Judith M. Fertig's Blog, page 2

The 10 Days of Pumpkin

Day Three:

Whole Wheat Pumpkin-Pecan Cinnamon Crowns

I have always loved mom and pop bakeries. As a child growing up in the Cincinnati area, little did I know that I was in mom and pop bakery heaven. Cincinnati still has bakeries with coffee cake schedules, so you know which day of the week you can get your favorite flavor. They still offer cinnamon rolls shaped like crowns.

So it's no wonder that when it came time to write my first novel, I set it in a bakery. And what's even better about fiction is that I could put whatever goodies I wanted in the bakery display cases.



The Cake Therapist just had to offer a really great cinnamon roll at her fictional bakery, Rainbow Cake.

Happily, I had written a cinnamon roll cookbook a few years earlier. (It's a little book, which makes it great for gift-giving. Maybe add a jar of Vietnamese cinnamon, and you've got a charming hostess or holiday gift.) Fifty different cinnamon rolls, all delicious. And there's one that is perfect for fall.



Whole Wheat Pumpkin-Pecan Cinnamon Crowns start with a whole wheat dough, then gets a pumpkin pie filling with cinnamon pecan streusel on the top. Instead of rolling the dough up into a cylinder, you roll it out and cut it into squares. You put each square of dough into a muffin cup, and then dollop in the filling and top with streusel. 

These crowns would be wonderful for a fall weekend breakfast or for Thanksgiving. I would make the dough the night before and let it sit in the refrigerator. In the morning, I would let it come to room temperature, then make and bake the crowns. 

I am doing a video class for Craftsy, based in Denver, that will be up and running in early December 2015. You could also give this class as a gift--maybe with I Love Cinnamon Rolls!  Because you watch the instructor from your computer, you can take this class anywhere!

Now, back to the crowns. . .


Whole Wheat Pumpkin-Pecan Cinnamon Crowns 
Rise and shine for a cold weather brunch dish that makes you happy! You will have some leftover pumpkin filling with this, but you can pour it into a buttered baking dish and bake it along with the rolls until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.  Bake these in batches, and nibble as you go.
Makes 36
Whole Wheat Cinnamon Roll DoughThe addition of whole wheat flour gives these rolls a slight more textured, nutty flavor. Let the dough sit for 30 minutes after mixing, as the whole wheat flour takes longer to absorb liquids. Vital wheat gluten or whole grain dough improver can be found in the baking section of better grocery stores (Bob’s Red Mill) or online at places like www.kingarthur.com.Makes 6 jumbo, 12 large, 16 to 20 medium, or 46 mini-cinnamon rolls3/4 cup (175 mL) whole milk¼ cup (60 mL) honey or agave nectar¼ cup (60 mL) vegetable oil1 teaspoon (5 mL) salt2 large eggs, beaten1 1/2 cups (195 g) whole wheat flour1 1/2 cups (188 g) all-purpose flour, plus more for kneading2 teaspoons (10 mL) vital wheat gluten or whole grain dough improver2 1/2 teaspoons (12 mL)  instant or bread machine yeast1. In a 4-cup (1L) measuring cup, combine the water, honey, vegetable oil, and salt. Microwave on High for 1 minute or until warm. Whisk in the eggs. 2. In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment , place the flour and yeast. Add the liquid ingredients. Mix on low speed, stopping to scrape down the sides of the bowl from time to time, until the dough forms a soft ball and pulls away from the sides of the bowl, about 5 to 6 minutes. 3. Remove the paddle attachment and switch to the dough hook. With the mixer on low, start kneading the dough with the dough hook.  Sprinkle with a tablespoon of flour, every minute or so, to keep the dough from sticking to the sides of the bowl. When the dough is smooth, not sticky, and springs back when you press it with your finger, you’ve kneaded enough (about 3 to 5 minutes). Let the dough rest in the bowl for 30 minutes.4. Place the dough in a large, oiled mixing bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and let rise in a warm place at room temperature (about 70 to 75 °F /21 to 24°C) for 45 to 60 minutes or until it has almost doubled.At this point, you can refrigerate the dough overnight, let the dough come to room temperature, and make the crowns.  Or, proceed with the crowns right away.

Spray the muffin cups with cooking spray or cut small squares of parchment paper and line the cups.
Pumpkin Filling:1 (15-ounce) pumpkin puree (not pie filling)                 1 (14-ounce) can sweetened condensed milk   1 large egg    Cinnamon Pecan Streusel:1/2 cup all-purpose flour½ cup packed light or dark brown sugar¼ cup granulated sugar2 teaspoons ground cinnamon1/4 teaspoon salt½ cup chopped pecans¼ cup unsalted butter, softened
1. For the filling, whisk the pumpkin, sweetened condensed milk and egg together until smooth. Set aside.2. For the streusel, combine the flour, sugars, cinnamon, salt, and pecans in a medium bowl. Work in the butter with a fork or your fingers until the mixture forms crumbs. Set aside.3. Transfer the dough to a floured surface. Cut the dough into fourths.  Roll each fourth to a 9-inch  square. Cut the dough into 3-inch squares. Arrange each square in a prepared muffin tin. Place 1 tablespoon pumpkin filling and 2 teaspoons streusel in each dough-lined muffin cup. Cover with tea towels and let rise in a warm place until almost doubled, about 45 to 60 45 minutes. Preheat the oven to 350°F.
4. Bake for 15 to 17 minutes or until the crust has lightly browned and the filling is firm.

The 10 Days of Pumpkin

Day Two:

Pumpkin on the Grill

We're still exploring all the ways that, according to The Cake Therapist, pumpkin makes us think about coming home.

And what says home better than your own backyard? (Just ask Dorothy of Kansas in The Wizard of Oz.)

And your grill?

There's a way to grill pumpkin that takes it in a decidedly savory direction.




You cut it into wedges, baste it with garlic oil, and grill-roast the slices in disposable

aluminum pans with your grill lid closed. Turn once halfway through and you've got a

fabulous vegetable dish with the flavor of the grill--and the Mediterranean.

What the village baker would do in the south of France, we can do in our own backyards.


