Tartine's Almond-Lemon Tea Cake

O, thrift. How you led me astray. I'd had such good intentions since the New Year - pinching pennies here, being resourceful there. Making one casserole stretch into four days of square meals, finding breakfast in the series of half-finished oat bags (rolled, steel-cut, what have you) in my cupboards, baking bread instead of buying it.

Being thrifty is glorious, I tell you. Just glorious.

But look out. Because just when you start feeling smug about your resourceful ways, something will come along and smack you in the head. In my case? A brick of hardened, year-old almond paste. That stuff is not to be trifled with. But in my cocky assurance, I trifled. I might have even gambled. This is my story.

More than a year ago, my mother sent over a little care package from Italy, stuffed with all sorts of lovely things. A note in her delightfully loopy handwriting, a pair of fishnet stockings (she single-handedly increases the stock of some hosiery companies, I'm convinced), a paper bag filled with a few pounds of sun-dried tomatoes from Puglia, and a flat brick of almond paste, wrapped in simple blue-and-white paper. The thick paste yielded appealingly under gentle pressure from my thumb, but it was the middle of summer and baking was far from my mind. (I could have made latte di mandorla, but my mother always liked that stuff more than I did.)

I slipped the almond paste into my kitchen cupboards and soon it was wedged behind a few boxes of rice, some vinegar, half a sack of beans, a can of tuna. You know how it goes. But I didn't entirely forget about the paste. I just didn't have any use for it yet, and I figured it would wait patiently, like a box of brown sugar, until I needed it.

To this, I will only say HA.

A few nights ago, when I was pulling out ingredients to make a tea cake from the pages of Tartine, which was reviewed in the Los Angeles Times before Christmas, my hands alighted upon that brick of almond paste. But after a quick poke here and there, I realized that my luscious paste was no longer the yielding mass it had once been. That stuff was petrified. Solid. A murder weapon, if you will.

And here's where my smug thriftiness led me astray. Well, it might have also been my hard-headed idiocy. You decide. Because, you see, dear readers, I'm a woman rich in almond paste. Yes! I had another log of that glorious stuff lying right next to the petrified block. And that other log of almond paste? Soft! Malleable! Creamy, almost! Labeled marzipan, which might have meant adjusting sugar levels in the cake. But still! It was right there. And yet. I couldn't possibly use the fresher log when I had a perfectly good older brick to use up first, could I? (Yes. YES, I could. Damn it.)

Definitely no. Not in 2007 with my brand-new money-saving resolutions! (The fact that both logs were gifts was inexplicably a non-issue.) I had a perfectly good, older block of almond paste to use up first and that was the end of the discussion. Besides, if softening brown sugar was so easy, how difficult could almond paste be? (This is a rhetorical question and should not be answered, as I have already learned my lesson and amply so. Sob.)

I unwrapped that hardened block, paper crinkling appealingly, and put it in a ceramic bowl. (The clanging sound it made was not promising, though I wasn't exactly listening to the signs it was giving me, was I? Don't answer that either.) I sprinkled the brick with a drop of water and put it in the microwave for one minute. And another. It grew warm and then hot. I broke the paste in half (malleability! of some kind! this must have meant success) and then again in smaller pieces. I tried microwaving those, too, but that's when the process stalled. The almond paste bits got harder and hotter and harder still.

At this point, would you have just thrown out that bowl of almond paste bits, reached for the fresh, soft log and gotten on with your life? Yeah. Are you thinking that maybe I didn't? Yeah. Hard-headed idiocy, my friends, is what this is all about. "Waste not, want not!", chanted my inner voice and so I pounded those hardened bits with my hand-held mixer until some were pulverized and others, well, just got smaller. By the time I broke out in a sweat and found myself cursing at the mixer for not crushing hard enough, I realized I'd passed the point of no return. I simply couldn't turn back. Now it was a matter of pride.

So, in a few minutes, I whipped up the batter, though the extreme exertion of the mixer-crushing must have done a number on my brain, or else I just gave up, because instead of stirring together the eggs and vanilla and beating the sugar into the "paste", I stirred together the eggs and the sugar and beat the butter into the paste, which mean that the batter took on a distinctly curdled look by the time the mixing was finished and I found myself grinning maniacally at the thought of the disaster cake that would await me at the end of this ordeal. I poured the curdled batter with its rock-hard lumps of almond paste into the prepared pan, put it in the oven and went to mop my brow and stare blankly at a wall.

And then.

