There’s no ambivalence when it comes to coconut, either you’re a lover, or a hater. I’m a lover. My love affair with coconut began way back in my childhood, somewhere between my first Mounds Bar and my Dad’s German Chocolate Cake. Now all grown up, I satisfy my taste for coconut in a variety of ways, from sweet to savory, and now with this Triple Coconut Macaroon Cake.
Recently, on a mission to go through and clean up stacks of food magazines that had accumulated throughout the house, I came upon this cake recipe. A tri0 of coconut ingredients convinced me to rip the page from the magazine before tossing it in the trash. The original recipe was titled Coconut Crunch Cake, however, I found the cake to be more chewy (in a macaroon kind of way), than crunchy, so I re-named it.
The trifecta of coconut ingredients in this cake more than amused my coconut taste buds. The natural sugars in the coconut caramelize as the cake bakes to a golden brown. Enjoy an unadorned slice with a cup of coffee, or drizzle it with warm chocolate sauce for an impressive dinner party dessert.
Triple Coconut Macaroon Cake
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, room temperature
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup cream of coconut
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/4 cup coconut oil (in its solid form)
1 cup granulated sugar
2 large egg whites
Generous pinch of salt
1 can (14 ounces) sweetened condensed milk
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
3 cups sweetened* shredded coconut (8 ounces)
Preheat oven to 350˚. Butter and flour a 10-inch spring-form pan.
In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.
In a small bowl, stir together the cream of coconut and vanilla.
Beat butter and coconut oil on medium-high speed until smooth. Slowly add sugar, beat until pale and fluffy, 3 to 5 minutes. Reduce speed to medium; add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition, and scraping down bowl as needed. With mixer on low, add flour mixture in 3 batches, alternating with 2 batches of cream-of-coconut mixture. Beat until just combined.
Whisk egg whites and salt with a mixer until thick and frothy. Stir in sweetened condensed milk and vanilla. Fold in coconut.
Spread batter in pan. Spoon topping over batter, carefully spread in an even layer. Bake on a rimmed baking sheet until a toothpick comes out with just a few moist crumbs, about 60 to 80 minutes (tent with foil if browning too quickly). Let cake cool completely in pan. Remove rim of pan and serve.
Serving Ideas: Drizzle with chocolate sauce, or for a tropical flare, dollop slices of cake with whipped cream and diced fresh pineapple.
My Grandma Harrison was one of the best souls I have ever known. She worked hard, gave selflessly, and loved unconditionally. Grandma raised my Dad as a single mother, and later lived together with my parents and helped raise me and my nine siblings. After years of working hard outside the home, she spent many more years working even harder inside our home. So much of what I learned about household arts was learned under her tutelage. Grandma ironed like nobody’s business, was a fabulous cook, beautiful housekeeper, and baked as though she had been professionally trained at a culinary school.
If Grandma wasn’t hanging laundry on the backyard clothesline, or chasing after one of her grandchildren, she was in the kitchen. I remember standing just behind the tie of her apron as she pushed and pulled mounds of dough across her flour-dusted red counter top, then later getting to enjoy the fruits of her labor as she served up warm from the oven yeasted dinner rolls. Cooking and baking seemed to be effortless for her. It was nothing for her to make a Sunday brunch of fried chicken, various side dishes, biscuits from scratch, and pie. Grandma baked all kinds of pies, but none more legendary in our family than her butterscotch. The way she melted the sugar for her pie was a form of alchemy. Like a magician who produces a rabbit from a seemly empty hat, Grandma waved her magic wand and transformed a few simple ingredients into an heirloom.
For years I was under the impression that Grandma’s recipe for her butterscotch pie had been lost. Not so. When my Dad passed onto me my Grandmother’s little black book of hand-written recipes, there it was! Among its tattered, worn, and brown pages was the recipe for Butterscotch Pie. I had been presented the Holy Grail! As I went about the family proudly announcing that I had custody of her recipe, come to find out, other siblings had it too! It hadn’t been lost at all!! Well, if that were true, why wasn’t ‘the famous pie’ making an appearance at any of our family gatherings? Word had it, some had tried to replicate it, but no one had been successful. Was something missing? Maybe a secret ingredient?
I became determined to unlock the key to her pie. Like the others, my first attempt wasn’t quite successful. Oh, it was a good enough pie, it just wasn’t Grandma’s. This past Monday was National Pie Day so I decided to honor her by giving it another go-round. I made a few changes from my original attempt. I distinctly remember watching her melt the sugar in a cast iron skillet, so that is where I began. The second time around I used a different brand of dark brown sugar, one that wasn’t quite so dark. Then, and I hoped Grandma would have approved, I added an additional egg yolk. The first pie hadn’t quite set up firmly enough so I reasoned it was possible that the eggs she used back then were larger than the eggs I use today. Maybe so, because the pie set up beautifully. One last thing, I snuck in an additional tablespoon of butter, because, well, just because.
Patience! That was her secret ingredient. Her scribbled directions simply said to stir the milk mixture into the melted sugar. If one understands the principles of liquified sugar, then one knows that immediately upon the milk hitting the sugar, everything seizes up. And this is where having patience comes in. Grandma knew to ‘just keep stirring, stirring, stirring’. Eventually it will smooth out and thicken into a lovely custard.