Grill-Roasted Pumpkin with Dry-Cured Olives and GarlicAdapted from BBQ Bistro by Karen Adler and Judith Fertig (Running Press, 2015)
In French markets in autumn, you will see huge potironssuch as the Rouge Vif d’Etampes, known as the Cinderella pumpkin because it looks like her carriage, brought to life by her fairy godmother. There, they sell slices from a whole pumpkin that you can bring to life by roasting them at home. Here, you can simply buy a small sugar or pie pumpkin, cut it into slices, and then grill-roast this simple yet satisfying dish that will completely change how you think about pumpkin. It’s easier to cut the pumpkin into wedges first, and then use a sturdy vegetable peeler or a paring knife to peel the wedges.Serves 61/4 cup (50 ml) extra-virgin olive oil3 large garlic cloves, sliced1 small pumpkin (about 11/2 pounds/750 g) or 1 medium-size butternut or Hubbard (or 2 acorn) squash, stemmed, seeded, and cut into 2-inch (5-cm) wedges (at the widest part), then peeled20 black, dry-cured olives, pitted and halved1 teaspoon chopped fresh thyme, or 1/2 teaspoon dried thymeKosher or sea salt and freshly ground black pepperPrepare a medium-hot fire in your grill.In a saucepan over medium heat, warm the oil and garlic together until the garlic is fragrant, about 4 minutes.Arrange the pumpkin slices, olives, and thyme in disposable aluminum pans. Drizzle with the olive oil mixture, and then season with salt and pepper.
Place on the grill, close the lid, and grill for 20 minutes. Open the lid and turn the pumpkin slices over. Close the lid and grill for 15 to 20 minutes more or until the pumpkin is fork-tender. Transfer the pumpkin wedges to a platter and drizzle with the juices from the pan. Sprinkle the olives over the pumpkin and serve warm.

The 10 Days of PumpkinDay One:Cinderella Pumpkin Tart wit...

The 10 Days of Pumpkin

Day One:

Cinderella Pumpkin Tart with Toffee Glass Slippers

If pomegranate means missing home (dating back to the Greek myth of Persephone), then pumpkin means coming home. 



Just ask The Cake Therapist. . .



Sizzled on the grill, warmed with spice, sweetened with maple syrup or honey, or accented with citrus, pumpkin stars in dishes I like to make in the fall. I think a craving for pumpkin is a craving for the comforts of home, and it usually starts for me as the days get shorter and the weather gets cooler.

In October, pumpkins are plentiful at farmer's markets and grocery store parking lots. So now is the time to scoop up your favorite variety and keep it in a cool, dry place to use later on. If you try to find a fresh pumpkin right before Thanksgiving, you might not find one. 

To keep things fresh and interesting--in your baking and in your life--try a new pumpkin variety this year. I suggest looking for the Cinderella pumpkin also known by its French heirloom name Rouge Vif d'Etampes. As you can see, it looks just like the body of Cinderella's coach that her fairy godmother brought to life.


I admired mine for a few days as it sat on the kitchen table. And then I was ready to get to work.



I cut it into wedges and removed the seeds, the placed the wedges on a baking sheet lined with aluminum foil to roast in the oven.



After they were tender enough to be pierced with a paring knife,


I scooped the tender pumpkin flesh into the food processor, discarding the rinds, and made a smooth puree.


With a tap of my magic wand, the puree went into freezer bags, 2 cups at a time, to be ready for pies, tarts, cakes and anything else pumpkin.

With fresh puree and the tart pastry made ahead, making Cinderella Pumpkin Tart with Toffee Glass Slippers is a breeze. So, you make-aheaders, get busy!



Cinderella Pumpkin Tart with Toffee Glass Slippers
Cinderella Pumpkin Tart with Toffee Glass SlippersAdapted from Bake Happy by Judith Fertig (Running Press, 2015)Everybody loves a Cinderella story. This tale of the persecuted heroine, transformed—can’t we relate?—has popped up in 345 variants around the world, according to folklorists who count those things.  The one we’re most familiar with is the 1697 Charles Perrault tale with a fairy godmother, mice and birds who help out, and a pumpkin that turns into a carriage. The pumpkin of choice is a French heirloom, Rouge Vif d’Etampes, also known as the Cinderella pumpkin. Not only does this vivid orange, squatty pumpkin make a good fairytale carriage, but it also makes an elegant tart with a couture color. To me, this tart compares to traditional pumpkin pie as a glass slipper compares to a garden clog. Look for this pumpkin before Halloween, then keep it in a cool, dry place until you need it, or make the pumpkin puree right away.  You will have more pumpkin puree than you need for one tart, but you can always freeze it for up to 3 months, and use it in Marbled Pumpkin Brownies (stay tuned for an upcoming Pumpkin Day) or other dishes calling for pumpkin puree. If you can’t find Cinderella pumpkin, simply wave your kitchen wand and turn a small sugar or pie pumpkin or a butternut squash into what you need. A scattering of clear toffee shards on the finished tart adds that final “dressmaker detail.”Makes 1 (8-inch) tartCinderella Pumpkin Tart Filling:1 Cinderella pumpkin 1/2 cup (125 ml) clover or other amber honey 2 large eggs1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon1/2 teaspoon ground allspice1/2 cup (125 ml) heavy whipping cream2 teaspoons lemon juice Cinderella Pastry:11/2 cups (225 g) unbleached all-purpose flour 1/2 cup (80 g) confectioners’ sugar 1/2 cup plus 1/2 tablespoon (125g) unsalted butter, chilled 3 large egg yolks1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 recipe prepared Toffee Glass Slippers (below) or clear brittle candyPreheat the oven to 375°F (190°C).  Line a large baking sheet with aluminum foil. For the filling, cut the pumpkin into 8 pieces and remove the seeds and stringy pulp. Place each piece on the prepared pan. Bake for 45 minutes or until the pumpkin is tender when pierced with a fork. When cool enough to handle, scrape the pumpkin pulp into a food processor; discard the rinds. Puree the pumpkin pulp until smooth. Set aside 2 cups (250 g) for this recipe; cover and refrigerate the rest for up to 3 days or freeze for up to 3 months. Wash and dry the food processor bowl.For the Cinderella Pastry, combine the flour, confectioners’ sugar, and butter in the food processor and pulse to blend until the mixture resembles fine crumbs. Add the egg yolks, lemon juice, and water until the dough comes together in a ball.  Divide the dough in half and form each half into a disc. Wrap and freeze one disc for later use.  Place the remaining dough disc in the center of a sheet of parchment paper. Place the second sheet of parchment paper over the dough and roll the dough into a 10-inch circle. Remove the top sheet of parchment paper. Transfer the pastry circle to an 8-inch and line the pan with the pastry,  . Trim the edges by rolling a rolling pin over the rim of the tart pan, letting the excess pastry fall off, and prick the bottom of the pastry with the tines of a fork. Preheat the oven to 325°F (160°C). Line the tart pan with parchment paper and fill with dried beans or pie weights. Bake the tart “blind” for 12 to 15 minutes or until lightly golden. Remove the parchment paper and pie weights. Place the tart shells on a large baking sheet and keep the oven on. For the Cinderella Pumpkin Tart Filling, place the pureed pumpkin in a medium mixing bowl. Pour the honey into a microwave-safe bowl and microwave on high for 3 minutes or until the honey has reduced and is a darker color. Add the honey to the pumpkin in the mixing bowl, along with the eggs, cream, spices, and lemon juice until well blended. Pour into the tart Bake for 40 to 45 minutes or until just set. Let the tart cool on the baking sheet. To serve, remove the sides of the tart pan and place on a serving plate. Top with whipped cream and shards of Toffee Glass Slippers or clear brittle candy.
Toffee Glass Slippers
Shiny, hard caramel can be broken into shards to dress up all kinds of desserts. If you like, customize this brittle with fresh chopped rosemary, dried lavender buds, dried rose petals, finely chopped nuts, toasted green pumpkin seeds, or cocoa nibs sprinkled over the warm candy.Makes about 2 cups (500 ml) candy brittle piecesCanola oil for the pan3/4 cup (170 g) granulated sugar1/4 cup (50 ml) water1/2 teaspoon coarse kosher or sea saltLine a small baking sheet with aluminum foil and lightly brush with oil. Clamp a candy thermometer to the side of a medium saucepan. Stir the sugar and water together in the saucepan set over medium-high heat. Let the mixture cook, without stirring, for about 8 to 10 minutes or until   at around 300°F on the candy thermometer. Carefully pour the candy on the prepared pan, spreading evenly, then sprinkle with salt.  Let cool completely, then break into shards and use right away or store in an airtight container for up to 1 week.
Get in the kitchen  and BAKE HAPPY!

