Now that’s Italian!

Alright, so I am going to bake tonight. Though I must admit, I do not like to search out recipes that are geared toward the healthy eater. Baking something that is labeled as low-fat low-carb high-fiber low-sodium wheat-free etc etc sounds like a trip to the pharmacy, not the baker’s kitchen.

But there are recipes out there that beguile in their authenticity, originality and flavor and that are also, upon careful inspection, pretty healthy, or at least balanced.

One such beauty is the Ligurian Cake (from Desserts by Pierre Hermé). The very name! It’s from Liguria, a province of Italy that speaks of villages perched on cliffs and distant hills with olive groves, a place where the anti-carb mania must be regarded as some kind of a statement against humanity (they do love their pasta there) and yet, if you look at what it is that they do eat on a daily basis – well, we should all be so healthy.

The Ligurian cake is called that because in its original version, it is made with Ligurian olive oil. But any extra-virgin olive will do (the 365 Whole Foods basic olive oil is fantastic for this). And let me remind you, we are two weeks away from the beginning of the raspberry season, so this is the moment for this simple little gem.

Personally, I like it with my morning coffee. But you can whip up some sugared egg whites (beat into a stiff meringue), spread them on top, bake for five more minutes (to brown the meringue) and you’ll have yourself a splendid dessert. Tell your guests that there’s almost a cup of olive oil in it and watch their mouths drop.

I don’t post recipes here. Ever. But, with every rule there’s an exception and this cake calls for it. First, the photo that shows how totally fun it is to bake it:


batter and berries 

…and the finished product. It looks ordinary. It’s not.


fresh, honest, very Italian 

Finally, the recipe:

1 3/4 flour
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
1 c sugar
zest of 1 - 2 lemons
4 eggs, room temp (do a quick warm up in hot water if you forgot)
3 TBSP whole milk (it's only 3 TBSP, relax about the WHOLE milk)
1 TBSP lemon juice
7 TBSP butter (remember: in baking, stick with unsalted), melted but still warm
2/3 c extra-virgin olive oil (use the tame kind)
1 pint (or so) of raspberries

Preheat oven to 350. Butter and dust with flour 10 inch pan (I use springform).
Sift flour and baking powder together, reserve.
Place sugar and lemon zest in mixing bowl, rub together well with fingers, add eggs, beat unitl pale and thick (3 min.).
At low speed beat in milk, then sifted dry ingredients, then lemon juice, then butter, then olive oil, beating each only until blended.
Pour one third batter into pan, top with barries, pour the rest.
Bake 30 - 40 minutes.

You need to check for doneness with the toothpick -- err on the side of longer rather than shorter if you like a drier cake. But don't fret, the cake is often eaten moist, so if you are partial to it that way, know that you're just like the rest of Ligurians. Or, pop your piece in the oven for another 5 minutes to firm it up. In baking, very few things aren't salvagable.

P.S. Something with a name that is as poetic as the Ligurian cake should have a rose carelessly tossed at the side. This flower (from my yard) would work well next to the dessert. In any case, if you're not into baking, perhaps a photo of this very splendid rose will mollify you.


in the garden, a rose bush blossoms 

Curiosity

I am at home, working at a desk that faces the front street. A young couple drives up in a sporty red car with an Illinois license plate. They get out, with a basic-looking camera in hand. They start taking photos – focusing especially on the house across the street (it’s not for sale, it’s rather standard suburban-looking, and they take several pictures of its ugliest feature: the huge, white garage door), of themselves, standing by it, of the lamppost just at the side.

I use this opportunity to go outside and pick up the mail. Surely they will engage me in conversation or at least explain their actions. Lots of smiles, no explanation given. I haven’t the courage to ask “what ARE you doing?”

They then walk around a bit, moving stealthily between houses, clearly aiming for back yards, camera still aimed to take shots. They disappear for a few minutes, reappear, walk up a few paces, back again. Finally, she takes out her cell phone, makes a call, can’t get a connection, he tries his, talks, they get back into the car.

In groping for his cell phone, he inadvertently places the camera on top of the car. Dilemma: do I wait until they pull away, repossess the camera and take a look at what the focus of the picture-taking was? (I can tell it’s a digital camera.) In the alternative, do I make a fool of myself by running out screaming and banging at their car trunk as they start to pull away, to warn that they are about to lose their camera, admitting, therefore, that I am sitting here like the prying person that I am, staring at their every move?

I choose the latter. As I shout, wave my arms, get them to take note, they stop the car, thank me, take the camera and drive off. No explanation is given, even though surely my antics should have bought me a slice of the truth. Damn these closemouthed types!