Breakfast? Dessert? Company? Try This Versatile Olive Oil Cake!

I've been posting contributor Jim Dixon's recipes for years, and his approach to cooking with whatever's in season with minimal fuss is right up my alley. Right now he's expanding Real Good Food's selection of imported and local goodness—olive oil, spices, vinegars, sauces, etc.—and moving to a new location in order to bring more tastiness to Portland's tables. More on his grand opening in a future post, but for now here's his latest twist on a classic olive oil cake!

Olive Oil Cake with Fennel Pollen

I adapted this recipe from Tenuta di Capezzana, the Tuscan winery and olive oil producer, and it uses more extra virgin olive oil than any other olive oil cake recipe I've seen.

3 eggs
1 1/2 c. sugar
1 1/2 c. extra-virgin olive oil
1 1/2 c. milk
2 c. whole wheat flour
1 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. sea salt
2 Tbsp. fennel pollen*

Preheat the oven to 350 F.

Cut a circle of parchment paper to fit a 12-inch cake pan (I usually make this in a 12-inch cast iron skillet); drizzle some olive oil into the pan, then place the parchment paper and slide it around so it’s well-oiled.

Blend the eggs and sugar together in a medium-sized bowl, then stir in the olive oil and milk. In another large bowl combine the flour, baking powder, salt and fennel pollen. Make a well in the dry ingredients, and slowly add the egg mixture, stirring just until blended.

Do not over mix. Pour the batter into the prepared pan on top of the parchment paper.

Bake until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean, 50 to 55 minutes. Let the cake cool completely, then loosen the sides with a knife, and invert onto a serving plate (hold the plate against cake pan and flip…hopefully it will come out in one piece). Remove the parchment paper, slice, and eat.

* In response to a question posed on Facebook about the taste of fennel pollen, Jim had this to say: "Fennel pollen, more accurately called fiore di finocchio in Italian since it contains bits of flower and pollen, has the same flavor as fennel seed but a bit more delicate. It's a key ingredient in porchetta, and the stuff we sell at Real Good Food comes from Monte San Savino in Tuscany, where a lot of the roadside porchetta trucks get their stuffed suckling pig roasts. I like it on salmon, too."

Cardamom Takes the Cake

My husband is the baker in the family. Weekends will find him elbow-deep in dough, making six loaves of his dreamy sourdough bread every other week or whirring the processor, mixing light-as-air scones or biscuits. My bailiwick has traditionally been fruit crisps, cobblers or pies, but lately I've been drawn to cakes, excavating my old cake pans from under the pie plates, glass juicers and strainers stacked on top of them.

This spate of activity started at Christmas, when I was looking for an appropriately festive dessert to take to my brother's for dinner. Going through my recipe box—remember those?—I came across my mother's Italian cream cake recipe that she'd inscribed on a blue-lined, three-inch by five-inch filing card, the pre-internet "app" we used for preserving our favorite recipes.

Awhile later my sister-in-law made a beautifully simple cardamom cake for a family birthday, its top browned and sprinkled with slivered almonds. When I begged for the recipe, I found out it had actually been baked upside-down in the cake pan, then inverted to reveal the browned, crisp crust. Brilliant!

When Valentines Day came around shortly thereafter, I was able to pull out my cake pans and express my feelings for my family with this appropriately lovely dessert. I think they got the message!

Pistachio Cardamom Cake

For the topping:
2 Tbsp. butter, melted
1 tsp. sugar
3/4 c. sliced almonds, preferably unblanched

For the cake:
3/4 c. shelled, unsalted pistachios
1/4 c. plus 3/4 c. all-purpose flour
2 tsp. cardamom seeds
1/2 c. unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 c. sugar
3 large eggs, at room temperature
1 tsp. baking powder
Pinch of salt

Preheat the oven to 350°.

To make the topping, melt the butter. Pour it into a 9-inch round cake pan and let cool briefly. Sprinkle the teaspoon of sugar evenly over the melted butter, then add the almonds, tilting and shaking the pan to distribute them evenly. Set the pan aside.