Unfortunately, I live three thousand miles from my other siblings so I had no taste testers nearby that could confirm, or deny, that the pie I made had reached Grandma Harrison’s Butterscotch Pie status. I’m heading back home to Kentucky soon and I promised my brother I would bake a pie for him. He’s been hankering for a slice for years.
1 1/2 cups dark brown sugar (lightly packed)
2 egg yolks (I used 3)
1 tablespoon butter (I added an additional tablespoon)
2 cups milk (whole milk)
3 tablespoons cornstarch
1 teaspoon vanilla
Melt sugar (over medium-low heat) in a (cast iron) skillet
Mix together egg yolks, milk, and cornstarch
Add mixture to melted sugar
Cook till thickened
Pour into pie crust
Coverwith meringue if desired (or serve with whipped cream)
Note: I left Grandma’s instructions exactly how she wrote them. My changes or clarifications are in parenthesis. Remember to add the milk slowly to the melted sugar and continue to stir until all the sugar has melted back into the mixture and the custard is smooth. Continue to cook the custard until it is thick enough to coat the back of a wooden spoon. Run you finger across the back of the spoon, and if a clear path is left, the custard is done. Check out this link for more information on knowing when a custard is done cooking.
I awoke early this morning to yet another day of pounding rain and wind. I’m not complaining, as heavy rain days are as close as we Southern Californians get to snow days. It’s Sunday, and as such, the day was planned to be a quiet, ‘catch up on knitting and reading’ kind of day anyway. Throughout the hustle and bustle of the holidays, I had fallen dismally behind in keeping up with all the baking magazines I receive every month. So, as I lit the fireplace and sank deep into my sofa, I reached for the closest magazine at hand, which was an issue of Cook’s Country sitting on the coffee table. I was initially enticed by the New Jersey Crumb Buns shown on the front cover, but by the last page, I had lost myself to an heirloom recipe for Beer Bread.
Sitting idle is not my style, and even on this chilled and rainy day, baking called me from underneath my snuggly afghan to the kitchen. I told myself that a recipe containing only three-ingredients couldn’t be that hard and before long I could find my way back to the sofa with a warm slice of bread slathered with butter and jam. Well, that was my intention. Then I decided to do a post on this ‘wonder bread’. Dozens of photos later, and two enticing ways to eat this marvel, and well, there went my morning. H had woken up by then, and I could hardly slither past him on my way back to the living room without asking if I could make an egg toast for him as well.
So it’s 1:23pm and I have yet to leave the kitchen. Not that I mind really. After all, it is my favorite room in the house.
A word on this bread. This recipe is not new or original. I think I remember making a version of it way back in the day. That said, it is worth repeating and passing on to anyone who has missed it along its many year journey. Does it compare to a yeasted and kneaded bread? No. But it has its worthy qualities – like by the time your oven preheats, you can mix together the ingredients and get the batter into the pan. Thirty-five minutes later, plus 5 more minutes of cooling time, and you can be slicing into a tender-crumbed and yeasty (thanks to the beer) tasting bread.
This bread makes great toast, and that’s how I ate it this morning – toasted and slathered with butter and blackberry jam first, then in a more savory fashion topped with cheese, egg, and tomato jam. And, as I am finally heading back to my sofa, I am already imagining more tasty uses to suit such a bread, like grilled cheese sandwiches, croutons…..
3 cups self-rising flour
3 tablespoons granulated sugar
1 (12 ounce) bottle mild lager, such as Budweiser (I used Bud Light since that’s what I had on hand)
Adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 400˚. Grease an 8 1/2 by 4 1/2-inch non-stick loaf pan.
In a large bowl, whisk together the flour and sugar. Stir in beer and mix until smooth batter forms. Transfer batter to prepared pan. Bake until a toothpick inserted in center of loaf comes out with no crumbs attached and top is light golden brown, 35 to 40 minutes.
Transfer pan to wire rack and let cool for 5 minutes. Remove loaf from pan and let cool completely on rack.
We lost our Mom in August of 2015. Mom didn’t leave behind very much, she was a woman of few possessions and content to be that way. What she did leave me and my ten siblings was her collection of recipes, which holds value beyond words. Several months following her passing, I went about the task of organizing her recipes. I had brought them back to California with me following her funeral. It was too soon. Holding her recipes in my hands, three thousand miles from her Kentucky kitchen, felt surreal and empty. I was still deep in the early stages of grieving and struggling to deal with the permanence of her being gone. I gathered together the recipes, mindful of keeping them in the exact order she had left them, and put them away for some future time when I would make another attempt.
There is so much history and tradition buried in the hundreds of recipes Mom collected over her lifetime. They tell stories of Sunday gatherings, weekend breakfasts, holiday meals, church bake sales, and the countless weeknight dinners shared sitting around our oversized kitchen table. No value can be placed on the endless handwritten pieces of paper that fill more than four recipe boxes, several gallon-sized ziplock bags, and even a pink elephant cup that had sat atop her kitchen counter. Any container could be home to one of her recipes, and many of them were found among the pages of books left stacked as high as a fence surrounding her favorite chair.
