Ya, I renamed it. I heard too much “John, what’s this called?” and then “That is kind of a dumb name.” My response (in my head), “Look lady, I just do the baking, not the naming.” I will just take it on myself to rename everything from here on out. I am pretty good at renaming things as you can tell.
So my last post promised to post the outcome and findings, and explanation of my renditions of the recipe sent to me by my father. It has taken me a few days to sum it all up in my head, and get my blog fingers ready. Here goes….
Left work at about 6pm and headed straight to the grocery store. I decided to ask the nearest store employee what the difference between confectioners’ sugar and powdered sugar was. “They are the same thing, dude.” With a face that said more than I could have imagined. This is what I thought was going through this 30 something grocery store employee’s mind when I asked…”Is this weirdo really asking about sugars for baking?” “Look at this guy with a cake pan and handbasket full of vegetables and meat, and now he is asking about sugar.” “I bet this guy makes some pretty kick ass baked goods.” He must have digressed in my brain.
Flash back to me standing in front of the Olive Oil selection, and close up shot of my quizzical face. “Do I have olive oil?, Was that memory of finishing the olive oil botle just a trick? For the love of all things oily, do I need olive oil?” Hopefully not I concluded.
Guess who tricked himself, this guy. Come home to a olive oil-less kitchen. Back out for a quick trip to wally world for a bottle of olive oil, and a spatula, large serving spoon, and cake pans with removable sides. As much as one likes or dislikes Walmart, one thing we can agree on is it is very difficult to walk in needing/wanting just one thing, and leave with just that one thing in your plastic sack.
Now back to kitchen, items lined out, apron on, alternative rock music playing via pandora, and a nice hat to make sure I don’t shed into my bread. (New hat idea: “don’t shed on my bread”)
I pretty much stuck to the recipe my dad sent me, so no need to show you it to you again. If you are interested it can be found here.
So I trim 1/3 inch off each end of the orange, now it says to quarter it the long way. Pffff, ya cus that makes sense. So I cut each orange differently to see if any difference was seen. I couldn’t tell so I plan on cutting them like the picture each time this delightful delicatessen is prepared in my food factory.
Drop in the “quartered” oranges and bring back to boil. Done. Drain and Repeat. Done. Drain and Repeat. Done. Reminds me of growing up and being spanked. It was a never ending repeat, at least it was for my brothers.
Recipe calls to line the bottom of the pan with parchment paper, cut to fit. I chose the “place bottom of pan over parchment paper, press down firmly and tear until it resembles a circle. Life is like a circle, it’s never ending, like this post is, I am sure you gracious readers are thinking.
After the drain and repeat game the oranges and I played, I decided they deserved a treat of 1 cup of sugar and 4 cups of water. They were pretty happy I suppose. They just sat their in their medium heat sugar bath and let me mix them every so often for a good 29 or so minutes. It felt like at least half an hour, but no one could know for sure. As the orange sugar water did its thing I chose to read the recipe again, and again. Something profound hit me at this point…Don’t bake when you are hungry. It’s like wrapping your arm in duct tape and then pulling really slowly. Painful and agony of wishing things could go quicker. Again, you readers are probably thinking the same thing about this post.
After the relentless 2 quarters of an hour stirring the orange sugar mix I was advised to let them cool to room temperature. Here they are looking all smug and awesome, easily pierced by a fork. Little do they know they will be cake soon.
While we wait for the oranges to cool their jets and get in tight with the other room objects we whisk the flour, baking soda and powder into a nice flour baking soda powder mix. I would hate to have to unwhisk those ingredients from each other. Not like finding a picture of a kitten on the internet.
Butter that bottom up real nice. Then roll that unsalted churned cow’s milk along the inside sides of the pan. “You got it,” I say. How much butter? Is this enough? Who can I ask these questions to? Is that Jeeves fella still around?
Dust with flour, they say. My laminate also got dusted it. Hazard of the job I guess. Looks real nice though doesn’t it. Now this is what confuses me: remember how I made that circle of parchment paper for the bottom of the pan? Why did I dust the bottom of the pan if its going to get parchmented? Is this correct? Do I need to butter and dust the paper? I should take a class on this. I think they have one at the middle school. They call it Home Ec. Somehow I passed the first time around. Still have the apron and pillows to prove it.
Now this is where the recipe calls for a food-processor. Yours truly is not currently equipped with said device. However I am graced with a blender. So I blend. Blend the oranges into a nice salsa consistency orange awesomeness.
Drop in the rest of the sugar, vanilla, and eggs. The recipe told me to put the flour in there as well. I eyeball it and can clearly see that flour mix, and orange puree is not going to fit in the blender together. So I figure that a hand mixed cake batter couldn’t kill anyone, I will try it my way. My favorite thing about a blender is how easy it is to clean it. Rinse it out, drop in some liquid soap and water and blend for a few seconds. All clean.
Look at how the eggs look right at home in that blender. It’s like they are saying to the other eggs in the carton, “Hey guys, we are going to become a cake. You are going to be an omelet tomorrow, and some of you will be scrambled the day after that. Sucks to be you, we are going to be a caishgahtarfnhvaihert (sound of eggs getting blended).
Now you get to see the orange smoothy looking ingredients and the flour baking soda powder mixture staring each other down. Like wedding night, when two become one. These two couldn’t wait. Once together, only the stomach can tear them apart.
Now cue the Spice Girls here, you know, 2 become 1. I, not so slowly, poured the orange wondrous puree into the plain jane flour. Some of us got splattered, and some of the countertop stayed clean. It was by all means a momentous occasion. I stood at an impasse. I needed to turn on the oven and swirl these two delightful groups until they became combined into a glorious pre-cake. By the way, it smelled like orange julius in my kitchen. Not a bad thing to take in nostrilly.
What we have here is the hand whipped batter for the Orange Tasting Light and Moist Cake sans the olive oil. Cue the Mediterranean basin’s liquid gold. 6 table spoons and we stir again. This time I knew I was onto something good. And wouldn’t it be nice if I had taken a picture of me pouring the cake batter into the buttered and flour dusted pan? Remember a couple of paragraphs ago about the arm and the duct tape? In my haste to plop this bad boy in the oven I forgot to take a visual verification of the act and object. After 45 minutes in the heat monster and two tests of the toothpick out came the beauty below.
Now we let her cool before slathering her up with a mix of confectioners’ sugar and orange juice. That is one hot momma, waiting to be devoured. But alas, absence makes the heart grow fonder (or stomach growl louder in this case).
Ding, the mourning period is over and I can indulge in the handcrafted, back braking (really, my counters are too low), envy inducing, crowd pleasing, masterpiece that is the Orange Tasting Light and Moist Cake, or Orange-Scented Olive Oil Cake as some have been known to call it.