To make the cake, in a blender or a food processor pulverize the pistachios with the 1/4 cup flour until as finely ground as possible. Transfer to a small bowl.

Crush the cardamom seeds in a mortar and pestle (or grind them in a spice grinder). Add the crushed seeds to the pistachio mixture and stir to combine. Set aside.

In a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment (or in a bowl by hand), beat together the butter and sugar on medium speed until very light and fluffy, 3 to 5 minutes. Add the eggs one at a time, beating until completely incorporated.

In a small bowl, whisk together the remaining 3/4 cup flour, baking powder, and salt, and stir it into the butter-egg mixture. Stir in the pistachio mixture just until combined.

Spoon the batter into the prepared cake pan by dropping 4 or 5 mounds on top of the almonds. Carefully spread the batter into an even layer, trying not to disturb the almonds. Bake until a toothpick inserted in the center of the cake comes out clean, 30-40 minutes (start checking at 30 minutes). Let cool for 15 minutes.

Run a knife around the sides of the cake to help loosen it from the pan. Invert the cake onto a serving plate. Let cool completely.

Rhubarb and Carrot Olive Oil Cake

Like contributor Jim Dixon of Real Good Food, I grew up eating stewed rhubarb in the spring, and was even known to gnaw on a raw stalk once in awhile. In adulthood, chewing on the raw product has gone by the wayside, but having as much as I can is still a priority at this time of the year.

Every year when I see the first rhubarb at the farmers market I'm reminded again that I didn't plant some in my own garden. The one year I did remember, I was too late; I planted the crown in the fall and never saw it again (early spring is the time…I could've looked it up). Rhubarb is my favorite pie filling, and I grew up eating bowls of it simply stewed with sugar. These days I mostly roast it with olive oil, usually with either honey or cane syrup.

But I'm occasionally inspired to do more. After making Nigella Lawson's Venetian carrot cake and liking the unusual, not-too-sweet and very Italian dessert, I thought it would be a good vehicle for eating more rhubarb.

Grate a medium-sized carrot and put the results on a paper towel to soak up some of the liquid. Cut 6 to 7 stalks of rhubarb into half inch pieces (about 2 cups or so). I mixed together a half cup each of cane syrup and extra virgin olive oil (sorry Nigella, but if you don't use extra virgin olive oil you might as well use plain vegetable oil), then added 3 eggs, a teaspoon of vanilla, a shot of bourbon, and the zest and juice from a smallish lemon.

I stirred in about 2 cups of almond flour and added the grated carrot and sliced rhubarb. Parchment paper got cut into a circle to fit a 7-inch cast iron skillet (a cake pan or pie tin would be fine), and I drizzled a little more extra virgin over it to grease the pan. I poured in the thick batter, added a generous sprinkle of blanched, slivered almonds to the top, and baked it at 350° F for about 45 minutes. Nigella calls for a topping of mascarpone with powdered sugar and rum (or bourbon, for my version), but I like a little whipped cream with cane syrup and whiskey.

Rhubarb is also awesome in other desserts, made into syrup or mixed in a cocktail…check out these other fantastic rhubarb recipes!

When Life Gives You Quince, Make Cake!

They're lumpy and hard as a rock, yellow as a golden delicious apple and with a floral fragrance that'll perfume your whole house. In fact, bowls of them were arrayed in homes in ancient Greece and Rome for just that purpose, and were given as gifts at Greek weddings in homage to Aphrodite, the goddess of love.

Quince.

I'd been obsessing over quince for a couple of weeks when my friend Myrna mentioned they had a bumper crop on their trees and asked if I'd like to pick some.

Oh joy!

You see, I'd made a batch of quince-infused vodka a couple of years ago based on her husband Karl's recipe. It turned out terrifically, the only problem being that first attempt had taken a year to fully mature and I hadn't documented the process well.

Quince infusing in vodka.

So after peeling and chopping up a few pounds and stuffing the pieces into a gallon jar with a couple of bottles of Monopolowa vodka—our preferred brand for infusing since it's good quality and cheap—it went immediately into the basement for a couple of months' rest. The problem was, there were still about four pounds of fruit left.

