A Cake is Announced: Delicious Death

I always find my blog’s inbox completely irresistible.

Here are grouped together, all higgledy-piggledy, notes from readers and stoppers-by with questions or comments, frenzied appeals to publicise charitable events, PRs and marketers looking for a cheap and easy way to gain pixel space for their clients, and subject lines asking me if my Mr. Winkie needs improving.

This particular Wednesday, September the eighth was no exception to the rule (well, apart from notes of well-wishing for both this blog’s anniversary and another notable event). And so it was with great interest while sipping my tea and nibbling a foofy pink cupcake, I perused Mailwasher’s preview pane, I noticed lying betwixt newsletters and messages imploring me to try “it” now for the purposes of shocking friends with my tool, I spied the following notice: A cake is announced and will be available to celebrate Agatha Christie’s 120th birthday on 15 September, and will be available a Brown’s Hotel in Mayfair during Agatha Christie Afternoon Tea the week of 12-19 September 2010. *

My, it was like my inbox was like the North Benham News and Chipping Cleghorn Gazette.

Further reading truly got my heart racing. No, the cake would not be prepared by or served by Lucas Bryant (my current actor crush). For you see, this was not just any cake, but one created by Jane Asher, inspired by "Delicious Death," Mitzi's celebrated dessert in A Murder is Announced.

Its description is only this, in Mitzi's own words:

"Yes. It is rich. For it…I need for it chocolate and much butter, and sugar and raisins….It will be rich, rich, of a melting richness! And on top I will put the icing--chocolate icing--I make him so nice...These English people with their cakes that tastes of sand, never never, will they have tasted such a cake. Delicious, they will say--delicious--"

How a propos that the Queen of Crime nickname a mysterious cake "Delicious Death."

Recipe in hand, I set out to bake the cake. If you followed my Twitter feed this past weekend, you're well aware of my skirmish with the kitchen gods.

If you didn’t (and really, I’m not sure whether to be hurt that you don’t clamour for my every online word or congratulate you for having better things to do than follow my often disjointed140-character missives), this was the fate of that first cake:

Yes.

It fell.

To the floor.

Dismayed, I collected the hunks of crumb, and still glistening confettied dried, preserved and sugared fruit off the floor. It was very much a lovely tribute not only to the story, the lady but also post-war rationing and baking traditions in England but also from somewhere in the middle of Europe. This was not a light and tender, buttery crumbed floury cake as many of us are accustomed to, but a more substantial cake gilt with chocolate, dried fruits and fortified with brandy (or rum, if you prefer). It is not a fruitcake, but could easily turn into one by folding the fruits into the batter before baking.

I tasted it before binning it. The cake was chocolaty and moist with a nutty undertone from the ground almonds. It was, as suspected, sweet. Cloyingly so. Between the sugar in the cake, the sugar in the filling and the sugar in the glaceed cherries and crystallised ginger, I buzzed around my kitchen like a little humming bee.

I checked my ingredients. What I didn’t have I’d simply substitute for or use a reduced amount. I faithfully followed the recipe once. This second time I would play a bit, based on what I had on hand and my assessment of the first attempt. My recommended tweaks are in the baker’s notes following the recipe.

To me this cake is not the wedge-serving kind, but instead one where squarish slices are sliced off. So I baked it in a 21.5cm (8.5”) loaf pan. Since I could not find candied flower petals, nor was I willing to pay for gold leaf. and I was besotted by the jewel-like translucency of the glaceed cherries and crystallised ginger, I decided to mince some of each and strew them on the ganache glaze.

Regardless if you choose to bake the original or tweak it, it is a lovely little cake. It’s equally at home to be brought out for an afternoon coffee or tea, but also as a festive dessert.

Delicious death? I wouldn’t have it any other way.


Agatha Christie’s Delicious Death
by Jane Asher; Imperial/volume conversions by me

Ingredients
175g (1c) dark chocolate drops (50-55% cocoa solids)
100g (7Tbsp) softened or spreadable butter
100g (0.5 c) golden caster sugar
5 large eggs
½ tsp vanilla extract
100g (1c) ground almonds
½ tsp baking powder

For the filling:
150ml (10Tbsp) rum, brandy or orange juice
150g (1c) raisins
55g (0.33c, packed) soft dark brown sugar
6-8 glace cherries
4-6 pieces crystallized ginger
1 tsp lemon juice

For the decoration:
175g (1c) dark chocolate drops (50-55% cocoa solids)
150ml (10 Tbsp) double cream
2 tsps apricot jam
10g crystallized violet petals
10g crystallized rose petals
1 small pt of gold leaf.

Method

Pre-heat the oven to 150degC, (300degF, 135degC fan assisted). Grease an 8” deep cake tin and line the bottom with baking parchment or silicone.

