{Patriotism in Pastry}
in spirit of the holiday commemorating freedom, and serving as a midsummer anthem itself, this red, white, and blue confection screams freshness. springy vanilla cake and luxuriant frosting intertwine with spiral flair, only to be piled with berries and given an essence of lemon.
The Fourth of July is the holiday in which we celebrate our independence from oppression, and truly it is a glorious thing. For me, it's an opportunity to return to the loved ones I hold dear, and also to return to the fundamentals of what makes America such a desirable and unique country.
There's an electric spirit of community on this day (and it seems the days leading up to and following it). You can practically smell the barbecues wafting through fences and seasoning backyards with camaraderie. It seems trivial, but I really do believe that July 4th is a holiday that resonates with the souls of Americans- bringing people together in celebration and also giving reason for a childlike giddiness.
People host gatherings; children run outside; pools are crowded; parades flourish; red, white, and blue abound; fireworks pierce the darkness; the lawn becomes a living space once more. Everything quintessentially American and "summer" is enhanced, and what we end up with is a jubilee of patriotism.
As always, I will turn this sentiment toward food: but really, the fourth is the pinnacle of summer cooking, giving seasonal ingredients a platform to shine. Think watermelon, cole slaw, potato salad, corn, berries, summer salad, cucumbers, FRESH. Hydrating and vibrant elements take their place in the spotlight as people congregate for potlucks and family reunions.
With talented pitmasters amongst us, my family feasted on tenderly-smoked brisket and moist pork ribs that gracefully fell off the bone. Our spread featured roasted corn salad, cole slaw, and watermelon, but my role was in dessert.
Always with impeccable taste, Southern Living Magazine is one of my go-to places to search for seasonally appropriate and innovative-yet-comforting recipes (their butter pecan toffee cake is a family favorite in autumn). Naturally, their most recent issue has a myriad of ideas for this holiday, and the matter of choosing one is undeniably the most difficult part. With my brothers eyeing the most intriguing and unique recipe, I resolved to attempt this rolulade- with my own personal modifications, of course.
The initial portion of this pastry is reassuringly easy: baking a vanilla sheet cake. The technique of this recipe is centered around whipping as much air into the batter as possible. Ultimately, that's what makes the cake pliable and able to twist into the spiral shape effortlessly.
To accomplish this the egg yolks and whites are separated and whipped in turn with different ingredients, then they're delicately folded together in the end. By forming a loose meringue with the whites, you get this cloud of fluffiness that's lightly mitigated by the bubbly yolk mixture. Word to the wise: definitely use a stand mixer (or electric hand mixer) for these steps, otherwise you will be facing hand cramps and potentially carpal tunnel.
Even with the most acclaimed recipes, I seldom leave well enough alone and typically switch things up a bit. On this occasion, I just intuitively felt called to add lemon zest to the batter. Not scientific in the least, prior to putting the batter in the pan, I grabbed my microplane and zested a whole lemon for good measure. This is another example of a way that I add personal touches to recipes- I know my family (namely my dad) adores the flavor of lemon, and I was sure it would only enhance the cake.
To finish off the preparation, all you have to do is spread the batter into a sheet pan lined with parchment paper and slide it into the oven in one go! Another wondrously positive aspect of this recipe is that the cake cooks very quickly (under 10 minutes!). The thin rectangle only needs several minutes in the heat to rise up and become a springy, golden sheet.
Here's where interesting tactics come in, and I had some learning to do. Once you remove the confection from the oven, it lays in the pan for a mere two minutes (oddly specific, am I right?!). During that window of time, you sprinkle powdered sugar over the exposed side of the sheet. This is where I deviated from the instructions once again- the amount of powdered sugar you're supposed to cover the cake with was exponentially too much, so I only ended up using a fraction of what it called for (follow your intuition and add a teaspoon or so at a time until you feel like you have an adequate amount). Then you attempt to gracefully flip the cake onto a flat surface covered with parchment paper and repeat the sprinkling of powdered sugar on the now exposed side.
When all sides of the sweet are sufficiently sticky and sugary, you roll the parchment paper along with the cake into a spiral beginning with a short end. I can see why it's crucial to move quickly from the oven to this action, because you want the cake to still harbor some warmth and be pliable. Failure to be swift could result in the roulade cracking or breaking as you manipulate it into the desired shape.
Then you can place the giant roll into a cooling rack and pat yourself on the back! Forget about it for an hour or so while it cools and solidifies. In the mean time, you can move on to the filling and the frosting (yes, they should be different).
To further drive home the point that I am not perfect, nor an expert, I will reveal that these next few line items absolutely did not go as planned! As is such with baking- even the best intentions aren't sufficient to ensure a flawless outcome, you just have to be positive and resourceful in the face of challenges.
Making the filling was the initial major hiccup I faced. Whipping the cream, powdered sugar, and orange extract (what I substituted for the liqueur) came naturally. However, good beginnings don't always mean ideal endings. This recipe calls for gelatin (the unflavored variety), and thinking I knew exactly what I was doing, I raced into this technique unfazed.