I'd made quince sauce before, which is delicious, but in the spirit of exploration wanted to try something new. That's when I remembered my mother's recipe for applesauce cake, a moist little single-layer cake that she'd whip up when an after-school snack was called for. Since quince sauce is almost exactly the same texture, if a little denser, than applesauce, I figured it would make a good substitute.

The quince sauce added a complexity of flavor and aroma that belied the simplicity of the cake, especially with a little scoop of ice cream served alongside. You can easily substitute applesauce back into the recipe, and I heartily recommend topping each piece of cake with a spoonful of whichever sauce you choose to make it with.

Simple Quince Sauce Cake

For the quince sauce:

4 lbs. quince, the more fragrant the better

Sugar or mild honey, to taste

Juice of 2 lemons

For the cake:

2 c. flour

2 tsp. baking powder

1/2 tsp. baking soda

1/2 tsp. salt

3/4 tsp. cinnamon

1/2 tsp. ground ginger

1/8 tsp. ground cloves

1/2 c. butter or margarine (1 stick)

1 c. brown sugar

1 tsp. vanilla extract

2 eggs

1 1/2 c. quince sauce (or applesauce)

1/2 c. walnuts, chopped fine (optional)

To make the quince sauce, coarsely chop the quince into large pieces, removing core and any bruises or brown spots. Place in large pot over medium heat and pour in a cup of water and lemon juice. Stir to combine. When water in bottom of pot begins to boil, reduce heat to low simmer and, stirring occasionally to prevent sticking, cook until quince pieces are tender. Add sugar to taste (I like mine slightly tart, but it still takes a fair amount of sugar to get it to that stage). Allow to cool. If you want, you can mash it by hand or run it through a food mill to remove skins and make a smooth sauce.

Preheat oven to 350°.

In a small mixing bowl, combine flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and spices.

In a large mixing bowl or mixer, beat butter, brown sugar, and vanilla together until soft and fluffy. Add eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Add quince sauce and beat in thoroughly. Mix in dry ingredients a small amount at a time until just combined, but don't over mix. Add walnuts and stir them in by hand.

Grease (using butter or margarine) and lightly flour an 8" or 9" square cake pan. Pour cake batter into pan and bake for 40 minutes. To test for doneness, insert a toothpick or sharp skewer into the center. It is done when the pick comes out clean. Serve with a spoonful of quince sauce on top and a scoop of ice cream alongside.

The Happy Hungarian Plum Cake

Are Hungarians always happy? They would be if they're having this lovely plum cake, especially with a cup of their national drink, which is, according to ItsHungarian, "a strong mocha with a high level of caffeine, a kind of Italian espresso, which is called kávé, presszókávé, or fekete (strong black coffee)."

The reason for making this cake, other than it's cake, is that our friends J&K were having a movie night featuring The Grand Budapest Hotel, Wes Anderson's kitschy but charming ode to the stories of Austrian novelist Stefan Zweig. Movie night is always accompanied by a dinner that is more-or-less themed to go with the movie. This one was to be a potluck featuring a Hungarian chicken paprikash as the main course, and since dessert is one of the toughest dishes to make Dave-safe, I volunteered to bring that.

With plums at their peak this time of year, a cake, tart or crostata of some sort seemed in order. Thumbing through cookbooks and websites turned up a slew of traditional Hungarian plum cakes (who knew?) that could be adapted to be lactose-free yet still satisfying for those of us fortunate enough to be lactose tolerant.

I was making a trip to the Hillsdale Farmers' Market anyway, and I knew that Anthony and Carol would have a good selection of plums from their organic orchard at Ayers Creek Farm. Sampling what they hand brought that week, I fell in love with the perfumey, sweet flavor of the delicately blushing mirabelles and bought a couple of dozen. Needless to say, the cake was beautiful and a hit with the movie-viewing crew.

