattered some shredded coconut in between the layers.  The whole thing got jacketed in a dark chocolate ganache frosting.  At least for the forgetting-Brynn’s-birthday issue, it worked like a charm.

Dark Chocolate-Covered Coconut Cake
Adapted from Food & Wine, Bon Appetit and Martha Stewart

Printable Recipe

For the Cakes (from Food & Wine):

2 1/2 cups cake flour
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup milk
1/2 cup unsweetened coconut milk
1 stick plus 2 tablespoons (5 ounces) unsalted butter, softened
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
3 large egg yolks
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
5 large egg whites

Preheat the oven to 350. Butter two 8-inch round cake pans and line the bottoms with parchment paper. Butter and flour the pans, tapping out excess flour.

In a small bowl, sift the cake flour with the baking powder and salt. In a small pitcher, combine the milk with the coconut milk. In a medium bowl, beat the butter at medium speed until creamy. Slowly add the granulated sugar and beat until light and fluffy, scraping down the sides of the bowl. Add the egg yolks and vanilla and beat until smooth. At low speed, add the dry ingredients in 3 batches, alternating with the milk mixture; beat until smooth.

In another bowl, using clean beaters, beat the egg whites at high speed until firm but not dry. Stir one-third of the beaten whites into the batter until smooth, then fold in the remaining whites until no white streaks remain.

Divide the batter evenly between the prepared cake pans and smooth the surfaces. Bake for 35 minutes, or until the tops spring back when lightly pressed and a toothpick inserted into the centers comes out with just a few moist crumbs attached. Let the cakes cool in the pans for 10 minutes, then turn them out onto a wire rack to cool completely. Peel off the parchment paper.

For Vanilla Bean-Coconut Filling (from Bon Appetit):

2 13-to 14-ounce cans unsweetened coconut milk* (preferably organic)
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
2 1/2 cups powdered sugar
1/3 cup reduced coconut milk (see above), room temperature
Seeds scraped from 1 split vanilla bean or 1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 cup unsweetened flaked coconut

Bring coconut milk to boil in large deep saucepan over medium-high heat (coconut milk will boil up high in pan). Reduce heat to medium low; boil until reduced to 1 1/2 cups, stirring occasionally, 25 to 30 minutes. Remove from heat; cool completely. Transfer to small bowl. Cover; chill (coconut milk will settle slightly as it cools).

Using electric mixer, beat butter in large bowl until smooth. Add sugar, 1/3 cup reduced coconut milk (reserve the remaining milk; see “Assembly” below), seeds from vanilla bean, and salt. Beat on medium-low speed until blended, scraping down sides of bowl. Increase to medium high and beat until light and fluffy.

For Mrs. Milman’s Chocolate Frosting (from Martha Stewart):

12 ounces bittersweet chocolate chips
2 cups whipping cream
1/2 teaspoon light corn syrup

Place chocolate morsels and cream in a heavy saucepan. Cook over low heat, stirring constantly with a rubber spatula, until combined and thickened, between 20 and 25 minutes. Increase the heat to medium low; cook, stirring, 3 minutes more. Remove pan from heat.

Stir in corn syrup. Transfer frosting to a large metal bowl. Chill until cool enough to spread, about 2 hours, checking and stirring every 15 to 20 minutes. Use immediately.

For the Assembly:

Line a cake stand with strips of parchment or wax paper.

Using a sharp serrated knife, cut each cake into 2 even layers.  Place one cake layer on the stand.  Brush the layer with one-third of the remaining reduced coconut milk.  Spread with one-third of the coconut filling.  Scatter with 1/3 cup shredded coconut.  Repeat these steps with the remaining three cake layers.

Spread the chocolate frosting over the top and sides of the assembled cake.  Swoop a butter knife through the frosting to create swirls.  Chill until serving.

Something changed over the weekend.  I’m more rested, my fridge is fully stocked after a week of not much cooking, and I finally shook a nagging cold, but I’m not talking about any of those things.  This change was much more impercetible.  I slipped from spring—with its hope and newness and unpredictability—into summer.  Sweet summer.

I’ve been edging my way to the summer state of mind for a while now, so it’s hard to say for sure when exactly the switch happened.  But if I had to guess, I’d say it was Sunday night, as I gripped a juicy burger with both hands and sunk my teeth in.  It smelled and tasted like every barbecue I’ve ever experienced—the smoke of the grill, sandaled feet, late sunsets, laughter.  Like that, summer arrived.

Of course, the weather—true to form—is not quite ready to join me in this transition from one season to the next.   This particular burger was eaten inside, while bundled in a sweater, as the freshly-planted flowers on our deck shivered away, out of sight.  But, as far as I’m concerned, summer is here and I am ready.

If the burger started off the summer switch, then it was this strawberry cake that sealed the deal.  It’s basically a tidier version of strawberry shortcake—the biscuits and strawberries baked up together into a single layer cake.  Sidled up next to a scoop of ice cream, I couldn’t have cared less about the sub-summer temperature blustering around outside.  With each bite, I sunk deeper and deeper into summer.  This one’s going to be a great one—I can tell already.

Strawberry Cake
Martha Stewart

This cake, with its moist crumb and strawberry-dappled faced, gets sparkle and a hint of a crunch from a sprinkling of raw sugar.  Don’t skip this step—it was my favorite part.  Don’t skip the vanilla ice cream (or at least some freshly whipped cream) either.

6 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened, plus more for pie plate
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup sugar
1 large egg
1/2 cup milk
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 pound strawberries, hulled and halved
2 tablespoons raw or sanding sugar

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter a 10-inch pie plate. Sift flour, baking powder, and salt together into a medium bowl.

