Adapted from the Sept., 1997 Gourmet

Several months ago, back when the AC was set to “high” each day and the sun was still out when I’d tuck into dinner, I stumbled across this recipe for a plum and hazelnut torte. It’s a dessert with a decidedly fall flavor, in large part because it calls for Empress plums—which are only available in the very early autumn—but also because it just looks the part. And yet despite the fact that we were in the midst of summer and all of its bright, happy foods, it was a recipe I just couldn’t get out of my head. So even as I was shucking corn or whipping up batches of tomato butter (which I made a lot of this summer; for more on this see quickie recipe at the very bottom of this posting), my mind would momentarily switch over to that nutty brown cake with the glaze of baked plums seemingly smeared across its surface, and with it the cooler season. Such is the power of food, and a good recipe, but then even as a kid in the middle of summer vacation, the smell of a new book could propel me to the start of the coming school year.

The recipe with these transportive powers first appeared in the Sept., 1997 issue of Gourmet, and, based on the many enthusiastic reviews I found posted on various online bulletin boards, it quickly found a following—one that it’s managed to maintain. Having sampled the cake on several occasions myself now, it’s not hard to see why, though I must also acknowledge that it’s a dessert unlikely to suit all tastes (as opposed to something like, say, carrot cake, which has an undeniably broader appeal). For one thing the dessert in question is a torte and not a cake, which at its simplest tends to mean something a little heavier, and a little more rustic, as it often calls for ground nuts or breadcrumbs in lieu of traditional flour. And for another there’s just not all that much sugar involved here (just a single cup, plus whatever the plums bring to the party), so we’re not talking about a super sweet experience. Those factors, plus the presence of sliced fruit instead of icing, can tend to raise objections from your inner eight year-old, no matter how committed you might be to eating healthy.

Which is not to say that this cake is some sort of flourless, joyless, granola-like experience either—far from it. In fact unlike some tortes, there’s plenty of actual flour in the mix here (1¼ cups to be exact), not to mention a quantity of butter, allspice, and vanilla, the latter two ingredients lending the mixture a fragrant, slightly spicy quality—like a gingersnap cookie or a mug of mulled cider. Taken in combination with the cake’s dense nutty crumb (this from ¾ of a cup of lightly toasted hazelnuts that are ground fine in a food processor then mixed with the flour and allspice, along with some salt and baking powder), and you have the sort of comforting, not-too-sweet dessert experience that’s perfect for the snap of an early fall day.

Nor does it hurt that once out of the oven, the cake—all tans and purples by this point—is transformed into something quite magnificent, with the skin of the quartered plums now baked into its surface broken down to such a point they could be mistaken for dollops of some sort of dark jam. In fact, between the sugary glaze of the fruit, and the bronzed crust that surrounds it, the top of the cake recalls the latticework of another, more famous torte—the Linzer—known for its strips of cooked dough framing gobs of raspberry jam. And these visual pleasures only continue once the cake is sliced into, an act that reveals not just the moist nutty interior lurking beneath the crust, but also the smaller bits of plum that have been added to the batter pre-baking, injecting another shot of fall color, not to mention a subtle hit of sweetness, into each forkful and mouthful.

What’s more, none of this is particularly taxing or time-consuming, calling for just a little roasting (the nuts), a little cutting (the plums), and a little mixing (the batter, which is brought together by first whisking the majority of the dry ingredients, then by combining the butter, a portion of the sugar, the eggs, and the vanilla in an electric mixer, and then finally by merging the wet with the dry). At which point half of the plums—the chopped portion (tossed with two tablespoons of sugar, then drained)—are folded into the batter, and the resulting combo is poured into a 9-inch springform pan, which has been generously buttered and floured. Smooth the top, drain the remaining half of the plums (these still in quarters, also sugared and drained as above), and arrange skin sides up on top of the batter. Slip into a 350˚ oven and eighty minutes or so later your cake is done—though cooling time (30 minutes in the pan, followed by however long is needed out of it to bring the cake down to room temperature) must also be factored in.

That said I found the hour and 20 minutes baking time called for by the recipe to be more than needed, and would caution to start checking for doneness 10 or even 15 minutes early, as there’s nothing more disappointing than dried out cake—especially with a nutty variety such as this one. Also, although the recipe doesn’t suggest it, I found a little sweetened whipped cream, and even a light dusting of powdered sugar across the surface of the cake, to be a good addition. It’s just the thing to round out the torte’s nutty, mellow sweetness, and to quiet those little voices that keep screaming for more sugar. But either way, it’s the flavor of the fresh fruit and the just-ground hazelnuts that dominate: just the thing to ease you into fall.