I often wonder if the days of hand writing recipes are over. In today’s world, it is much easier to share these things via social media, and even I am guilty of rarely ‘writing’ down a recipe. Mom believed strongly in keeping the written word alive and did her part as often as possible, whether it was through a birthday card to a loved one, a note to a friend, or an ingredients list followed by instructions jotted down on a 3×5-inch card. Going through this process has inspired me to write down my own treasured recipes, the ones that might matter to my daughter one day.
With the start of the New Year I was inspired once again to re-visit the project of archiving my Mom’s recipes. Coincidentally, at the same time, I was thoroughly engrossed in a new cookbook titled American Cake by Anne Byrn. I actually ‘read’ my cookbooks and my favorites are the ones that are steeped in historical context. American Cake is one such book. Along with an intriguing history of the evolution of cake in America over the past two hundred plus years, her book is brimming with beautiful photos and enticing recipes sandwiched from cover to cover. One cake in particular caught my attention and transported me back to my Kentucky Girl childhood. It was a version of the famous Kentucky Blackberry Jam Cake. By the time I closed the back cover of the book, I knew I wasn’t going to rest until I sank my teeth into a bite of spiced cake, enriched with blackberry jam and coated in caramel frosting.
As lovely as the Jam Cake in Anne’s book was, for nostalgic reasons I wanted to make our family’s version of the cake. I remembered it vividly from my childhood and was convinced that a copy of it must be buried somewhere among my Mom’s recipes. Without hours and hours of searching, I knew it would be nearly impossible to put my hands on it. Desire and determination led me back to the mission of getting her recipes in order. What happened next was nothing short of a miracle. The third recipe I put my hands on was for Kentucky Blackberry Jam Cake penned in my Mom distinctive handwriting. Chills shot down my spine and an ear to ear smile came over my face as I felt a big heavenly hug from Mom. It was the nudge I needed to carry on with the project of securing her recipe legacy for generations to come. Instead of feeling loss and grief, I felt connected and joyful.
The project is coming along beautifully. The hundreds of recipes are organized and ready to be scanned. I’m taking suggestions on great recipe archiving software, so if you know of one I welcome your suggestion.
Note: I wanted to keep this recipe as true to the original as possible. I slightly increased the spices, and clarified what I found to be vague instructions. I also spread the bottom and middle layers with a heaping tablespoon of blackberry jam before topping with the caramel frosting. That was not part of the original recipe, however I think Mom would have approved. Pecans and raisins are often found in recipes for Kentucky Jam Cake but were not among the ingredients in Mom’s recipe. I love nuts so I add them to my cake. Each to their own taste.)
Kentucky Blackberry Jam Cake
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
2 teaspoons cocoa powder
2 1/2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 1/4 teaspoons allspice
1/2 teaspoon of freshly ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon of cloves, or to taste
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup butter, at room temperature
1 cup granulated sugar
3 large eggs, at room temperature
1 cup seedless blackberry jam, whisked smooth
1/2 cup buttermilk, or sour cream
1 cup chopped pecans (optional)
Preheat oven to 350˚. Butter and flour three 8-inch cake pans. Line with parchment paper.
Sift together the dry ingredients. In another bowl, cream together the butter and sugar. Add the eggs and mix thoroughly. Add the flour mixture and liquid alternately. Fold in the pecans and blackberry jam evenly. Bake at 350˚ for 23 to 25 minutes, or until done. Use ‘toothpick test’. Cool cake in pans for 10 minutes. Turn out and continue cooling. Frost with Caramel Frosting.
1 1/3 cups golden brown sugar
8 tablespoons milk (I used half and half)
1/4 teaspoon salt
3 cups 10x (confectioners) sugar, sifted
3 tablespoons butter
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Combine brown sugar, milk or half and half, and salt in a saucepan and bring to a boil. Cook slowly for 5 minutes or until slightly thickened. Remove from heat, add butter and vanilla. Cool slightly. Add the 10x/confectioners sugar and beat until smooth. If too thick, add a few drops of milk. If too thin, add more sugar. Use immediately as the frosting will thicken as it cools.
Note: If frosting three layers, make one and a half times the recipe.
Source – Mullikin Family Recipes and Mary at siftingfocus.com
This pumpkin bread almost didn’t happen. It was destined to be an utter failure. I messed up big time when I was executing what is actually a very straight-forward recipe. I’m willing to wage a bet that you too have made the same mistake I made when stirring together the ingredients for this awesome bread. I inadvertently omitted the baking soda. Yikes! Five minutes after placing the loaf pans into the oven, I took a peak to see how things were looking. Something seemed off. Call it baker’s intuition. I quickly realized that the only leavening agent I had added to the batter was egg, and with years of baking experience under my belt, I knew that couldn’t be right. In a panic, I rushed to my recipe and quickly scanned the list of ingredients. And there it was, staring right back at me in black in white – 1 1/2 teaspoons of baking soda. Continue reading →