An hour later, I pulled out a golden and fragrant cake that looked a bit greasy around the edges, but smelled divine. After it cooled a bit, I gently knocked the cake out of its pan, brushed it liberally with citrus glaze, cooled it further, then wrapped the golden brick well before letting it sit in the fridge overnight. The next day, I sliced into the chilled loaf and found a little miracle. Despite everything, that cake turned out all right. More than all right. Even though there were little pebbles of almond paste scattered throughout the cake and the crumb wasn't as perfect as it could have been, it was totally delicious. Fragrant with citrus, dense and rich, moist and sugary (here's one wee criticism that had nothing to do with my idiocy: too much sugar in the glaze). I can only imagine how good it could have been if I'd actually followed the directions and not my hard-headed thriftiness.

So there you have it: a seriously indestructible tea cake that I plan to serve my girlfriends for dessert tonight and proof that while I may sometimes seem like a cooking Amazon (Novocained and still at the stove), I am often nothing of the sort.

Almond-Lemon Tea Cake
Serves 8 to 10

1 cup unsalted butter, at room temperature (plus some for preparing the pan)
3/4 cup pastry or cake flour, sifted (plus some for preparing the pan)
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/8 teaspoon salt
5 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3/4 cup almond paste, at room temperature
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon grated lemon zest
1 teaspoon grated orange zest
3 tablespoons lemon juice
3 tablespoons orange juice
3/4 cup sugar

1. Position a rack in the lower third of the oven and heat the oven to 350 degrees. Lightly butter and flour a 9-by-5-inch loaf pan, knocking out the excess flour.

2. Sift together the flour, baking powder and salt twice. In a small bowl, combine the eggs and vanilla and whisk together just to combine.

3. In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the almond paste on low speed until it breaks up. This can take up to a minute, depending on how soft and warm it is. Slowly add the sugar in a steady stream, beating until incorporated. If you add the sugar too quickly, the paste won't break up as well.

4. Cut the butter into 1-tablespoon pieces. Continue on low speed while adding the butter, a tablespoon at a time, for about 1 minute. Stop the mixer and scrape down the sides of the bowl with a rubber spatula. Then turn on the mixer to medium speed and beat until the mixture is light in color and fluffy, 3 to 4 minutes. With the mixer still on medium speed, add the eggs in a very slow, steady stream and mix until incorporated. Stop the mixer and again scrape down the sides of the bowl. Turn on the mixer again to medium speed and mix for 30 seconds more.

5. Add the citrus zests and mix in with a wooden spoon. Add the flour mixture in two batches, stirring after each addition until incorporated. Scrape down the sides of the bowl one last time, then spoon the batter into the prepared pan and smooth the surface with an offset spatula.

6. Bake until the top springs back when lightly touched and a cake tester inserted in the center comes out clean, 60 to 65 minutes. Let cool in the pan on a wire rack for 5 to 7 minutes while you make the glaze.

7. To make the glaze, stir together the lemon and orange juices and the sugar in a small bowl. Place the wire rack holding the cake over a sheet of waxed paper or aluminum foil to catch any drips of glaze, and gently invert the cake onto the rack. If the cake does not want to release, run the tip of a small knife around the edge to loosen it. Brush the entire warm cake with the glaze, then let the cake cool completely on the rack. The cake breaks apart easily when warm, so don't attempt to move it.

8. When the cake is cool, transfer it to a serving plate, using two crisscrossed icing spatulas or the base of a two-part tart pan to lift it. Serve at room temperature. The cake will keep, well-wrapped, for 1 week in the refrigerator.

Comments

[deb]

You are beyond awesome, not one brick but two of marzipan in your cupboards, not to mention a mother that sends you dried San Marzano tomatoes across an ocean. (Though, ahem, I do have some ideas for the thriftiest of marzipan, despite my haphazard results.) This cake looks delicious, it actually calls "Deb, be mine" through the screen. Gorgeous!

[foodmomiac]

You are too cute. I love this story. I would have done the same thing.

[Maggi]

Ah, what a magnificent story... I laughed pretty hard and thoroughly enjoyed it.

Next time, if this happens again, take out your microplane grater and grate the almond paste into a bowl and add a teeny tiny bit of canola oil and stir. (Almond oil would be better)

Keep up the good work!

[Rebecca]

I actually cracked the bowl of my Cuisinart trying to soften/chop some rock-hard almond paste to make some of my cranberry-almond stollen; even wrapped tightly in those foil tubes it will get hard if it hides in the back of the pantry for several years! I never thought of trying to grate it, though, that's a good idea.

[aliza]

One of my new years resolution was to stop lurking, and start commenting on the blogs I'm addicted to. So here I am.

I too resolved to save more this year, but so far that one hasn't been working out to well for me. After each purchase I make, I swear to god that I'll start saving from that moment on....but as god has found out, i'm a big liar. Starting tomorrow! I swear!

[Tea]

Oh, Louisa, I would have done the same thing. Funny how hard it can be to toss things like that. With a little bit of hard-headed persistence, triumph will be ours!