Prepare the filling: in a small saucepan, combine all the ingredients and stir over heat until the mixture is bubbling. Allow to simmer gently, while stirring, for at least 2 minutes, or until most of the liquid has evaporated and the mixture is thickened. Allow to cool.

In a small heatproof bowl, melt the chocolate drops over simmering water or in a microwave, being careful not to let it overheat. Set aside to cool for a few minutes.

Using an electric mixer, cream the butter and sugar together in a large bowl until very pale and fluffy. Separate the eggs, setting aside the whites in a large mixing bowl, and, one by one, add 4 of the yolks to the butter/sugar mix, beating well between each one.

Add the melted chocolate and fold in carefully, then stir in the vanilla extract. In a separate bowl, mix together the ground almonds and baking powder, then stir them into the cake mix.

Whisk the egg whites until peaked and stiff, then fold gently into the chocolate cake mix.

Spoon the mix into the prepared cake tin, leveling the top, and bake on the middle shelf of the oven for 55-65 minutes, or until firm and well risen. Allow the cake to cool in the tin for 10 minutes before turning it out on to a rack to cool completely.

Using a serrated knife, slice the cake in half horizontally. Spread the cooled fruit filling onto one half and sandwich the two halves back together.

To decorate: put the chocolate and cream in a heatproof bowl and melt them together over simmering water or in a microwave. Spread the cake all over with warmed apricot jam and place on a rack over a baking tray. Keeping back a couple of tablespoonfuls, pour the icing over the whole cake, making sure it covers the top and the sides completely, scooping up the excess from the tray with a palette knife as necessary. Add any surplus to the kept back icing. Carefully transfer the cake to a 10” cake board or pretty plate.

Once the reserved icing is firm enough to pipe, place it in a piping bag with no. 8 star nozzle and pipe a scrolling line around the top and bottom edges of the cake. Leave for 2-3 hours, to set.

Place the violet and rose petals into a plastic bag and crush them into small flakes. Sprinkle these liberally around the chocolate scrolls. Finally, with a cocktail stick, pull off some small flakes of gold leaf and gently add them to the top of the cake.

Jasmine’s Notes:

• Chocolate: If you cannot find chocolate chips with the cocoa solids percentage listed on the packet, look for bittersweet chocolate chips.
• Double cream: Double cream can be difficult to find in Canada (I only manage to find it at Christmas). It has 40% fat and can be substituted with whipping cream (heavy cream), which is 35% fat.
• Caster sugar is the same as superfine sugar.
• If you wish to make this a loaf cake, use a 21.5cm (8.5”) loaf pan and bake at 150C/300F for 65-75 minutes.
  

My tweaks to the original filling
 30ml (2Tbsp) Cointreau, plus extra for assembly.
 75g (0.5c) raisins
 1Tbsp soft dark brown sugar
 8 glace cherries, minced
 6 pieces crystallized ginger, minced
 1 tsp lemon juice
 a pinch of salt
 1tsp butter

While you mix the cake, soak the raisins, cherries and ginger in water, to remove as much of the excess sugar as possible. Drain the water. After the cake is done, mix 2Tbsp Cointreau with the remaining filling ingredients and bring to a simmer over medium heat to let the alcohol evaporate and the liquid thicken. When assembling the cake, brush or sprinkle the slices’ surface with Cointreau.

Original recipe reproduced with permission.

AGATHA CHRISTIE and DELICIOUS DEATH are registered trade marks of Agatha Christie Limited (a Chorion Limited company). All rights reserved.

Visit http://agathachristie.com/ for more information about the author and the celebrations marking her 120th birthday.

* With apologies to Dame Agatha and all her fans. I couldn't resist.

cheers!
jasmine


I'm a quill for hire!

Now I am five: Plus ca change...

Now I am five.

Well…no: I am older than five…but this blog, one of my current online personae, is five years old.

In a world where half of blogs wither and die on their electronic vines within three months, that makes me—to borrow Kate’s phrase–officially old.

I tapped out my inaugural post late at night on the same laptop I use today. Then The Fussy Eater snacked away at the other end of the couch, watching whatever TV show was on at the time. Now, Hagia curls up beside me, in a whisker twitching-dream: she’s a mighty huntress stalking and eating her prey.

I think that first post still holds true: at its heart Confessions of a Cardamom Addict is food-centric diarisation: written for my edification, crystallising my evolutions as both writer and cook, homage to disparate influences and inspirations. It’s about my ravenous gullet in as much as it’s about the people, cats and events that envelop my life.

I’ve often stated social media, and blogging in particular, is a balance between exhibitionism and voyeurism. My readers find me amusing, bemusing, satiating and hunger-inducing. They like my turns of phrase and my turns of whisk. Some became dear friends; others remain silent onlookers. Some stop me while I’m out and about; others email me thanks, questions and their own stories, inspired by my flailing words.

