Let her eat cake

Last Friday night, my friends Mark, a film professor at PSU, and Marcelle, a writer/editor/sage of all things literary, took me out to dinner at a place called Navarre. Navarre won Restaurant of the Year in 2009 from the Oregonian, and it's easy to see why. We sat for hours in the chic and cozy dining room, and my eyes were consistently drawn to the wall with floor-to-ceiling shelves holding jars of Maldon sea salts and pickled vegetables of all kinds. The place was warm, vibrant, and packed with delighted eaters whose conversations echoed all the way up toward the vaulted ceilings, filling the room with celebration and pleasure. I regret that most of the evening was spent focused on my epic re-telling of the move from hell that happened at the end of the summer, but Mark and Marcelle were such involved and interested listeners that they urged me to discuss all the relevant details of my U-haul horror story (which probably does not bear re-telling here).

Anyway, after having been handed our menu and filling out our choices (one of the available options was either fruity or grassy olive oil for the bread--love it), we resumed conversation and anxiously awaited our meal. After a reseating scenario, we were served with a flight of colorful and varied small plates that covered almost every available square inch of our table. We helped ourselves to heaping spoonfuls (and forkfuls) of: mesclun salad with lobster mushrooms and candied fennel; warm toasted farro with bright, sweet roasted beets; long thin, delicately roasted and barely-caramelized ribbons of carrot; stuffed pattypan squash, overflowing with an unidentified filling, though it tasted of freshly brewed black tea and bright, tangy lemon--an unexpected but much appreciated surprise; creamy and rich kale gratin, sturdier and more assertive than creamed spinach but just as delicious, if not more so; and sweet, smokey braised collard greens with roasted chestnuts. Each dish was certainly bold, but they all rested lightly on the palette and gave way to the next as our evening of sampling and passing plates progressed.

We finished our evening with a trio of desserts, one of which deserves particular special mention. Yes, the almond cake was deliciously dense and moist with a thick, rich shell of chocolate ganache on top, and yes the crust on the apple and fig pie melted rich and buttery on my tongue underneath the slightly tart, syrupy filling. These desserts did all I could have asked of them, but the odds were stacked against them as soon as I saw this.

photo credit here

Behold what is, undoubtedly, the greatest red velvet cake I have ever eaten. I have no problems with hyperbole when talking about this cake. The crumb was delicate, the frosting tangy-sweet and not too thick, and the flavor of sweet, aromatic vanilla with the most subtle allusion to the cake's origins in cocoa was, well, almost otherworldly. I know it sounds silly, but I want to date this cake. It's perfection evokes nothing short of pure amorousness and devotion, and I eagerly await the day when the two of us meet once again.

And, to shift gears if I may, because after Friday evening came Saturday evening, and thus an excuse for more cake. Mamie, Russian scholar and embarrassing story-teller extraordinaire, was celebrating her 20th birthday and had requested the presence of a few friends for a potluck with her mom and sister, in town for the occasion from Colorado. Having received a bunch of red pears in my most recent CSA delivery, I sought to make use of them in a recipe fit for such a celebration. Look no further than ginger molasses cake with caramelized pears. After a long day of work at the farmers' market, my tired legs received a jolt of energy upon seeing this recipe to make a special trip to the food co-op for heavy cream and ginger. I simply could not pass up the opportunity to usher Mamie into "adulthood" and the rest of us into fall with such a decadent recipe. It's worth making just for how it will fill your kitchen with the perfume of fresh citrus and spicy ginger.

GINGER MOLASSES CAKE WITH CARAMELIZED PEARS

Doubled from this recipe on Epicurious

I made this cake in two 9" round cake pans, greased with butter and lined with parchment paper. After the cakes had finished baking, I let them cool for about 5 minutes in the pans, then I removed them from the pans and let them cool for another 10-15 minutes on wire racks. I cut a little well in the center of the top of the first layer and filled that with the caramelized pears, then put the second layer on top. I dusted the top of the cake with powdered sugar, though next time I might make a light caramel icing. Nonetheless, it was a perfect birthday cake to kick off the slow fade into autumn.

For the cake:

1/2 cup unsulfured molasses

1/2 cup sour cream

1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter, melted

1/2 cup firmly packed light brown sugar

2 large eggs

4 teaspoons finely grated peeled fresh ginger

1 teaspoon freshly grated lemon zest

2 cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

For the caramelized pears:

4 medium firm-ripe pears

2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

4 tablespoons unsalted butter

1/2 cup sugar

6 tablespoons water

3 teaspoons bourbon

6 tablespoons heavy cream

1. Preheat oven to 350ºF. Butter, flour, and place parchment rounds into two 9" round cake pans. Place rack in the middle of the oven.

2. In a bowl, whisk together molasses, sour cream, butter, brown sugar, eggs, ginger, and lemon zest until smooth. Sift in flour, baking soda, and salt. Stir batter until just combined and spread evenly in baking pans. Bake cakes for 15-20 until a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean. Let cool for 5 minutes, then transfer cakes to wire cooling racks.

3. Meanwhile, peel pears and cut each pear lengthwise into 6 wedges, discarding cores. In a bowl, toss pears with lemon juice. In a heavy skillet, melt butter over moderate heat and cook pears in a single layer until slightly softened, about 3 minutes. Sprinkle pears with sugar and cook, shaking skillet and turning pears, until sugar is melted and pears are tender. Transfer pears with a slotted spoon to a bowl.

4. Boil the sugar mixture remaining in the skillet, stirring occasionally until the mixture turns into a golden caramel. Remove skillet from heat and carefully add water, brandy, and cream. Return skillet to heat and simmer sauce, stirring until smooth and thickened slightly. Return pears to skillet and cook until heated through.

5. Cut a small well into the top of one of the cakes and fill it with the pear mixture. Place the other cake on top and dust with powdered sugar. Serve immediately on its own or with ice cream.