Happy Hungarian Plum Cake

Butter or margarine for greasing the pan
1 Tbsp. flour, also for the pan
2 c. flour
2 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. sea salt
1 3/4 c. sugar, plus addt'l. 2 Tbsp.
4 eggs
1 3/4 c. milk or lactose-free milk
2/3 c. vegetable oil (like grape seed, etc.)
2 tsp. vanilla extract
2 dozen ripe plums, halved and pitted
1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon

Pre-heat oven to 375°.

Grease a 13-inch by 18-inch baking pan* with the butter or margarine, then add the 1 Tbsp. of flour and shake the pan so it coats the bottom and sides

In a medium mixing bowl, combine the flour, baking powder and salt in a bowl. In a large mixing bowl, whisk 1 3/4 c. sugar and the eggs together until smooth. Stir in milk, oil and vanilla. Add flour mixture and stir to combine until it becomes a smooth batter. Pour the batter into the prepared baking pan. Arrange the plum halves, cut sides down, evenly over batter. Combine remaining 2 Tbsp. sugar with the cinnamon in a bowl and sprinkle over the top of the batter. Bake until a toothpick inserted into the middle of the cake comes out clean, 50 min.-1 hr.

* This recipe can be halved and baked in a 9-inch by 12-inch baking pan.

Luscious Pound Cake? Yes, Please!

Nothing like being served a drop-dead delicious dessert and getting the secret recipe. (It didn't even require that much begging…) Even better, I got permission to share it with you all!

My friend Bruce Kerr's grandmother passed this recipe down to him, and it's perfect with seasonal berries. This winter you could take some berries out of the freezer (ones you wisely froze at the peak of their sweetness during the summer), thaw them till they soften, stir in a little cassis, then spoon them over the top.

Speaking of over the top, whip of some of the lemon buttermilk ice cream that Bruce's wife Pamela made to go with the cake and berries…it'll send this dessert into the stratosphere.

Eunice Bruner Kerr's Pound Cake

3 c. flour
3 c. sugar
1/2 lb. butter
6 eggs
1 c. sour cream or 1 c. low-fat yogurt (plain)
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. vanilla

Preheat oven to 300°.

Grease bundt pan. Cream butter & sugar together, and add vanilla. Add eggs one at a time, stirring between additions. Add flour and sour cream (or yogurt) alternately, and add baking soda.

Fill bundt pan approx. 2/3 full, to allow for expansion during baking. Bake at 300° for 1 hour 15 minutes.

Lemon Buttermilk Ice Cream*
Adapted by Leslie Cole for the Oregonian from Rozanne Gold's Recipes 1-2-3

1 qt. buttermilk
2 c. bakers sugar
1/2 c. lemon juice (about 4 medium lemons, juiced)
2 Tbsp. grated fresh lemon
1/8 tsp. salt

Mix sugar and lemon juice until blended. Add buttermilk, grated lemon and salt and blend until smooth in a large bowl. Let sit in fridge for up to 4 hours or overnight. Put into ice cream maker and process as directed on machine. (Pamela said, "It comes out more the consistency of a sorbet and has little or no fat. Enjoy!")

* Find a variation using lemons and limes at Culinate.com.

Have Your Cake

I like my ruts. It's comforting to know my surroundings so well I almost don't have to think, so familiar that I could find my way blindfolded on the well-worn path, my fingers skimming the walls on either side.

It's like that when friends are coming over for dinner, requiring some sort of dessert to be served. The rest of the menu can go in any number of directions, but the wrap-up to the meal is pretty much predictable. That's not to say that it lacks excitement or its own kind of wonderfulness, since a good…you guessed it…fruit crisp or cobbler can reflect the season perfectly. Rhubarb in spring, berries in early summer, peaches later on. Then apples in the fall and winter alternating with the huckleberries and other fruit I (hopefully) managed to squirrel away in the freezer.

But sometimes the sheer familiarity of it makes me restless, like being cooped up in the house for too long. That's when I pull out some books, or leaf through old recipes looking for something, anything, that will be different. And, with a little luck, provide a tasty coda to the evening.