Ingredients:
—1½ lbs Italian prune plums (see note, below)
—1 cup sugar
—3/4 cup hazelnuts
—1¼ cups all-purpose flour
—1½ tsp baking powder
—1/4 tsp salt
—1/2 tsp ground allspice
—1½ sticks (3/4 cup) unsalted butter, softened
—3 large eggs
—1 tsp vanilla

Note: Italian prune plums, also known as Empress Plums, are generally available for a few weeks in the early fall. They’re small and egg-shaped, with a bluish, purple skin.

Directions:
—Preheat oven to 350˚. Butter and flour a 9-inch springform pan.
—Quarter and pit plums. Coarsely chop half of plums and in a bowl toss with 2 tbs sugar. In another bowl combine remaining plums with 2 tbs sugar. On a baking sheet in middle of oven lightly toast hazelnuts until fragrant and insides are golden, 10 to 15 minutes. Cool nuts and grind fine in a food processor.
—In a bowl whisk together hazelnuts, flour, baking powder, salt, and allspice. In a bowl with an electric mixer beat butter and remaining ¾ cup sugar until light and fluffy. Add eggs, 1 at a time, beating after each addition, and beat in vanilla and flour mixture until batter is just combined.
—Drain chopped plums in a sieve, pressing on fruit, and pat dry with paper towels. Stir plums into batter and spread evenly in pan.
—Drain quartered plums in sieve, pressing on fruit, and arrange, skin sides up, over batter. Bake torte in middle of oven for 1 hour and 20 minutes, or until golden brown and a tester comes out clean (see TRG’s note, below).
—Cool torte in pan on a rack for 30 minutes. Remove side of pan and cool completely.

Note: I found the one hour and 20 minute baking time to be too long, resulting in a cake that was just this side of dry. Somewhere between an hour and ten minutes and an hour and fifteen proved better with my oven, so be sure to keep a close eye on things after the one-hour point.

12 servings

SIMPLE TOMATO BUTTER
A number of you have reached out asking for more information about the tomato butter mentioned above, so here’s the incredibly simple recipe (adapted from the August, 2012 issue of Bon Appétit):
—Broil 1 pint cherry tomatoes until the skins blister and the juices are released.
—Let cool completely (this is very important or the butter won’t have the right consistency).
—Place tomatoes in a food processor with salt to taste, and blitz until coarsely puréed.
—Stir tomato purée into two sticks softened butter.
—Spread onto grilled chicken, steak, or crostini.

The post 10/04/12 • PERFECT PLUM TORTE appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the Feb., 2002 Gourmet (click here to view the recipe)

I’m sitting here thinking about cake. Sitting, not writing, because in-and-of-itself, cake does not tend to inspire in me particularly strong feelings. But here’s the thing about cake: even if you’re not a cake person per se, chances are you’ve encountered one or two in your life that stayed with you and that function as a kind of gold standard against which all future cake eating experiences are measured. Like the chocolate layer cake my grandmother used to have waiting for me when I’d visit her in Virginia. I was a small kid at the time and can’t remember much about that cake other than the way the perfect waves of chocolate icing would call to me from beneath the glass cake dome it was hiding under, perched high up on my Nanna’s kitchen counter — that, and the fact that I could never get enough of it. Who knew that all subsequent forkfuls of chocolate cake would rise or fall against that memory?

Among this small group of standout cake experiences I’d also include the carrot cake our across-the-street neighbor in Philadelphia, Barbara, used to make when I was growing up (I’ll get you that recipe soon; I’d bet money it’s the only carrot cake recipe you’ll ever want), as well as the chocolate-with-vanilla-buttercream-icing-and-a-sprinkling-of-chocolate-chips layer cake from Billy’s Bakery (they simply call it their “Classic Chocolate Cake”), which for pure tooth aching goodness is my ideal when it comes to celebrating birthdays. And, in case you were starting to think it was all about the icing for me, I’d also nominate the upside-down pear gingerbread cake that I bring to you here, which despite its toffee-like topping is definitively icing-free.

I pulled the recipe out of Gourmet almost ten years ago (the page has begun to take on the same appealing color as the baked pears which crown the actual cake), and while it’s not something I make all that often, each time I do I wonder what took me so long. It’s also the sort of dessert that feels just right when there’s a snap in the air. There are a couple of reasons for this: the first is that this is gingerbread we’re talking about, so there’s nothing particularly delicate or ephemeral about it. This is a cake with heft, both in terms of its weight as well as in the way that the kick of the ginger and cinnamon and cloves meld with the sweetness of the molasses and the baked fruit. There’s also a generous amount of brown sugar called into play here and together this trio (the fruit, the molasses, the sugar) ensures that the cake will have all the sweetness you might want, and that the uppermost layer will have a sort of toffee-like quality that generously works to moisten each slice, each mouthful.

