And Then:

It has been a few weeks since my last post. You have been so patient. Thank you for your e-mails; I am fine and I am back to business as usual.

When life gets distressing, shouldn't we stop and eat some cake? I think that we should.

Somehow, through all of the events of the last few weeks, I found myself eating quite a lot of cake. I say this with a tone of wonder because I have not been baking for several weeks, nor did I purchase any of these cakes. The cakes found me.

Cake found me as I sat on the patio of a restaurant downtown, surrounded by pink bougainvillea blossoms, sharing a friend's anxiety. The manager of the restaurant sent over a tray of mini-cakes. Carrot cake with lemony cream cheese icing. German chocolate cake with fat raisins. Key lime pie cake, a zinger disguised by bland color.

And then, cake found me last weekend at a college football game. A springy chocolate confection, made by a friend's mother.

And again, cake found me one dark afternoon in the kitchen of my office. A dulce de leche slice kept me company as I answered my emails, one by one by one.

So I'd like to share a little cake with you. These cakes should be called cakelets, or baby cakes, or something adorable. Pleasingly tart and sweet, they are sure to become an addiction and make you smile.

Lemon Cakes with Basil Lemon Syrup
Adapted from this recipe at Epicurious.com

For the lemon cakes
1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter, softened
3/4 cup all-purpose flour plus additional for dusting
2/3 cup plus 1/4 cup sugar
1/8 teaspoon salt, plus an additional 1/8 teaspoon salt, divided
3 large eggs, separated, at room temperature for 30 minutes
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon finely grated lemon zest

For the basil lemon syrup
1 1/4 cups sugar
1 1/2 cups water
1 (4- by 1-inch) strip fresh lemon zest
1/2 cup fresh lemon juice
8 large fresh basil sprigs

For the whipped cream
1 cup chilled heavy cream

For the garnish
6 fresh springs of basil leaves.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Grease a 12-cup muffin tin with some butter, or non-stick cooking spray, and set aside.

In a medium bowl, beat the softened butter with the sugar and 1/8 teaspoon of salt until well-creamed. Add the egg yolks, one at a time, until well-mixed. Beat in the lemon juice and 2 teaspoons of lemon zest until mixed. Add the flour in 1/4-cup amounts until it is just blended in. Do not overmix the batter.

In a separate bowl, beat the egg whites and 1/8 teaspoon of salt until soft peaks form. Beat in 2 tablespoons of sugar until the whites hold stiff peaks. Gently fold the whites into the batter.

Spoon the batter into the prepared muffin tins in 1/2-cup amounts. Sprinkle some sugar and grate some lemon zest over the batter. Bake for 20 minutes at 350 degrees until the edges of the muffins begin to pull away from the sides of the tins and the tops are golden. Set the muffin tin on a rack to cool while making the syrup and whipped cream.

Make the syrup by combining all of the syrup ingredients in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil and allow the syrup to boil for 8-10 minutes. Strain into a container and allow it to cool to room temperature.

Whip the heavy cream until soft peaks form. Lift the muffins out of the tins and place in a shallow bowl. Spoon 1/8 cup of the syrup over the muffin and top with a dollop of whipped cream. Garnish with fresh basil leaves.

Serves: 6

Takes Me Back

Oh, my.

What a nice moment. I had to run out to the parking garage today around lunchtime to retrieve a file that I'd forgotten in my car. This trivial errand turned into an unexpected blast from the past when I stepped on the empty elevator.

Warm, nutty basil pesto. Mozzarella and artichoke hearts. Halved grape tomatoes.

The aroma of some unknown person's lunch had filled the elevator. In seconds, I was lost in a memory. It was the special dish that I asked my mother to serve at my graduation luncheon, right before I received my high school diploma. The first dish in which I experienced real mozzarella and fresh basil pesto. The feeling of sophistication, the idea that I was turning into an adult. The pretty iced tea glasses next to my mom's china and silver on the table. The white linen napkins.

For a few moments, I was no longer a worker bee in my office building; I was a teenager in flip flops. I leaned against the wall of the elevator, remembering the meal, remembering being a lot younger.

I've written once before about scent and its link to memory. Having been transported for those few seconds, I simply had to recreate the recipe for a dish that I had not eaten in ten years.


The results take me back. The taste of fresh basil pesto, paired with soft mozzarella and crisp grape tomatoes may not stand for sophistication in your mind, but for me, tasting this dish as a teenager was special. I learned something about food by eating this. And by recreating it so many years later, I was able to taste a little bit of my own personal history and once again appreciate what I'd loved about the dish from the beginning: the beauty of simple, fresh flavors.

What special meal takes you back? Don't be shy, tell me!


Summer Basil Pesto Pasta

1/2 pound rotini pasta
1/2 pound ball of mozzarella packed in water
16-20 asparagus spears, the tips only plus one inch of the stalk
1/2 pint of grape tomatoes
1 14-oz can of artichoke hearts packed in water, rinsed)
2 packs cups of basil leaves, plus 1/2 cup of basil leaves, cut chiffonade
1/2 cup pine nuts
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
1/8 cup Parmigiano Reggiano

Bring a pot of salted water to a boil, then add the pasta. Cook until al dente, then drain and rinse the pasta with cold water. In another pot, steam the asparagus tips over an inch of boiling water for 2 minutes, then drain and rinse the asparagus with cool water to stop the cooking process.

When the pasta and asparagus are well-drained, add them to a large serving bowl. Cube the mozzarella roughly into bite-sized pieces, and add to the bowl. Rinse the grape tomatoes and cut them in half, adding the halves to the serving bowl as you go. Add the artichoke hearts.

In a food processor, blend the 2 cups of basil leaves, the pine nuts, and the Parmigiano Reggiano until they form a coarse paste. With the machine still on, slowly drizzle in the olive oil. The pesto should still be a thick paste, unless you prefer yours to have more oil and be looser.

Toss the contents of the serving bowl with the pesto until well-coated. Sprinkle the basil chiffonade over the top. Serve the dish at room temperature, with iced tea.

Serves: 2.