This cake recipe, written on an old index card in what looks like my handwriting from high school (no, no hearts dotting the i's), was one I copied from my mother's collection and that she made when I was growing up. She'd bake it in an aluminum sheet pan (with a cool sliding top should you want to take it on a picnic), then make a frosting by creaming together powdered sugar and butter with pineapple bits and coconut folded in. But I decided to bake it in a bundt pan with no frosting, the better to have it for breakfast the next morning.

Pineapple Carrot Cake

1 1/4 c. vegetable oil
2 c. sugar
3 eggs
2 1/2 c. flour
1 tsp. cinnamon
1 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
1/2 tsp. salt
2 c. carrots, grated
1 c. walnuts, chopped
1 c. crushed pineapple, drained
1/2 c. grated coconut

Preheat oven to 350°.

In large mixing bowl, combine oil, sugar and eggs and mix well. Add flour, cinnamon, soda, nutmeg and salt and stir well. Add carrots, nuts, pineapple and coconut. Pour into greased and floured 9" by 12" cake pan or bundt pan. For sheet cake bake 45 min., for bundt cake bake 80 min. or until skewer inserted into center comes out clean.

Prunes or Just Plum Crazy?

Something just snapped in my head, I guess. Maybe it had something to do with that silky blue color that, when smudged, gives way to a midnight blue-black. Or the way they turn a deep ruby when cooked, looking lush and fleshy.

Italian prunes are my latest objet d'affection. And prunes they are, though some wimpy marketing types, because when people hear "prunes" they think "laxatives," are trying to relabel them plums, which they are not, or worse, sugar plums, which is insulting and just plain wrong. It's like what happened with hazelnuts. Which are, as every born and bred Oregonian knows, the humble filbert rebranded to sound more sophisticated. But I digress.

I've made prune tarts. And a crisp. But my favorite so far is a luscious fruit compote that has a light sweetness smoothed over with a layer of brandy, made even more perfect served with a slice of simple-to-make yellow cake alongside. Great for a company-type dessert, even better for breakfast the next morning!

Italian Prune Compote

3 lbs. Italian prunes
3/4 c. brown sugar
1/2 c. brandy

Slice prunes in half and remove pits. Place in medium saucepan with sugar and brandy and bring to a boil. Turn down heat and simmer till tender.

Great Yellow Cake
Adapted from The New Basics Cookbook by Julee Rosso and Sheila Lukins

2 c. sugar
4 eggs
1 c. vegetable oil
1 c. dry white wine
2 1/2 c. unbleached flour
1/2 tsp. salt
2 1/4 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 350°. Grease and flour two 9-inch cake pans.

Beat the sugar and eggs with an electric mixer on medium speed for 30 seconds. Add oil, wine, flour, salt, baking powder and vanilla. Beat 1 min. Pour batter into prepared pans. Place on middle rack of oven and bake until cake has pulled away from side of pans and knife inserted in center comes out clean, 30 min.

Cool in pans 5 min. Turn onto wire racks and cool completely. Serve as is or top with prune compote. Can also be frosted or stacked and frosted.

Because We've Always Done It That Way

In our family it was the lemon jello cake in the aluminum pan with the sliding lid that my mom always made to take to picnics. This week Jim Dixon of RealGoodFood shares a traditional recipe from the Dixon family for chocolate birthday cake.

The Dixons have been eating this cake at every birthday for as long as I can remember. My mother, who lives just down the street, makes it even if the birthday celebrant requests something different because, if you can believe it, she (and you know who you are) doesn’t like chocolate.

Nan’s Sour Cream Chocolate Cake with Richmond Frosting

Mix together the dry ingredients:
2 c. flour
2 c. sugar
1/2 tsp. salt (granulated...if you use kosher or sea salt, use 1 tsp.)
1 tsp. baking soda

In a small saucepan, combine 1 cup of water, 2 sticks (1 cup) of butter, and 3 Tbsp. cocoa, preferably Hershey’s special dark, and bring to a boil. Mix into flour and sugar.