The Cake Therapist Makes Homemade Oreos

As kids, growing up in Ohio, my sister and I would enjoy after-dinner coffee. 

We weren't into sophistication, though. We were into the flavor combination of cookies and coffee.

Our parents would pour us each a very little cup of coffee and then add milk and a sprinkling of sugar.

And then the main attraction--Oreos for dunking.





When it came time for me to figure out what baking recipes make people happy,

it wasn't difficult to choose this cookie.
Let’s face it. Oreos can be addictive, as a study by researchers at Connecticut College determined.  Nibbling the salty chocolate cookie with its sweet vanilla filling prompts neuronal activation in the “pleasure center” of the brain (at least it does in lab rats). 
But we’re not lab rats. We’re people. 
So, let’s have a homemade, you-know-exactly-what’s-in-it treat. 
I adapted this from a recipe by Joanne Chang of Flour Bakery in Boston. These homemade Oreos can be what you want them to be. 
Make them bigger or smaller. 
Neat and tidy, as pastry chef Heather Roebbeke made the festive ones above, or the more rustic and colorful ones below. 


Color and flavor the filling as you wish. 
Give them a holiday twist.


And dunk all you want.
Homemade Oreos(adapted from Bake Happy by Judith Fertig)Makes about 16 (3-inch) sandwich cookiesCookies:1 cup (226 g) unsalted butter, cut into pieces 3/4 cup (170 g) granulated sugar 1 cup (175 g) semisweet chocolate chips 1 large egg1 teaspoon vanilla11/2 cups (188 g) unbleached all-purpose flour 3/4 cup (88 g) unsweetened cocoa powder 1 teaspoon fine kosher or sea salt1/2 teaspoon baking sodaVanilla Filling:1/2 cup (113 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature 12/3 cups (195 g) confectioners’ sugar 1/8 teaspoon fine kosher or sea salt1 tablespoon milk1 teaspoon vanilla extractFood coloring (optional)
In a medium saucepan over medium-low heat, whisk the butter, granulated sugar, and chocolate chips together until the butter and chocolate have just melted. Remove from the heat and whisk in the egg and vanilla until well blended. Whisk in the flour, cocoa powder, salt, and baking soda until well blended. Let cool for 15 minutes, then transfer the saucepan to the refrigerator and let cool for 30 minutes or until the dough is thick like modeling clay.Place a 15-inch long sheet of parchment paper on a work surface. Spoon the dough into a 12-inch line on the parchment paper. Roll the parchment paper around it and work the dough into a smooth cylinder about 10 inches long and 2 1/2 inches in diameter. Wrap and chill the dough for 2 hours or overnight. (You can also wrap and freeze the dough for up to 3 months at this point.)
When ready to bake, preheat the oven to 325°F (160°C). Line 2 large baking sheets with parchment paper and set aside.Unwrap the cookie dough. Using a chef’s knife, cut the dough into 1/4-inch thick slices and place 1 inch apart on the prepared baking sheets. 
Place on the upper and lower racks in the oven. Bake for 11 minutes, then switch the baking sheets and continue baking for another 11 minutes or until the cookies are set when pressed gently in the middle. Let cool on the baking sheets for 1 hour. The cookies will firm up as they cool.For the filling, beat the butter, confectioners’ sugar, milk, and vanilla in a medium bowl with an  electric mixer until smooth. Add food coloring, if you wish.Place about 1 tablespoon filling in the center of 1 cookie, top with another, and gently press in the middle of the top cookie to spread the filling out to the edges. Store in an airtight container for up to 3 days.
Variation: For smaller cookies, form the dough into a 14-inch long cylinder with a 11/2-inch diameter. Cut the dough cylinder into 1/4-inch slices and bake for 20 minutes, switching the baking sheets halfway through baking.  Fill with 2 teaspoons filling. Variation:  For Coffee Filling, add 1 tablespoon freshly brewed dark roast coffee in place of milk.For Vanilla Lavender Filling, add 1/4 teaspoon (1 ml) dried culinary lavender buds.
So Happy Together:Homemade Oreos + Flavored MilkAs a kid, I loved to dunk Oreos in a little cup of coffee flavored with milk and sugar, which my sister and I were allowed to have after dinner.  For extra pleasure, dunk your Homemade Oreos in a flavored beverage to match your filling.Vanilla Filling: Dunk in Mint Milk, made by stirring 2 teaspoons Fresh Herb Syrup (page 000) made with fresh mint in a glass of cold milk. You can also try dunking in egg nog.Coffee Filling: Dunk in a cup of café au lait or hot chocolate.Vanilla Lavender Filling: Dunk in chamomile lavender tea.
And grab a copy of Bake Happy for even more ways to bake you happy!

