Use up all those summer damson plums with this showstopping cake.
Hi.
Welcome to my blog. I document my adventures in travel, style, and food. Hope you have a nice stay!
Welcome to my blog. I document my adventures in travel, style, and food. Hope you have a nice stay!
All in Everyday Cakes
Use up all those summer damson plums with this showstopping cake.
I’ve forever been on the hunt for The Apple Cake. Like The Bran Muffin, the homemade version has always, invariably eluded me.
In my fitful sleep, I dream of lemons. Not just lemons. Limes, too. Lemon-lime flavored gummies and jello, cookies and cake. Lemon-scented candles, lime-scented cleaning supplies. Pretty much anything lemony and limey.
This is a milestone post – the very first of the Shortlists’ storied existence that hasn’t been written on my 2009 MacBook Pro. The old girl can’t handle much excitement these days so processing and publishing a crumb cake recipe was out of the question.
At 9-months-pregnant, I am so sleepy. So, so sleepy. Just about the only things that give me energy are cooking and cleaning.
This isn’t the first orange cake* I’ve posted here and it won’t be the last: it’s far too easy to make and eat, and just bright enough when London lives up its wet hype.
The title of this post is so New England in autumn it hurts. Summer tans are all but faded and the last nice days are slipping away as the chill sets in. Heavy blankets, fallen leaves, my loud and constant complaining –
This cake converted a non-believer. Someone who, before tasting this cake, did not see the beauty in a kitchen counter top cake with a crumbly knife perched casually, innocently nearby.
The other day, my mom visited my brother and his girlfriend in Washington, D.C.
I have lots to do today. My suitcase is still staring at me, fully packed; the laundry needs to be folded and put away; the dishwasher needs emptying; the little pool of dirt Stella made under the potted fern needs sweeping up; and all those endless law readings need checking off.
When I was pregnant with Stella, I completely lost my sweet tooth. I just wanted, as you may recall, pizza and pasta and pizza covered in pizza.
Just the other day, my precious 5-month-old went to daycare for the first time. It was a big moment for many reasons, not the least of which was that we’ve been on that waiting list since last February.
This may be obvious, but I like to bake. I find it soothing and rhythmic and, like so many of the finer things in life, it only gets better with time.
Right now, I’ve got one of these babies in my freezer and the other lingering in my memory.
It’s pink lady season in Sydney, so I’m buying them in droves at our farmers market. This is, of course, an attempt to recover from pasta-pizza-prosciutto withdrawal, and to satisfy my by now ginormous belly.
I know, I know. Versatile Yogurt Cake? That name almost makes it sound like a cleaning product or a superhero.
While I’d consider myself a black raspberry chocolate chip, gingerbread molasses and banana oreo with jimmies in a cone, I’m married to a vanilla.