Regardless if you’ve just arrived or have been checking in for a while, thank you for your time, your words and your kindnesses.

I’m in a bit of a retrospective mood. I still find this site entertaining, challenging and gratifying. Yet at times I feel like the grande old dame in a corner club chair, reminiscing about when we Young Turks were a type of food revolutionary. We built upon actual and virtual food traditions, helping change how to share food knowledge and culture with countless others.

Few of us remain from those days. I watch sites born, lessons relearned, tools and pages grow and die, the task of establishing individualism an increasingly crowded realm.

So here I am, Toddtini in hand, reflecting on 18+ years online (yes, really, I told you I was old) and the constancies that hold true regardless of how online looks.

Be honest with yourself and with others as to why you’re here.
Honestly answer this question: Why do I want to blog/vlog/podcast/create a community/etc?

Being an online diarist is just as valid as establishing credibility, wanting a book deal, finding an audience or trying to profit from corporate online ad spends. There are no right or wrong answers, but without an answer you may not find what you’re looking for here.

It goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway: why you start may not be why you continue. Just be sure you feel good about a conscious shift and you aren’t refocusing because it feels right for someone else. These shifts are normal. It’s called evolution.

See social media for what it is and what it isn’t.
Social media is a connector, a stadium with a 25-kilowatt sound system, an incubator that protects and nurtures the most fragile of concepts. It’s also divisive, a string with a single tin can in a shoebox, and a graveyard of ideas.

If you want to find and grow an audience, understand search engine optimization. Audience growth can take time. Simply starting a blog or a video channel or contributing to a thread may not win you an instant loyal following that rivals the populous of a small nation.

Social media’s beauty partially lies in its relatively low barriers (cost, skill, accessibility). It won’t necessarily deem you an expert (but it will easily deem you a poseur or a wing-nut). Your content’s veracity and quality will attract an audience and be one tool to help earn street cred.

Yes, Virginia. You’re on minute 14.
No one is on a forever upwards trajectory, nor do they usually forever tumble downwards. Fads and flavours of the moment can be born, catapult to stardom and die a fiery death within a day. Learn how to ride the crest but realise you won’t be on top forever. Still wearing parachute pants? No. I didn’t think so.

Many people who’ve tied their online persona to numbers give up their presence once traffic drops. That’s fine; it’s sunk cost theory in action: when your endeavour no longer provides you the satisfaction you desire, quit and go on to something else.

But...if you’re driven by unquantifiable reasons, and still enjoy it, keep doing what you’re doing. You’re fine as you are.

Community: It’s called “Social” Media for a reason.
Social Media is like a continent, with countries, each with provinces, counties, cities and neighbourhoods:

• Each country can be seen in context of tools: blogs, podcasts, social networking sites etc;
• Provinces are subject-specific (food & drink, gaming, politics,literature);
• Counties are the grander topics--within food there’s cookery, baking, history, science and a plethora of others;
• Cities are specialties such as regional cuisines, restricted diets and techniques, and
• Neighbourhoods can be extremely granular specialties such as gluten-free cookies.
  

You can move between cities and countries, or just stay in one neighbourhood: you can be both a podcaster and a microblogger; you can write about tech and books. Some people will tell you that you should write about tech or books; others tout you should use all the toys. You don’t have to do either: it’s totally up to you.

You are part of already-established communities where interactions take place every moment in different ways. Posting isn’t enough to be a part of the community. You need to interact…meaningfully.

You will find supporters and detractors, kindred spirits and antagonists. Whatever it is you think you know, there will always be those who know more than you and are willing to call you out on your foibles. There’s an old Usenet phrase that can speak to the Web as well: Usenet is not a womb.

Communities self-regulate. We have our own languages, standards of ethics and practise. None are written in stone: they’re constantly in flux, moving and twisting and evolving. Some have issues with this; I don’t...usually.

Some are neophytes to your speciality and others have doctorates and eponymous awards, theories and comets. Be aware that your community’s members can often sniff out the disingenuous. Don’t pretend to be something you aren’t: if you don’t know what “cream together butter and sugar” means, don’t profess to be an expert baker.

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.

The cupcakes? Bakery-bought. I’ve earned them.

cheers!
jasmine

I'm a quill for hire!

Zeus, jabby-jabs and Toddtinis

What do you see when you look at the image on the left?

Do you see a pussycat, tuckered out after long day of eating, lounging and splashing in the water dish?

Or do you see a content feline, happy knowing he's got it good: food, water, warmth, a sister who actually likes having him around, and a cushy (if not colourful) snoozing spot?

Me? I see neither.

I see conspiracy. I see vengence. I see barf in my shoes.

This is Zeus, Hagia's littermate/brother and Beanie's adopted brother: just as skittish as his siblings and less open to progress and new ideas than The Vatican and the Flat Earth Society combined.