And then there’s the fact that the whole thing is baked in a skillet — something that always strikes me as seasonally appropriate, not to mention strangely satisfying. I’ve noticed this when I’ve made skillet cornbread, and I’m aware of it each time I make this cake. In this instance I suppose I like the economy of baking in the same pan that’s used on the stovetop — first to melt the butter and the brown sugar, then to gently cook down the pears. And perhaps there’s also a whiff of romance at play, some fantasy of how one used to cook a hundred years ago. I like that . . . as long as I can experience it while using my very contemporary oven.

And even if the whole skillet thing holds no magic for you (you can also use a 12-inch nonstick frying pan, the handle wrapped twice in foil—just make sure the pan is deep), there are lots of other little pleasures to be had as you assemble the cake, and even as it does its time in the oven. Among those I’d include the fanning out of the pear slices in the pan, which can make you feel like a master baker — even if it requires no particular skill or artistry. There’s the pleasure of watching the butter, sugar, and egg mixture go thick and molten as first the flour and spices, and then the molasses and hot water, are added in increments until what you’re left with is something so dark and bewitching you can barely keep your fingers out of it (an impulse that’s only heightened once said fingers reach your mouth). Nor can you discount the powerful pull of the scent that gradually fills your kitchen, a smell that for most people is larded with memory, but that even without this has no equal in its enticing mix of sweet and spice.

But perhaps the greatest fun is to be had at the very end, when the cake has cooled for a few minutes and is ready to be inverted onto its serving plate (warning: muscles required here). We all know what lies at the base of that pan, but there’s still a distinct thrill in seeing it for yourself — the way those perfect slices of pear have gone all golden, the way the brown sugar has turned to caramel and infiltrated the body of the cake. It’s a guaranteed I made that? moment, matched only by that first forkful, and then the second, and so on.

Am I over-hyping this thing? I don’t think so. Add a scoop of vanilla ice cream (the cool temperature — and the cooling flavor — seem to round out the entire experience in some inexplicable way) and I think you’ll agree.

A final thought: though the recipe claims to serve 6, for once I’d raise that — to 8. Man-sized appetites notwithstanding, this is a big cake with big flavor. In other words, there’s plenty to go around. Happy fall.

Ingredients:

For topping
—2½ firm pears (preferably Bosc)
—1/2 stick (1/4 cup) unsalted butter
—3/4 cup light brown sugar

For cake
—2½ cups all-purpose flour
—1½ tsp baking soda
—1 tsp ground cinnamon
—1 tsp ground ginger
—1/2 tsp ground cloves
—1/4 tsp salt
—1 cup molasses (preferably mild)*
—1 cup boiling water
—1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter, softened
—1/2 cup light brown sugar
—1 large egg, lightly beaten

*There are three types of molasses: mild or barbados (also known as “first molasses”), dark (or “second molasses”), and blackstrap (sold as a health supplement and also used as an ingredient in cattle feed). The mild variety has the most sugar and is the grade most commonly used in baking. While not all mild varieties are listed as such, the fine print should indicate whether it’s what you’re looking for. Barring that, the two most common brands are Grandma’s and Brer Rabbit. The Grandma’s variety with the yellow label and marked “original” is, in fact, mild, whereas Brer Rabbit is sold in each of the three varieties, with the grade clearly labeled.

Accompaniment:
—Vanilla ice cream

Special equipment:
—A well-seasoned 10-inch skillet or a 12-inch nonstick skillet, deep (handle wrapped with a double layer of foil if not ovenproof).

Make topping:
—Peel and core pears and cut each into 8 wedges.
—Melt ½ stick butter in skillet over moderate heat until foam subsides. Reduce heat to low, then sprinkle ¾ cup packed brown sugar over bottom of skillet and cook, undisturbed, 3 minutes (not all sugar will be melted). Arrange pears decoratively over sugar and cook, undisturbed, 2 minutes. Remove from heat and set aside.

Make cake:
—Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
—Whisk together flour, baking soda, cinnamon, ginger, cloves, and salt in a medium sized bowl. Whisk together molasses and boiling water in a small bowl. Beat together butter, brown sugar, and egg in a large bowl with an electric mixer at medium speed until creamy, about 2 minutes, then alternately mix in flour mixture and molasses in 3 batches at low speed until smooth.
—Pour batter over topping in skillet, spreading evenly and being careful not to disturb pears, and bake in middle of oven until a tester comes out clean, 40 to 50 minutes.
—Cool cake in skillet on a rack 5 minutes. Run a thin knife around edge of skillet, then invert a large plate with a lip over skillet and, using potholders to hold skillet and plate tightly together, invert cake onto plate. Replace any pears that stick to skillet. Serve warm or at room temperature with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

The post 10/13/11 • PEAR GINGERBREAD CAKE appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.