Cake

For a dinner party, you can present these cakes on a cake stand garnished with fresh berries.

The topping for this cake is simple: cranberries are placed over sugar and spices at the bottom of the pan. As the cake bakes, the sugar caramelizes, forming a syrup. When you invert the pan, the syrup soaks into the cake, creating a festive dessert.

Often reserved for breakfast, crumb is just as satisfying when served for dessert. Replace the blueberries with other berries or sliced apples or plums, if desired.

When iced, these carrot-filled cupcakes make heavenly desserts or snacks. Unfrosted, they are perfect for breakfast on the run or a lunch-box treat. Use the large holes of a box grater, or the shredding disk of a food processor, to shred the carrots.

Baking the desserts in a hot-water bath keeps them creamy and custardy beneath their golden, cakey tops. Lining the roasting pan with a dish towel helps the water circulate under the cups for even cooking.

This type of cake recipe—using oil, not butter, and without eggs—was first developed during the Depression era, when milk and eggs were scarce and expensive. Rather than forgo sweets entirely, families developed recipes that worked around the limited availability of certain foods. Obviously, the availability of dairy isn’t an issue anymore, but this history means that there are plenty of pretty good dessert recipes ready-made for vegans.

I know I continually say that I’m skeptical about tofu, especially something as weird as tofu cream cheese. However, I have to say this vegan cheesecake is actually better than a lot of cheesecakes I’ve had. In fact, it’s so good that when I finished my first piece I went back for a second. Like any cheesecake, it’s great with any kind of fruit on top, especially strawberries.

The Vietnamese adore bananas, arguably the country’s national fruit. Many kinds—small, large, stubby, sweet, starchy—are available, and people know the seasonal and regional differences. A giant herb related to lilies and orchids, the entire banana plant (leaves, fruits, blossoms, trunk, and roots) is used in cooking. In Vietnam, my mother regularly bought a full bunch (about a hundred fruits) from a vendor. After we arrived in America, bananas continued to be one of our favorite fruits, but we ate fewer of them since they are costlier here. Whenever we had overripe bananas, we made this easy and delicious cake, which is among the most popular sweet banh preparations. Thin banana slices decorate the slightly caramelized top, and the cake itself has a puddinglike texture because of the large number of bananas in the batter. For the best flavor, use fragrant, extremely ripe fruit with deep yellow skin marked with lots of brown spots.

If you are unfamiliar with Asian sweets, this delicious cake may surprise you. There is no flour in the batter, and the cassava (the source of tapioca starch) makes the texture slightly gelatinous but firm. The mung beans function like ground nuts do in Western cakes, lending richness and body to the batter. While the cake bakes, the kitchen is filled with the aroma of coconut, and when it is served, the result is pleasingly soft , chewy, and sweet. I’m grateful to Mrs. Oanh, a friend of my mother’s, for sharing this recipe. A similar preparation in the Filipino repertoire is called cassava bibingka. Look for grated cassava (usually imported from the Philippines) in the frozen-food section of Southeast Asian and Chinese markets. Because coconut is the primary flavor in this recipe, it is especially important to use thick, rich, flavorful milk, whether it comes from a can or is freshly made. For a special treat, serve a wedge of this cake with a scoop of Coconut Sorbet (page 282).

Bánh Chung are sold at Viet markets and delis, but making them yourself guarantees high quality and is a great way to take part in an ancient Vietnamese tradition. An intersection of cooking, art, and engineering, the cakes come together in an ingenious way, and it is remarkable how so few ingredients create such meaningful and tasty food. See Feasts for the New Year, page 259, for more information on the tradition surrounding the cakes. While some people wrap the cakes free-form, I prefer using a simple homemade wooden mold (see Note for details) to produce beautiful cakes with straight edges, believing that since the ingredients are modest, the presentation matters. The process is surprisingly easy: the mold is lined with bamboo leaves and then banana leaves, the edible ingredients are added, the package is closed up, and the mold is removed, so the cake looks a little box. The cake is then securely wrapped in foil and boiled for several hours. The instructions for these cakes come from my mother and her friend Mr. Lung, who decades ago wrote an extensive article on the subject. When we left Vietnam, Mom carried the piece with her so she could replicate bánh chng here. The ingredients are available at Chinese and Vietnamese markets. Dried bamboo leaves are bundled up in plastic and are usually near the dried mushrooms. Be sure to select a fatty piece of pork for the best flavor, and bright green banana leaves for beautiful color.

Here , simple dough made of glutinous rice flour, water, and salt is shaped into small, round disks and steamed on banana leaf circles, which impart fragrance and prevent sticking. The result is bánh day, eggshell-white cakes that are eaten in pairs with slices of Viet sausage slipped between them. The cakes are sweet and chewy, while the sausage provides a savory counterpoint. If you don’t have time to make the sausage at home, pick some up at a Viet market or deli.

Once the Deep South’s secret, red velvet cake definitely has the nation’s attention. The cake’s distinctive color, the result of a chemical reaction between acidic vinegar and buttermilk and Dutch-processed cocoa, was originally much more subdued than that of its present incarnation. A dose of food coloring is called for to pump that reddish brown into the true red that distinguishes this cake from all the rest. The sweet and lightly chocolaty cake is layered and frosted with an indulgently rich vanilla buttercream. Made with vanilla bean seeds instead of extract, the creamy frosting sports the telltale brown flecks that signal the pure vanilla flavor to come. Some red velvet cakes I’ve tried have been a bit on the dry side, but not this one. It’s incredibly moist thanks to the buttermilk and a measure of canola oil.