Combine 1/2 c. sour cream, 1 tsp. vanilla, and 2 beaten eggs, then add to batter. Bake in a 9" by 13" pan at 350° for 25 minutes or until done (aka the clean knife test).

For the frosting, combine 1 c. sugar with 3 Tbsp. cornstarch in a small saucepan. In another pan (or in the microwave), heat until nearly boiling 1 c. water and 2 squares unsweetened chocolate. Add to the sugar/cornstarch mix and bring to boil, stirring constantly. Cook until it begins to thicken, then remove from heat and add 3 Tbsp. butter and 1 tsp. vanilla. Pour over the cake while it’s still warm, and the frosting will spread and self-level.

Let cool and serve with good vanilla ice cream.

Famous Publisher Has His Cake

The household was abuzz with the news. A Famous Publisher, in town for the holidays from his home in tropical San Juan, Puerto Rico, was going to come by the house for dinner. Delicacies were laid in, food was bubbling away on the stove and...gasp...even the rug got a good vacuuming. (That's when you know a guest is important around here.)

The FP arrived exactly on time in a well-burnished leather coat and woolly cap, since his blood has thinned out in the tropics. He regaled us with the gossip about the art world in sunny PR and we gabbed about the amazing transformation of Portland from little Puddletown to a burgeoning food capital.

The meal was preceded by cheeses and Viande's incredible venison pate with dried cherries and hazelnuts. The main course was a paella and a salad of wild greens, with dessert an incredibly dense and delicious chocolate carrot cake I'd read about and had been wanting to try.

FP was kind enough to ask for seconds on the paella and raved about the cake, and we were thrilled he'd taken time from his busy hobbing and nobbing to visit our humble abode. Perhaps we'll make it down to his part of the world sometime. Till then, at least we have cake!

Chocolate-Orange Carrot Cake
From Bon Appetit, 1998

For cake:
Nonstick vegetable oil spray
1 1/2 c. vegetable oil
4 lg. eggs
2 1/2 c. all purpose flour
2 1/4 c. sugar
2/3 c. unsweetened cocoa powder
2 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
2 c. finely shredded peeled carrots (about 10 oz.)
1 c. (packed) sweetened flaked coconut
1 1/2 tsp. grated orange peel
1 11-oz. can mandarin oranges, drained, cut into 1/2" pieces

For frosting:
2 1/2 c. semisweet chocolate chips (about 15 oz.)
1 c. (2 sticks) unsalted margarine, room temperature
1/3 c. powdered sugar
1/4 c. frozen orange juice concentrate

Additional canned mandarin orange segments, drained, patted very dry

Make cake:
Preheat oven to 350°F. Spray two 9-inch-diameter cake pans with 2-inch-high sides with nonstick spray. [I used a bundt pan and dusted it with cocoa powder. - KAB] Using electric mixer, beat 1 1/2 c. oil and eggs in large bowl until well blended and thick, about 2 minutes. Add flour, sugar, cocoa powder, baking soda and salt; beat at low speed to blend. Increase speed; beat 1 minute longer (batter will be very thick). Stir in carrots, coconut and orange peel, then orange pieces. Divide batter between prepared pans. Bake cakes until tester inserted into center comes out clean, about 40 minutes. [Bundt cake will take 90 minutes or more. Test with skewer till it comes out clean. - KAB] Cool cakes in pans 10 minutes. Turn out onto racks; cool completely.

Make frosting:
Stir chocolate chips in heavy medium saucepan over very low heat until melted and smooth. Remove from heat and cool to lukewarm. Spoon 1/3 c. chocolate into small bowl and reserve for decoration. Beat margarine and sugar in medium bowl until fluffy. Beat in remaining melted chocolate and orange juice concentrate. Place 1 cake layer on platter. Spread with 2/3 cup frosting. Top with second cake layer. Spread remaining frosting over top and sides of cake. Arrange additional orange segments around top edge of cake. Rewarm 1/3 cup reserved chocolate to pourable consistency if necessary. Drizzle orange segments with chocolate. (Can be prepared 1 day ahead. Cover and refrigerate.)