The Cake Therapist: The Art of a Wedding Cake Tasting

Does life imitate art or does art imitate life?

Sometimes a little of both.

When I was writing The Cake Therapist


Get your copy here!I wanted to create a wonderful setting in which Neely, the specially-gifted pastry chef, could showcase her flavor magic for wedding cakes.  I imagined her having an artist's palette on which she placed little cups of fillings and frostings. She would then give mothers and brides a taste of what their signature wedding cake would taste like.

So this is what I wrote in The Cake Therapist:

"My front parlor was simple yet sophisticated, with plaster walls painted a soft French gray, the woodwork a subtle ivory, and a few landscape paintings that I loved. Here we could close the painted shutters halfway to block off the sights and sounds of Benson Street. I wanted my potential clients to feel that they were in another world.


A gas fire in the white marble Victorian hearth warmed the room against the chilly afternoon and cast the bookcases into shadow. The round table with its heavy cloth in nubby French linen was set with a coffee service and a French press coffee pot. A wooden tray shaped like an artist’s palette—one I had specially made—held small clear cups of pastel-colored fillings and frostings. Miniature cupcakes in their paper frills filled a tiered stand."
Sigh.
In real life, I found an artist's palette at an art supply store and then colored dabs of buttercream frosting to create a flavor rainbow. I love the idea of flavor energies--represented in color--just waiting to be brought to life to make someone's day, someone's life even more special.


And then my daughter Sarah got engaged and we decided on my friend, Andrea Adams Britt of  Classic Cakes to make the wedding cake. She offers a wonderful variety of cake and buttercream frosting flavors that we could mix and match.
I never had a wedding cake tasting when I got married, back in the proverbial day. You just ordered cake. And it was probably white cake with white frosting. I also had petit fours with almond paste and raspberry fillings, so I was an outside-the-traditional-wedding-cake flavor person even back then.
Today, brides have so much more choice. (Below, you see a selection from a happy bride-to-be Nicole at Bridgette Bartlett-Royall's wonderful site BlackBridalBliss.com.)

Here are two other cake tasting techniques.
An individual artist's palette so you can assemble your own signature cake. And a "mis en place" tray.

Lauren and Luke Williams of The Wedding Cafe offer lots of great tips on how and when to book your wedding cake tasting. And suggest you sip a lot of water as a palate cleanser between samples.
Great advice! So, we were prepared.
On a cold day in January, my daughter, her father, aunt and I, went to Classic Cakes for our tasting.

Like I had imagined for Neely's cake tasting in The Cake Therapist, Andrea's place was serene, calm, and pretty.

Andrea had that calm, quiet, orderly work space that pastry chefs have to have in order to concentrate.



And the cakes! Thirteen different combinations. . . .


Soon, it looked like this. . . .



Sarah chose a design.




Sarah liked the stucco finish of the buttercream frosting and the more rustic-looking, sort of architectural succulent plants (like hens and chickens) decorating the cake. 
We thought about using the vintage cake topper from my parents' 1948 wedding, but it was too fragile to sit on top of the cake (and be man-handled by servers later). This cake topper, however, has had a presence at all of our family weddings (just not on top of the cake).





And when it all came together--five different layers and flavors--it told a story of love and commitment, of two people starting a life together.
That's the power of cake.

The Cake Therapist: Strawberry Shortcut Cake with Basil Whipped Cream

Doesn't this look delicious?

A really good strawberry shortcake is one of the delights of summer. 
You can make it patriotic, for the Fourth of July, with the addition of blueberries.
And you can make it taste really wonderful with basil-infused whipped cream, which is easy to do. You just warm cream, add basil leaves, cover and let the basil infuse with the cream. Strain out the leaves, chill the cream, then whip it when you're ready to serve.
I have never been a big fan of biscuit-like shortcake, which either goes dry or soggy way too easily. When my sister Julie Fox sent me this shortcut cake recipe, adapted from one by Paul and Gina Neely, I was eager to to try it after she described how easy the spongy yellow cake was to cut in half and how delicious the strawberries were with it. A little hint of fresh basil in the whipped cream makes it all come together.