Put butter and 1 cup sugar in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Mix on medium-high speed until pale and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Reduce speed to medium-low; mix in egg, milk, and vanilla.

Reduce speed to low; gradually mix in flour mixture. Transfer batter to buttered pie plate. Arrange strawberries on top of batter, cut sides down and as close together as possible. Sprinkle raw/sanding sugar over berries.

Bake cake 10 minutes. Reduce oven temperature to 325 degrees. Bake until cake is golden brown and firm to the touch, about 1 hour. Let cool in pie plate on a wire rack. Cut into wedges. Cake can be stored at room temperature, loosely covered, up to 2 days.

I want to tell you about this cake—a lemon cake with buttery lemon curd between the layers and a thick jacket of lemon zest-flecked cream cheese frosting.  Its a cake that deserves a gushing essay of its own—wherein I would tell you how fun it was to make and how delicious it was to eat.  But I’m just too distracted.   You see, we’re boarding a plane in a few hours and heading to Minnesota for the weekend to see my family.  And I can’t wait.  I’m so excited that I’ve got a case of tunnel vision: I can’t seem to concentrate at work and or to give this cake its due.

The weekend forecast in Minnesota, per weather.com, is currently boasting big yellow sunshine icons.  What’s more, we’ve got a full roster of plans: dinner out tonight, a brunch at my sister’s apartment tomorrow, a big home-cooked meal tomorrow night, a trip to the Minneapolis farmers’ market.  And that’s just the official agenda: I fully expect to play some heated games of Doodle Dice, to swap recipes with my mom, to talk to my grandpa about his garden, to places bets on the Preakness.

More than all of these things, though, I cannot wait to see my family.  We haven’t been home for what seems like ages and I just can’t wait to all be in the same state, under the same roof, around the same dinner table. 

So, no, none of this has anything to do with this lovely cake.  But I still want you to have the recipe.  It has filled a void in my cake repertoire that I didn’t know existed: a cake that’s tasty and celebratory, but not overly dessert-y or heavy.  A cake fit for brunch, in other words.   I hope you try it and I hope you have a wonderful, delicious weekend.

Lemon Layer Cake with Cream Cheese Frosting
Adapted from Bon Appetit (cake and frosting) and Gourmet (lemon curd)

Printable Recipe

This is a make-in-advance kind of cake, because there is a lot of chilling time built in.  I recommend making the frosting and lemon curd two days before serving.  Make the cake the day before serving.

Lemon Cake Layers:

6 large eggs, separated
14 tablespoons sugar
1 3/4 cups sifted cake flour (sifted, then measured)
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 vanilla bean, split and scraped
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup boiling water
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice

Position rack in center of oven and preheat to 375°F. Line bottom of two 9-inch-diameter cake pans with 1 1/2-inch-high sides with parchment paper (do not grease pans or parchment). Using electric mixer, beat egg yolks and 7 tablespoons sugar in large bowl until mixture is very thick and slowly dissolving ribbons form when beaters are lifted, about 4 minutes. Using clean dry beaters, beat whites in another large bowl until soft peaks form. Add remaining 7 tablespoons sugar, 1 tablespoon at a time, beating until stiff and glossy. Fold half of whites into yolk mixture, then sift half of flour and 1/4 teaspoon salt over and gently fold in until incorporated. Fold in remaining whites, then sift remaining flour and scraped vanilla beans over and fold in just until combined, being careful not to deflate batter.

Divide batter between pans; smooth tops. Bake until tester inserted into center of cakes comes out clean, about 15 minutes. Cool in pans on racks.

Run knife around edge of pans to loosen cakes. Invert cakes onto 9-inch-diameter cardboard rounds, tapping on work surface if necessary to release cakes. Cut each cake horizontally in half (layers will be thin). Peel off parchment.

Place sugar in small metal bowl. Add 1/2 cup boiling water; stir to dissolve sugar. Stir in lemon juice.  Brush cake layers with syrup.  (Note, use all the syrup.) 

Lemon Curd:

1 tablespoon plus 2 teaspoons finely grated fresh lemon zest
1 cup fresh lemon juice
1 1/3 cups sugar
4 large eggs
1 3/4 sticks (3/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons) unsalted butter, cut into tablespoon pieces

Whisk together zest, lemon juice, sugar, eggs, and a pinch of salt in a 2-quart heavy saucepan. Add butter all at once and cook over moderately low heat, whisking constantly, until curd is thick enough to hold marks of whisk and first bubbles appear on surface, about 10 minutes. Immediately pour curd through a fine sieve into a bowl, then chill for at least four hours (and preferably overnight), covered.  [Can be made 2 days in advance.]

Cream Cheese Frosting:

2 8-ounce packages cream cheese, room temperature
3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
4 cups powdered sugar
1 teaspoon grated lemon peel
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Using electric mixer, beat cream cheese and butter in large bowl until light and fluffy. Gradually beat in powdered sugar. Beat in lemon peel and vanilla.  Chill until ready to use.  [Can be made up to 2 days in advance.]

Assembly:

Place one of the four cake layers on cake stand, lined with strips of parchment or wax paper.  Slather the surface of the layer with one-third of the lemon curd, spreading evenly.  Repeat with the remaining cake layers.

Spread frosting over the top and down the sides of the cake, using an offset spatula to smooth the frosting.

Chill at least four hours before serving (preferably overnight).  [Can be made up to 1 day before serving.]