The first packet I used didn't set up properly, leaving a powdery mess. Assuming I'd just done something incorrectly, I immediately reached for another envelope of the substance, certain to prevail in this attempt. Wrong. Assured that I couldn't possibly fail three times in succession, I obligingly reached for the third packet. Finally, the consistency outlined in the recipe was achieved, and I was tempted to be overjoyed- but I had the sense it wasn't quite right. You see, there was an unattractive odor emanating from the ramekin I had used to house the gelatin.
In my haste to get it right, I poured the (now liquid) gelatin into the prepared whip. Not only did the items fail to combine, but I was left with ribbons of jelly and a frosting that altogether smelled like stinky shoes. What a disappointment!
A fresh start is something I never say no to, especially once you have some experience. You are able to walk into the second (or third, or fourth) effort with a certain amount of confidence. You carry all you learned from the first endeavor, striving to emulate the successes and outsmart previous downfalls.
I scrapped the entire batch I'd been working on, and ventured to give the frosting another go. With the full knowledge that I didn't have enough of all the ingredients to make the recipe in full, I let my resourceful and creative intuition guide the steps. I used what I had in the way of the original ingredients (minus the gelatin, of course) and just added them in succession in proportions that felt right to me. What I ended up with was beautifully perfumed, saccharine, and the most luxuriant texture. Success, finally!
It had been over an hour at this point, so it was safe to handle the roll. Pro tip: have your tray or oblong serving dish ready and by your side for this part, because it goes fast!
Unraveling the spiral, I used an offset spatula (the miniature kind) to fill the cake. Leaving about a 1 inch margin on either side, I luckily had enough frosting to make it work. It was a bit frustrating, though, knowing I could have applied a layer with twice the thickness if I hadn't ruined the first batch.
As a home cook I am always criticizing my presentation and execution- typically critiquing myself about things like not having enough filling or rolling the cake imperfectly. But you just can't do that. In both cooking and baking, there is not ever going to be a pristinely flawless process. Even if the end result is phenomenally gorgeous, somewhere along the way there is inevitably going to be something you could have done better. I settle for just getting a dish across the finish line, and try to make it be pretty when it gets there. People encounter food with their mouths and stomachs first and foremost, and for non-cooks, the presentation is most always secondary to the actual cuisine.
Now that the roulade was filled, rolled carefully (sans parchment paper), and resting on a serving platter, icing and decorating were all I'd have to do. I grabbed the butter, whipping cream, lemon I had zested, and powdered sugar, ready to make this great.
Things were looking wonderful, until they weren't. After about 10 minutes of ceaseless whipping, the texture of the frosting did not set up as it should have been. It didn't even seem to be making headway. Instead of getting discouraged with the grainy-looking concoction, I sent it to the fridge, hoping that the cold would render it into a more spreadable texture.
In the meantime, I rinsed some fresh raspberries and blueberries I'd gotten at the grocery. This recipe calls for (in cake and on top of it) patriotically-hued sprinkles. To be honest, I think this is the sole reason my brother asked for this recipe. Aside from the fact that our local store didn't carry anything of the sort, I probably would have eliminated them anyway. This dessert, to me, celebrated the vibrance of freshness and purity, not to be disgraced by food dye and pellets of chemicals. I figured that the berries would be more beautiful to gaze at, and more beautiful on the tongue too.
Crossing my fingers as I ventured to the fridge to retrieve the frosting, I was hopeful that magic would have happened, and that it would be immaculate. Well, not entirely. Peering into the bowl, I could see that though firmer, the grainy texture had not altogether absolved.
This is when it comes in handy to have people around! I asked my brothers and family friends to taste-test and to be brutally honest. To my surprise, they loved it! Picking up on the "not quite right" texture, they said things like "wow, that's really good" and "I hope you're putting that on the cake."
With words of affirmation on my mind, I plastered the top of the cake with the frosting, allowing some to fall down the sides naturally. Next were the berries, the best part. I ensured that they were completely dry (this is very important, as residual water can mess up the cake and frosting), and began to arrange them on top. Originally placing each piece with calculation, I gave in to a more relaxed display, allowing the berries to fall organically to their places.
And ta-da! We had a roulade as the finale to a gloriously American feast. Sitting in the company of family and friends, it was a beautiful holiday. Thankful for freedom and expression, I think everyone left the table more than satisfied. I'm already thinking about what will go on the menu for next year!
RECIPE:
Cake
5 large eggs, separated
3/4 cup granulated sugar, divided
1 tsp vanilla extract (use 1 tbsp)
1/4 tsp cream of tartar
3/4 tsp unbleached cake flour
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
6 tbsp powdered sugar, divided
***zest of one lemon
Filling
1 1/2 tbsp cold water
1 tsp unflavored gelatin (if you dare)
1 1/2 cups heavy cream
1/4 cup powdered sugar
1 tbsp orange liqueur (or extract)
Frosting
1/4 cup unsalted butter, softened
2 cups powdered sugar
1 tbsp fresh lemon juice
1/4 tsp salt
1-2 tsp heavy cream
***recipe adapted from Southern Living (can be found in magazine or on website)