Strawberry Shortcut Cake with Basil Whipped CreamAdapted from Bake Happy (Running Press, 2015)Makes 1 (8-inch) cakeBasil Whipped Cream:1/4 cup (30 g) packed fresh basil leaves1 cup (250 ml) heavy or whipping cream3 tablespoons confectioners’ sugarShortcut Cake:1 cup (125 g) unbleached all-purpose flour3/4 cup (170 g) granulated sugar1 teaspoon  baking powder1/2 teaspoon salt4 tablespoons (57 g) unsalted butter, melted1 large egg, beaten1/2 cup (125 ml) whole milk1 teaspoon vanilla extractRosy Strawberry Filling:1 pound (500 g) fresh strawberries (reserve 5 berries for garnish)1 cup bottled strawberry syrup2 teaspoons rosewater Garnish:Fresh basil or other herb leaves, for garnishFor the Basil Whipped Cream, combine the basil leaves and cream in a saucepan over medium-high heat. Heat until bubbles form around the perimeter of the pan. Remove from the heat, cover, and let infuse for 30 minutes. Strain out the basil leaves and refrigerate the flavored cream until ready to whip.Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Butter the bottom and sides of an 8-inch cake pan. Line it with a parchment paper circle, butter the paper, and dust the pan with flour. Tap out the excess flour.
For the Shortcut Cake, whisk the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt together in a medium bowl. Whisk in the butter, egg, milk, and vanilla until almost smooth (there can be small lumps). Pour the batter into the prepared pan.Bake for 22 to 25 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool the cake in the pan on a wire rack for 10 minutes. Using a knife, loosen the cake from the sides of the pan and invert onto a wire rack to cool completely.
For the Rosy Strawberry Filling, set aside 5 strawberries for the garnish. Hull and chop the remaining strawberries finely. Heat the syrup in a medium saucepan over medium-high heat until bubbling at the edges. Add the strawberries and cook, stirring, for 2 to 3 minutes or until the berries are slightly warm and glisten. Stir in the rosewater. If you like, you can mash them a little bit. Set aside to cool for 10 minutes.
To assemble the cake, cut the cake in half horizontally, using a serrated knife. Begin to cut the cake in half until you reach the center of the cake, then turn it a quarter turn and keep cutting and turning until you reach your original cut mark. Use the knife to help separate the layers. 
Place the bottom layer, cut side up, on a cake plate. Spread with the strawberry mixture. Top with the remaining layer, cut-side down. Arrange the strawberry garnish on top of the cake.
Whip the flavored cream with confectioners’ sugar until soft peaks form.  Dollop the whipped cream on each slice and garnish with fresh basil or other herb leaves.
And where do you find a novel to read and more delicious, aromatic, colorful, happy recipes to enjoy?
The Cake Therapist
Bake Happy

The Cake Therapist: Seersucker Lemon-Blueberry Cake Roll

When you're yearning for spring or want to cool off on a hot June day, the Cake Therapist has just the dessert. In the novel, my pastry chef character Neely features blueberry and lemon as signature flavors for March. She knows we're all yearning for warm weather after the bluster and cold of winter.

But here it is June. It's 95 degrees in the shade in Kansas City. Blueberry season. 

And I want a fresh-tasting lemon and blueberry cake roll with summery seersucker stripes.

I have made my fair share of cake rolls over the years. Some very time consuming, some that stuck to the pan, some that wouldn't roll up. For a supposedly easy cake, there were issues.

Until I found this one.


This recipe is the essence of cake therapy, of baking happy. 

You start out with a template recipe that really works. 

You choose flavors that convey easy-going, fresh, summer--fresh lemon and blueberry. 

You add color and whimsy (check out those seersucker stripes!).

And then you invite people over or take the cake roll to a meeting for others to enjoy. 
This cake roll is also easy to make, in stages, and to roll up. The cake itself (based on the Japanese Deco Roll cake) is very supple, but the trick is to following the timing exactly—7 minutes in the oven, 5 minutes to cool before spreading on the filling and rolling this up. 
Make this a polka dot cake, if you like, by piping dots instead of stripes. The only tricky part of this recipe is that the whole baking sheet needs to go in your freezer for the stripes to set for 30 minutes.
Here is a fun video from blogger Raiza Costa on how to make the cake roll (she did a Valentine's Day version, but the process is the same).  
I have adapted it for Bake Happy, and you'll be happy to make it, show it off, and, even better, taste it!




Seersucker Lemon Blueberry Cake RollDuring the holidays, some bakers like to make a pumpkin cake roll or the fancier bûche de Noël, or Yule log cake roll. But there is a lot to be said for a summery version, too, in stripes of pale yellow and deeper blue. With a blueberry-studded lemon-scented filling, this cake has the look and taste of summer. Adapted from a recipe idea from Raiza Costa, who blogs at Dulce Delight.Makes 1 cake roll to serve 8
Lemon Blueberry Filling:1 (8-ounce/226 g) package cream cheese, at room temperature3 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature1 cup (120 g) confectioners’ sugar2 teaspoons freshly grated lemon zest1 1/2 cups/300 g fresh or frozen blueberries
Confectioners’ sugar, for dusting
Blueberry Stripes:2 large egg whites2 tablespoons granulated sugar2 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature 2/3 cup (75 g) unbleached all-purpose flour, or more, if necessaryBlue and black gel food coloring
Lemon Cake Roll:4 large egg whites1 teaspoon cream of tartar1/2 cup plus 1 tablespoon (112 g) granulated sugar, divided4 large egg yolks5 tablespoons (45 g) unsalted butter, melted3/4 cup (85 g) unbleached all-purpose flour
1 pint (300 g) fresh blueberries, plus more for garnishMint sprigs, for garnish
Line a 17 by 11-inch baking sheet with parchment paper; set aside. For the Lemon Blueberry Filling, place the cream cheese, butter, confectioners’ sugar, and lemon zest in a food processor and process until smooth and creamy. Set aside.Arrange a piece of parchment paper on a flat work surface and dust with confectioner’s sugar.For the Blueberry Stripes, whisk the egg whites, sugar, butter, and flour together until smooth and thick. Color with gel food coloring until you get a dark blue. Put the mixture in a squirt bottle with a 1/8 to  1/4-inch opening at the tip. Squirt squiggly blueberry stripes, about 1 inch apart, across the short side and down the length of the prepared baking sheet. Transfer the baking sheet to the freezer and let the stripes set for 30 minutes.When ready to bake, preheat the oven to 400°F (200°C). Beat the egg whites with the cream of tartar until foamy in a large bowl with an electric mixer. Beat on medium speed until soft peaks form. Then add half of the sugar (5 tablespoons/75 ml), 1 tablespoon at a time, beating on high speed, until white, billowy peaks form. Set aside.In a medium mixing bowl, whisk the egg yolks, with the remaining 4 tablespoons sugar, melted butter, and flour together until smooth. Add half of the beaten egg whites and fold them in with a spatula or large metal spoon until the color is uniform. Add the rest of the beaten egg whites and fold until the color is uniform.Remove the baking sheet with the blueberry stripes from the freezer. Spoon the cake batter over the stripes in a thin layer. Smooth the batter with an offset spatula or flour scraper. Using your forefinger, make a clean channel along the perimeter of the cake batter so that the batter does not touch the sides of the pan.Bake for 7 minutes or until the cake feels firm when you press it in the middle and the edges are just starting to turn golden.Immediately invert the cake onto the confectioner’s sugar-dusted parchment paper. Peel off the parchment paper from the top of the cake and discard. Place a new sheet of parchment paper over the cake. Holding the cake at both ends, carefully and quickly turn the cake over again and peel off the parchment so that the confectioner’s sugar-dusted side is up. Let cool for 5 minutes.Spread the cake with the filling and sprinkle with blueberries. Starting with a short side, carefully and firmly roll up the cake.To serve, transfer the cake to a platter and serve with a scattering a blueberries and fresh mint sprigs. If necessary, trim the ends a little bit with a serrated or cake knife to make a more attractive cake roll.