The cake looks loooovely.

[Tanna]

Incredible how crazy we foodies can be. At least I'm sure that's how it appears to the outside world. Actually it seemed pretty reasonable to me as you told the story but the grater does seem like a better idea.

[shuna fish lydon]

Ahh Pride. It can be even more stubborn than marzipan hardened in the dark corners of our pantry.

Next time: break it up into the food processor & add sugar & whir. Usually breaks it up. In fact it's often a suggestion for these sorts of ingredient mixtures.

And for a little finess-- put some citrus zest in there too. Perfumes the sugar nicely.

{also you can email me and I'll give you my #. People have been known to call me from afar for baking tips...}

[Luisa]

Deb - my mother is indeed a treasure! I think you'd like this cake and something tells me you'd be smart enough to only use fresh almond paste.

Danielle - thanks... ;)

Maggi - that's a good tip, though the paste felt really rockhard, like bang-it-against-the-countertop-and-nothing-will-happen hard. Wouldn't it need to be just a little bit softer to grate?

Rebecca - I'm so glad to hear I'm not the only one who's struggled with this! And ohhhhh, your stollen. It looks so good. I think I'm in love.

Aliza - yay for delurking! Speaking of which, everyone else, isn't it National Delurking Week? Ahem ahem. Anyway, Aliza, good luck pinching pennies. I feel like it's kind of like dieting - at first, difficult, then easier...

Tea - hard-headedness in the kitchen: a virtue or a sin? Discuss. ;)

Tanna - I'm keeping my marzipan and almond paste in the fridge from now on to stave off all this craziness next time around, that's for sure.

Shuna - the food processor! Yes. Probably better than using my hand mixer as a jackhammer. But as Rebecca had happen to her (see above), couldn't it crack the bowl? Next time, I'm calling you, lady.

[lobstersquad]

I wish I´d bought some almond paste over Christmas, it´s the only time they sell it, and now it´s too late. Oh, and I´ve just noticed the LINK! thanks so so much.

[gemma]

I spent all day waiting for this moment.... a cup of tea and piece of your delicious teacake (almond bits and all). Thanks for letting me take some home. YUM

[Lydia]

A wonderful story that sent me right to my pantry to search for buried treasure! Thank you for the recipe, too.

[Julie]

Yum. I too have been on a "thrifty" kick recently, feeling very virtuous about using stuff up. Gotta clean out the pantry and find some of the hardening almond paste which I KNOW is in there so I can make this cake...oh, and I'm with Shuna on this one. I've done pretty well in the past breaking hard almond paste up with sugar in the food processor.

[hungry girl]

Good writing! Hilarious! I can identify with the obsessive nature of a seemingly impossible culinary task. Last week it was grinding popppyseed with mortar and pestle, for a ritual Ukrainian Christams eve dish. I am still finding bits of poppyseed here and there....

[Luisa]

Ximena - almond paste is only sold once a year in Spain? Get thee to Germany, my friend. ;)

Gemma - so glad you liked it, and are eating it as you should, with tea.

Lydia - thank you!

Julie - I will definitely have to try this method next time (though I had actually sworn to myself that there would never be a next time after this time!).

Hungry Girl - thanks! Oh dear, grinding poppyseeds sounds hideous. You have my utmost sympathy! Would a coffee/spice grinder have made things easier?

[Patricia Scarpin]

Hi, Luisa,

To start, just want to tell you how beautiful your name is. It's my grandmother's name and I find it gorgeous, so melodic.

I like your blog a lot!

This cake looks delicious and your post is so good - I had a laugh with it.

I should try this cake sometime, I'll tag the recipe since I love almond paste.

Regards from Brazil,
Patricia.

[Jessika]

In case the thrifty person wants to make her own almond paste in the future ;) :
250 g almonds, blanched and peeled
250 g sugar
25 g water

For best result grate the almonds in a mixer or in a hand grater. Add sugar. While mixing add 25 g water (10 per cent of the total weight sugar & almonds). Mix until it assumes almond paste texture.

[Nancy]

I love Louisiana Crunch cake but was getting tired of it being my only "Lemon" cake recipe. I can't wait to make this one.

[Linda, The Village Vegetable]

I am loving your blog -- so glad I found you!

[Nadia]

Hello. I tried your recipe, first by making my own almond paste (using equal parts ground almonds and sugar with 1 egg white added) and then following your recipe to the letter EXCEPT for the butter requirement which I thought was way too high. I cut this down to 130g (from 1 cup, which is about 2 sticks, or 226g). I also added in the juice of half a lemon and, based on your aside about the sweetness, I cut the sugar IN the cake to two thirds of a cup. The result was delicious. Not perhaps the pudding-cum-cake you had in mind but gorgeous nonetheless.

Terrific blog by the way.