The vast majority of cats prefer women; this one prefers men. He loves his papa (my Big, Strong Cardapoppy) and thinks the exbf is just plain neat-o. He'll even come out and watch male television presenters (I think Jamie on Mythbusters is a favourite).

Women, on the other hand bring a look of terror onto his little furry face. I swear he thinks the female portion of the humman species are all gorgons.

As far as this tiger cat is concerned, My Dear Little Cardamummy is something to avoid. His walnut-sized brain has been hardwired to avoid direct eye contact with her as he scuttles by, lest she notice him, and launch into Euryale-inspired shrieks of "Here Zeusie Zeusie Zeusie! I have some fishie for you!"

I am treated little better. Often our interactions consist of me sitting on the couch, his striated head craning around a corner to fix a terror-filled stare at me. If I obviously notice him, a temporary parlysis takes hold before he tears off to another room. Funny...I've noticed the same with a few human males.

Our truce is such: he does what he wants (within reason) and I feed him and do the box. I don't cuddle him and he doesn't leave me "presents"...anywhere. I don't complain loudly when I slip in the streams he leaves from his paw-dipping drinking technique. He doesn't sharpen his claws on my dining table leg. It works.

Again...certain parallels abound.

Things were going tickety-boo until a few weeks ago: the water dish needed refilling at three times the normal rate, just as the box needed to be cleaned at three times the normal rate, his hearing became comparable to a stone's, the muscle around his spine diminished, and no more arias. Dr. Bonnie confirmed it was diabetes and a new house agreement would need to be "negotiated": twice-daily insulin jabs: 8am and 8pm.

You try and stick a needle into the ruff of a cat who'd prefer you not share the same postal code.

My first solo attempt took 30 minutes. Hiss. Growl. Spit. Shoulders back. Jump out of the box to behind the furnace. Back away from me and try to escape through the gap to the washing machine. Barricades and flashlights. Leap into the box and then into the other corner, even darker and smaller and more difficult to get to. Grab. Jab. Yelp. A present was found later.

I've taken to giving Hagia a fake jab so he doesn't think he's being picked on. But he's smart and has figured out that there's no way his sister could be happy with a needle stuck in her ruff, so he hid, to watch what happens to her.

I wish I knew this before I tried to fake him out.

Apparently I cannot see a grey tabby, sitting under a clear glass table, positioned behind a table leg that's no more than one inch in diameter. Well, apparently not at eight in the morning.

It didn't take long for him to figure out she got the kitty crunchie reward without being poked by a needle. He was not happy. I found another present.

I told you he was smart.

Based on that, a new and somewhat successful routine was developed:

- Before my morning ablutions I plod my way down the steps to the kitchen.
- I enter the kitchen without acknowledging Zeus. Acknowledging him will have him tear down the basement steps like a bat out of Hell.
- I fumble with the syringe and insulin tube, in hopes that I don't prick myself or break the vial.
- I find my way to the basement TV temple with the unsheathed needle. The nanoseconds needed to flick of the orange cap is enough for him to run out of the box and find a place to hide.
- I set the needle down, get the fake jab, the catnip pouch and two crunchies.
- I pretend to not notice Zeus, the stealth cat, is sitting underneath the clear glass table, behind the one-inch diameter table leg, watching me.
- I rub Hagia's face with the catnip, fake jab her and feed her one crunchie.
- Then I coo at her, and tell her what a good girl she is. At this point, Zeus takes off to his carton behind the fireplace, next to the furnace.
- I swap out the fake jab for the real one.
- I find Zeus, chatter at him while I rub his face with catnip. I fumble for his ruff and I jab him. Sometimes he yelps.
- He then gets his crunchy and an extra catnip rub. If I've done well, he'll let me pet him--if I didn't do well he gives me a resentful "you'll pay for this, my pretty" look.
- I guillotine the sharp, toss the rest of it and then really start my day. If I'm lucky I won't come down the steps to find his writ of protest.

All this for one flipping unit of insulin. It's enough to drive a gal to drink. Well, almost.

I first had this drink earlier this summer at My Dearest Todd's suprise (somethingth) birthday party. Quite honestly, apart from my beloved G&Ts, this is now my favourite way to imbibe in hot weather. Besides, it's another way of getting fresh, seasonal blueberries into me (as if I need an excuse to eat blueberries).

I didn't get the proportions from those lovely barkeeps, so after a bit of experimentation, I've settled on this recipe. The blueberries, I suppose, are optional.

But then again, blueberries make this libation a health drink...as opposed to leaving it a mental health drink.

Toddtinis

1 part açai vodka
1 part blue curaçao
1 part white cranberry juice
blueberries



cheers!

jasmine



I'm a quill for hire!