The Cake Therapist: How to Kickstart Creativity

Cake doesn't always mean big layer cake.

"Cake" can mean cupcakes, cakelets, a snack cake, or the soft and cake-like texture of a tender sugar cookie, madeleine, or brownie.



Whatever size or shape you make it, "cake" is a great vehicle for adding a little color and flavor to your life.In The Cake Therapist, my debut novel, the main character Neely uses flavor--and her baked goods--to propel her bakery customers and wedding cake clients through the year. 


Take-charge coffee and chocolate at the start of the new year, blood orange and raspberry that together create a romantic and aromatic coral color in February, and so on.Flavor, color, and aroma can also be wonderful ways to kickstart creativity. 
(And I needed every iota of creativity I could muster, writing a novel, a barbecue cookbook, and a baking cookbook that are all out at the same time!)Here's how I discovered the secret.

“There has to be a better way!” I said to myself. I was at a brainstorming meeting. To help us along, the group brought out a plastic tray full of pallid sugar cookies that tasted as uninteresting as they looked. One tiny bite and I was all out of ideas. I went home and took out my little bottle of Aura Cacia “Creative Juice,” a blend of non-culinary essential oils that includes bergamot, citrus, and cardamom. I opened the bottle and sniffed its wonderful aroma. The light bulb went on, and the result is these soft sugar cookies, flavored with cardamom and topped with an orange glaze and a sweet gremolata of citrus zest, fresh mint or orange mint, and natural sugar (which has a larger crystal than granulated sugar). The Cake Therapist would definitely approve.

Creativity Kickstarters

The final touch to this soft, glazed sugar cookie is an aromatizing gremolata with citrus zest, orange mint, and natural granulated sugar that practically shouts “fresh and new.” The cardamom in the cookie itself follows and then lingers on the taste buds a bit. If the ideas don’t flow after that, it’s not my fault.

Adapted from Bake Happy (Running Press, 2015) by Judith Fertig.

Makes about 36 cookies

Soft Sugar Cookie Dough:23/4 cups (335 g) unbleached all-purpose flour1/2 teaspoon baking soda1/4 teaspoon salt1/2 cup (121 g) sour cream, at room temperature 1/2 cup (113 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature1 cup (200 g) granulated sugar1 large egg1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract1 tablespoon ground cardamom

Orange Glaze:1 cup (120 g) confectioners’ sugar1 teaspoon orange zest3 tablespoons orange juice

Sweet Orange Mint Gremolata:1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh orange mint or mint leaves 1/2 teaspoon orange zest 1/2 teaspoon lemon zest1/4 cup (50 g) natural granulated sugarPreheat the oven to 350°F (180°C). Line two large baking sheets with parchment paper and set aside.

For the cookies, whisk the flour, baking soda, and salt together in a medium bowl. In a large bowl, cream the sour cream, butter, and sugar together with an electric mixer until light and fluffy, about 5 minutes.  Beat in the egg, vanilla, and cardamom. With the mixer on low speed, mix in the dry ingredients, a third at a time, until you have a smooth, soft dough. Pinch off a 1 tablespoon-sized ball of dough, roll gently in your hands and flatten into a 1-inch thick disc. Place each disc 11/2 inches apart on the prepared baking sheets.Bake for 7 to 9 minutes or until just firm to the touch and slightly golden at the edges. Let cool in the pans.


For the Orange Glaze, whisk the confectioners’ sugar, orange zest and juice together until smooth. Turn each cookie upside down and dip the top in the glaze. Turn upright and place on the baking sheet again to dry. 




For the Gremolata, muddle the orange mint , citrus zests, and sugar with a muddler or with the handle of wooden spoon in a medium bowl until the sugar is suffused with color and aroma.  




Sprinkle the gremolata on the glazed cookies and leave until the glaze has set, about 30 minutes.  Store in an airtight container for up to 3 days.

Recipe from Bake Happy, where many more recipes with flavor, color, aroma, and more await!

The Cake Therapist's Strawberry Cake

My daughter is getting married in two weeks.

I get a little teary-eyed just thinking about it.

Planning this wedding has been such an unexpected gift. Not that the wedding was unexpected or the groom or the day or the dress. What has surprised and delighted me is the pleasure my daughter and I have both have taken in the planning. No hissy fits. No spats (except over her desire--nixed by me--to wear Thom's canvas shoes under her exquisite lace dress). But we joke about that.

I have new admiration for my daughter's gift of looking at things in a clear, what's-important-here? fashion. 

The time we have spent together working on this big project is precious to me. We have always loved and appreciated each other, but planning the wedding has brought this into sharper focus but also diffused this into a happy, golden light that I'd love to capture and keep. But I know it's fleeting.

Her life will change. She'll be married. Have a bigger house some day. And children. 

So this time, for me, is like a sunny summer's day when everything is possible.

Can that feeling be translated into flavor? I think so.

It reminds me of a crucial scene in The Cake Therapist (debuts June 2) in which Neely brings three people together who knew each other in childhood but have been estranged. It's a taste of the strawberry cake she brought that takes them back to those sunny, summer days and unlocks the past.


When I was working on The Cake Therapist, I was also working on a cookbook, Bake Happy. So when I wondered what a sunny summer day might taste like, I went into the kitchen and conjured the flavor of sun-kissed, juicy berries with a slight floral aroma.