German’s Chocolate Cake is every bit as American as apple pie. German refers not to the country but rather to the last name of the originator of the type of chocolate used in the original recipe—Baker’s German’s Sweet Chocolate. I’ve kept the essentials of the classic recipe in place—chocolate cake layered with caramel, coconut, and pecans—but tweaked them just enough to proudly call this version my own. The cake itself is dark, moist, and truly chocolaty, and a glaze of chocolate ganache heightens the chocolate flavor without the overpowering sweetness of a traditional buttercream frosting. The real twist is found in the cake’s inner layers: my caramel of choice is cajeta, a liquid dulce de leche Mexican treat of sweetened goat’s milk cooked into a rich, syrupy caramel with smooth coconut milk. And forget a scoop of vanilla ice cream; fluffy coconut whipped cream is the last touch in this to-die-for dessert.

I named this dense chocolate cake with a mountain of coffee-flavored icing for the 1956 movie Giant. which put the small West Texas town of Marfa on the map. The stars were Elizabeth Taylor, Rock Hudson, and James Dean in his last movie role before he died in a car accident at age twenty-four. Hotel Paisano, where the cast stayed during the filming, still pays homage to the production with a Giant memorabilia room and Jett’s Grill, named after Dean’s character, oilman Jett Rink.

When I brought this cake to a last-minute dinner, my hosts, Mary and Marshall Cunningham, loved it so much they begged me to take the remainder home. “Don’t leave it here,” they pleaded. “We’ll eat it. We’ll probably eat it for breakfast.” A simple vanilla cake with a layer of tart Key lime curd and a blanket of lightly sweetened whipped cream, Mary dubbed it “the perfect cake for spring or summer.”

I first ate syrup cake in the deep, piney woods of East Texas with a boy I once dated. We were visiting his grandma. She served squirrel stew with biscuits and syrup cake. I don’t eat squirrel now and I didn’t then, but I got that recipe for syrup cake. I later found out the simple cake is a Cajun country favorite, typically made with cane syrup. It seems that almost everyone in Louisiana swears by Steen’s brand. If you can’t find cane syrup, substitute molasses, maple syrup, or Lyle’s Golden Syrup.

In my family, it wouldn’t be homecoming without at least one old-fashioned layer cake, so I developed one inspired by a recipe from my Grandma Nez, the cake champion of her generation. As a child I wasn’t sure which I loved better, her cakes or her ample lap. I’d nestle into her smooshy interior and feel so comfy and protected there underneath her big bosoms. I admit this cake is a lot of work, but bring it to any event and no one will forget it. It makes a great cake for birthdays, wedding or baby showers, and anniversaries.

This cake is a riff on my great-aunt Lorena’s 1-2-3-4 cake, a classic confection dating back to at least the mid-1800s, made with one cup butter, two cups sugar, three cups flour, and four eggs. It’s a simple cake, perfect for the likes of Aunt Lorena, who was better known for her prowess as a drama teacher than for her ability in the kitchen. (The auditorium in the Grapeland, Texas, high school where she taught for many years is named after her.) My favorite story about Aunt Lorena comes from Uncle Jack, Lorena’s middle son, who says he was in high school history class before he discovered the South did not win the Civil War. As he tells it, his mom was so proud of her grandfather, William Burroughs Wright, who fought in the war alongside his brother and his brother-in-law, that she managed to brush over the fact that the North won.

I felt like a modern-day Pied Piper as I carried a tray of these cupcakes to the dessert table at a picnic last fall. A throng of kids sprang up behind me, each one clamoring for a cupcake decorated with the familiar white curlicue and enriched with a hidden cream filling. Soon, all that was left was an empty tray and the hilarious chocolate smears that decorated the faces and fingers of the youngest children. These are simpler to make than you’d imagine and, given the excitement they always inspire, they certainly are worth the effort. You’ll need a pastry bag with a number 10 tip to inject the cream filling into the center of the cupcakes.

When I was a teenager, summer meant the beach. If I was lucky, I’d arrive in time for one of the great big beach-bonfire fiestas staged frequently by my friends, complete with roasted weenies, just a touch of beer (I swear!), and my total favorite—bonfire s’mores. Sadly, times have changed. Only a few Texas beach communities allow bonfires, so I came up with a s’more cupcake that puts me into a beach party mood no matter where I happen to be. The only fire necessary to bring their marsh mallow topping to the pitch-perfect golden brown of a genuine s’more is the skinny blue flame that shoots from my portable kitchen torch. These cupcakes are sure to bring smiles to just about any kid who shows up for a casual party, whether it takes place in the kitchen, at the shore, or on a beachfront deck. Now that my daughter is a seasoned college student, I make the cupcakes in advance, and whip up the marshmallow topping just before party time. I provide disposable plastic pastry bags fitted with open star tips so Fran and her friends can decorate the cupcakes themselves. Then it’s time for me to pass the torch—the kitchen torch, that is. Now that I think of it, it’s not the only torch I’m passing.