Carrot Cake
2 cups sifted flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon soda
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 1/2 cups cooking oil
2 cups sugar
4 eggs
2 cups grated carrots
1/2 cup chopped pecans
Sift the flour once, add baking powder, soda, salt, cinnamon and sift the mixture into a mixing bowl. Add sugar, oil, eggs, and beat until blended. Add carrots and pecans. Pour into a greased, floured 10″ tube or bundt pan. Bake at 325 degrees for 70 minutes. Cake test. Remove from oven, let stand ten minutes. REmove from pan and cool on a rack. Dust with 10X sugar. Serve with ice cream.
Thirty years later……
A number of years ago, a friend told me that I could substitute applesauce for part or all of the oil, and now, I do. And, should I never find the definitive Bundt pan, I will consider making this cake in a 13 x 9 cake pan. It will take some adjustment of cooking time, but it would be worth it.
If I could remember how this recipe came to me, I would give the creator credit for it. It seems that it has been in my family forever, and my personal copy was typed more than a quarter of a century ago. I equate this cake with comfort. My head, which is trained to read labels and think “Low-carb,” simply has to give way now and then, so that my heart, and taste buds, can enjoy the comfort of food from my youth. Thank God that doesn’t happen often! *G*
Daily Archives: August 26, 2004
Baking
I rarely bake any longer.
In my twenties, I made bread from scratch. This was before the invention of bread machines. I baked an occasional cake, and made pies and cobblers. We have a refrigerated dough crescent roll that is served at every Thanksgiving dinner, and a pastry called “Sugar Crisp” that’s made each Christmas. For a number of years, the women of my family have been invited to a day of baking cookies in December, to get ready for Christmas.
When my doctor suggested that I stop baking, I thought he was crazy. I kept on baking, but shared the fruits of my labors. Then….gradually, I started to cut back on my baking.
There are times, though, when I get a taste for a certain dessert, and carve out the time to make it from scratch. Last night, I cleaned the kitchen, put everything away, and then checked to see if I had the ingredients for carrot cake. I needed more oil. I decided to make a quick stop at the grocery store today, and pick up what I needed. I’d still have time to make the cake and cool it before dinner.
With the exception of needing two cups of grated carrots, the recipe is extreemely simple. Some time ago, I discovered that I could use my blender to chop the carrots, so that’s what I did today. I think I must have dirtied every bowl in the kitchen, and several spoons and measuring cups. Why is that? I think there must be an axiom somewhere establishing a relationship between the number of dirtied dishes and how good something tastes.
By noon, I had the cake in the oven, and worked on dinner preparations while it baked. The house smelled wonderful with the scent of cinnamon filling the air.
When my timer went off, I did the cake test (piercing the cake with a toothpick to determine if the batter has been cooked thoroughly), and set the pan on a rack to cool. When it was cool, I used a knife to release the cake from the edges of the pan, turned the pan over and tapped the bottom to release the cake.
Two thirds……maybe three quarters…..of the cake came out of the pan.
I have one lightweight, metal, easy release bundt pan that will be in the recycling bin this evening.
It was incredibly frustrating to have put all that time and effort into making a special dessert and have it look like something that came through an urban war.
It tasted fine. We had carrot cake after dinner. BUT….I knew it wasn’t what it should be, and it bothered me.
I think I have one more carrot cake in me, maybe more than one, but I won’t be using that crappy pan, that’s for darn sure. Sur la Table…..Crate and Barrel……Kitchen shops across Illinois….here I come, looking for the definitive Bundt pan.
Sup, Sup, Suppertime!
Perhaps you call it “dinner.” I know there are regional differences in naming this meal, but I’m talking about the meal that is served at the end of the working day.
When I was a kid, it was possible for us all to gather for dinner at 5:30. Wednesday night church choir practice, or weeknight activities at school like band or play practice, football games, or dances all were scheduled late enough that you could have dinner with your family and then head off to evening activities.
We timed our clocks by Dad’s return home, and knew how much time we had left until we were expected at the table. We had a formal dining room, and also a more casual kitchen table. On Sunday afternoon at 2:00 we always ate in the dining room. Breakfast, lunch and Saturday meals were usually in the kitchen. As my youngest sister grew, we ate in the dining room more and more.
We were not assigned seats at the table, but we always took the same seats. My Dad sat at the head of the table and Mother sat to his left. My brother, the only lefty, sat at the end of the table where his elbow wouldn’t bother anyone. Dad served the meat and passed the plate to my mother, who added vegetables.
I think my brother might have been served first, because I’ve heard it said that my father rarely got to eat his own meal before my brother was ready for seconds. I don’t know how much of that is the truth, but he WAS a growing boy. *G*
Dinner was the only time during the day that our family came together. There’s a range of 19 years between my oldest sister and my youngest, so there were quite a variety of schedules to organize to accomplish that, but it was assumed that you would be at the table. We talked about what had happened during our day, and discussed the plans for the weekend.
This is on my mind lately because we have slipped into more casual dining. Frequently, I prepare a meal, everyone comes together to fill their plate, and then we all drift off to our own corners. We watch evening news or read books during the dinner hour, and there’s no time for conversation.
One of my nieces is a single mother of two boys. They live within ten minutes of us, and one day I suggested that she and the boys should come to dinner. It became a standing invitation. When Tuesday rolls around, she calls to make sure we are “on” for the night, and arranges to bring a dessert.
While we are at the table, we talk about what’s happened in our day. We encourage the boys to talk, and their mother prompts them to use “good” manners. The boys carry food to the table, and their mother occasionally helps with last minute food preparation. The boys get to see Dear Husband and me work together, and they get to know one of DH’s sons. AND, they get to interact with their great grandmother.
When dinner is over, we get out the UNO cards and play three very fast and dirty hands of UNO. My mother takes no prisoners when playing cards, and always sits next to the older of the two boys. He is resigned to being handed every draw two, and draw four in the deck, and takes it with good grace. He’s delighted when he has the chance to give back as good as he gets.
The sense of community that we have as a result of our time together is what dinner should be about. I want those boys to know us. I want them to see the give and take in adult relationships, and I want them to see that it’s possible to have a pleasant time without resorting to TV or game boys.
I know that this family dinner is good for my mother, as well. At 87, she needs the contact with her family, too. So…..how is it that we have slipped away from the practice? Now that we don’t have young ones in our midst, we seem to have lost track of the fact that everyone needs interraction. Perhaps we drifted away from the table to save me having more linens to wash…..or to save the extra dishes that had to be cleaned. Or maybe there was something special on TV that drew us, to start.
This is just one person’s view, but I think we need to re-establish the old-fashioned dinner hour. We need a place where we can talk about what has happened during the day, to congratulate family members on their successes, and to help them when a problem arises. It’s a great place to teach a kid civics or charitable activities. And it’s a good way to keep up with what’s happening in your children’s lives.
It’s time to return to the table for supper.