Strawberries with a little sugar and just a touch of rosewater to bring out their berry-ness.

You can make the one-bowl cake like this one, above, and dress the cake casually with more sweetened and rose watered berries and a little fresh mint or orange mint.

Or you can make it more traditionally, as the cake on the cover of Bake Happy.


First, conjure the flavor with an easy syrup.Rosy Strawberry SyrupAdapted from Bake Happy by Judith Fertig.Once you’ve tasted the tiny strawberries known as frais de bois, you’re spoiled for life. Adapted from a recipe by the late, great Lee Bailey, this aromatic syrup adds frais de boisflavor to fresh strawberries. This recipe also works for raspberries, black raspberries, and blackberries. It looks like a lot of rosewater in this recipe, but it’s just enough.Makes 11/2 cups (375 ml)8 ounces (250 g) strawberries, hulled and sliced1/2 cup (100 g) granulated or raw sugar1 cup (250 ml) water1 tablespoon rosewater1/2 teaspoon freshly squeezed lemon juiceCombine the strawberries, sugar, and water in a medium saucepan over medium-high heat and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium low and simmer for 20 minutes. Remove from the heat and stir in the rosewater. Strain the syrup through a fine sieve into a bowl; discard the solids. Stir in the lemon juice. Let cool, then use right away or cover and store in the refrigerator for up to 1 week.So Happy TogetherRed berries + Rosewater You might think that adding rosewater to fruit might result in an experience like “being pressed to your auntie’s perfumed cleavage,” as Niki Segnit so memorably writes in The Flavor Thesaurus: Pairings, Recipes and Ideas for the Creative Cook. But you would be wrong. With strawberries, raspberries, and red currants, rosewater adds “an unfathomable background note,” Segnit explains. To me, the combined flavor is of sun-warmed berries, picked ripe and eaten on the spot.Strawberry Birthday CakeAdapted from Bake Happy by Judith Fertig.Made with an easy yet delicious one-bowl yellow cake, this birthday cake is the traditional American layer confection with a twist. Strawberry syrup colors as well as flavors the buttercream frosting, evoking lazy summer childhood days. You can also make a blueberry, raspberry, blackberry, or passion fruit version simply by using a different syrup and fruit for the filling. Add colored sprinkles to the top and sides, unfurl a homemade cake bunting across the top of the cake, and the kid in anyone will be happy. Or, if you wish, double the amount of berries and keep sliced strawberries to use as the cake topping, sweetened with a little sugar and flavored with a little drop of rosewater.Makes one 8-inch (3-layer) cakeStrawberry Birthday Cake:Baking spray3 cups (285 g) unbleached all-purpose flour, sifted2 cups (500 g) granulated or raw sugar11/2 tablespoons baking powder1 1/2 teaspoons salt3/4 cup (170 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature11/2 cups (375 ml) whole milk11/2 teaspoons vanilla extract3 large eggsFlavored Syrup Buttercream Frosting  made with Rosy Strawberry Syrup (above), prepared1 pint (250 g) fresh strawberries, hulled and finely choppedColored sprinkles for garnishPreheat the oven to 350°F (180°C). Spray the inside of three (8-inch) cake pans with baking spray and set aside.For the Strawberry Birthday Cake, sift the flour sugar, baking powder, and salt together in a large mixing bowl. Add the butter, milk, and vanilla and beat with an electric mixer on medium speed for 3 to 4 minutes, occasionally scraping down the sides of the bowl. Add the eggs and beat again at medium speed for 3 more minutes or until well blended, occasionally scraping down the sides of the bowl. Spoon the batter into the prepared pans.Bake for 25 to 28 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool in the pans for 10 minutes, then invert the cake layers onto cooling racks. Let cool completely.
To assemble the cake, save the most domed layer for the top. Place the flattest layer on a serving plate, spread with 1/2 cup (125 ml) frosting, and scatter with half of the strawberries. Place another layer on top, frost with another 1/2 cup (125 ml) frosting, and scatter with the remaining half of the strawberries. Place the third layer on top and frost again. Using an offset spatula, frost the sides of the cake with half of the remaining frosting. Sprinkle colored sprinkles on the top and partially down the sides of the frosted cake.
Flavored Syrup Buttercream FrostingIt’s great to have flavoring and sweetening all in one to create a signature cake frosting. A take on the traditional American buttercream made with butter, confectioners’ sugar, and a liquid, this tastes fabulous made with Rosy Strawberry Syrup  on Strawberry Birthday Cake Makes enough for a three-layer cake2 cups (454 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature1 teaspoon vanilla extract1 cup (250 ml) Rosy Strawberry Syrup or 71/2 cups (940 g) confectioners’ sugarIn a medium bowl, beat the butter with an electric mixer  , about 5 minutes. Mix in the vanilla and syrup, and then beat in the confectioner’s sugar, 1 cup at a time, until thick, fluffy and well blended. Use right away or cover and refrigerate for up to 3 days. Let come to room temperature before using.

Sneak Peak at The Cake Therapist

The Cake Therapist, my first novel, debuts on June 2.

Here's a little taste to whet your appetite. 

Spoiler Alert. . . This novel is like a sweet cupcake with a dark, secret filling. It's a story told in the present tense, with flashbacks. But rest assured, it all comes together at the end.

If you like what you read, there is more to enjoy at your favorite bookstore or amazon.com. I'll make it easy for you to pre-order with a link at the bottom of the page!


Prologue
December
The windows at Macy’s were dressed in the usual high-wattage holiday fanfare, and the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Plaza twinkled as valiantly as ever. But for me, December had been gray and blah, like suffering through the end of a cold when you couldn’t taste anything.
Instead of hurrying down Fifth Avenue with shopping bags full of gifts, I was hauling my life away from Brooklyn in a rental truck.
Good-bye, New York.
Slow and steady, careful not to take sharp turns, I made my way out of the city. Past the brownstones in my neighborhood and the concrete, glass, and steel downtown. Past the stone barns and Victorian farmhouses in Pennsylvania. Up and down the stark hills of West Virginia.
When I finally hit I-70 at the Ohio border in the ink-black night, I pulled off in a truck stop, just to rest my eyes, and ended up sleeping for a few fitful hours.
When I woke up, groggy and stiff, the light was gray again.
I filled the gas tank and poured bad truck-stop coffee, the kind that was so weak that someone could have just murmured “coffee” over a cup of hot water and it would have tasted the same. But it was better than nothing.
At the next Starbucks in St. Clairsville, I got a triple-shot latte and one of their cinnamon scones. Even the jolt of coffee and spice couldn’t nudge my taste meter off “Dull.” I guess I had to accept that for now.
Driving through the rolling farmland of central Ohio, I let my mind wander as I kept my eyes on the road.
It wasn’t often that I had difficulty tasting something. Flavor was the way people like me made sense of the world.
We knew that there was a flavor that explained you—even to yourself. A flavor whose truth you recognized when you tasted it. A flavor that answered the question you didn’t know you had.
Perhaps it was a voluptuous vanilla that your sharp-edged self could sink into like a pillow. Or homesick pomegranate, each seed like a ruby slipper that would take you back to the place where you were loved and where people had missed you.
That’s where I was going. If only I could taste it.
By the time I reached Columbus and headed south on I-71, I knew I was only two hours from home.
Unlike other aging factory towns around it, Millcreek Valley was reinventing itself as a bridal district. Now in the small 1840s brick cottages, two-story Italianate storefronts, shotgun-style houses, and a smattering of nondescript sixties modern brick-and-chrome buildings, you could find lingerie, bridal gown, tuxedo, and honeymoon travel shops. Wedding planners like my high school friend, Roshonda Taylor, had customers who traveled from three states away. The old brick five-and-dime had become an upscale boutique, selling Vera Wang and Monique Lhuillier gowns.
And that was why I was opening my bakery there. Well, one of the reasons. I wanted a destination place with a ready-madeIn the bridal business, everyone knew that December was the biggest month for engagements. In January, those happy brides-to-be would start planning their weddings, so we had to be open by the first Saturday, when hordes of mothers and daughters would crowd the sidewalks, shivering from shop to shop.
And the second reason? I needed a project. A big project.
Anything to help me forget I had nowhere else to go and nothing else to do.When I finally pulled up to the stoplight on Millcreek Valley Road, ready to turn down Benson Street, I gave myself a long, hard stare in the rearview mirror.
I had inherited my father’s dark auburn hair along with his green eyes. But I also got my mother’s unruly curl, so my hair had a tendency to escape a topknot or ponytail every chance it got. Today was no exception.
I was only thirty-two, but I thought I looked older. Much older. Sleeping in a truck stop in the middle of nowhere on a cold night will do that to you. I pinched my cheeks for color and put on a quick swath of lipstick. I was no primper, but there was something really depressing about looking as drab as you felt. As my aunt Helen often said, “Fake it till you make it.”
That was the corollary to Millcreek Valley’s unwritten rule: Work hard and don’t complain. People here put a premium on niceness and disapproved of moaning and groaning. Especially on Sunday.
As I pulled into the parking lot of my soon-to-be bakery right next to my soon-to-be house, I saw Roshonda across the street, opening the front door of Jump the Broom. I waved at her, thankful that my good friend was now my business neighbor, then jumped out of the truck.
We met in the middle of Benson Street in a big hug, then walked arm in arm back to the parking lot.
“Well, you still look like the same Claire O’Neil I knew in high school, thank goodness. I’m so glad you didn’t go all big-city glam on me. I really missed you, sweetie,” she said, holding on tight. “And now that you’re back for good, we can remind the people in this one-horse town how sophisticated thinkers have fun.”
“Yes, of course.” I nodded with mock solemnity. “Like the time we wrapped ourselves in Christmas tree lights, plugged ourselves in, and danced in front of my house?”
“People still keep asking me, ‘When is the next Festival of the Dancing Lights?’”
“Or when we bribed the opposing women’s softball team with coffee-toffee bars?”
“Strike out, fly out, just get yourself out; then you get a cookie. That was the deal.”“I’m surprised we didn’t get kicked out.”
“We saved that for later. We can get ourselves kicked out of lots of places now.”
We both laughed and knew that wasn’t about to happen. We talked a good game, but we were both Goody Two-shoes at heart. When other people in your family chose to be bad, somebody else had to be good. That didn’t mean we didn’t have a yen for bad boys who always messed us around. You’d think Goody Two-shoes would be smarter than that, but then they’d have to call us Smarty Two-shoes, and have you ever heard of one? No.
“I got you a welcome-home gift,” Roshonda said. “It was too heavy to carry, so I had them put it on your front porch.”
We walked past the bakery to Gran’s old house, the one that I was fixing up for myself since Gran now lived in Mount Saint Mary’s memory care wing. A fresh coat of dark gray paint and cream trim had the shotgun-style house looking pretty good. I spotted Roshonda’s gift on the wide front porch, right by the black front door—one of the concrete geese that everyone around here wanted as yard art so they could dress them up in outfits for almost any occasion or season. This one wore a chef’s hat and a baker’s apron. There was a gaggle of concrete geese in the parking lot of Hodapp Hardware on Millcreek Valley Road keeping watch over the town, but none of them ever laid that golden egg as far as I could tell.
Maybe mine would be different. I checked underneath.
“Bad news. No egg,” I told Roshonda.
She looked, too. “Good news. No goose poop.”
I unlocked the front door. Roshonda and I went inside the house, which was just waiting to be filled with all the stuff I had in my truck.
We walked from the front parlor to the dining room and back to the kitchen, then upstairs to see the two bedrooms and home office on the second floor. The new bed and upholstered headboard that I had ordered online were already set up in the largest bedroom.
“It’s beautiful. Fresh and quiet and calm. It feels good in this house,” Roshonda said.
“I can’t wait to move in. Gavin did a great job.” Our high school friend Gavin Nichols had begun his career in the art department of a large advertising agency in Chicago and then quickly charmed his way into a coveted in-house marketing vice presidency at Quaker. But, after spending some time climbing the executive tree in brand management, Gavin began to feel hamstrung by corporate life. A couple of years ago, he announced to us he was chucking everything to start his own space planning and interior design business back in Millcreek Valley. Oatmeal’s loss was my gain. Of course, the rumor was that Gavin had also left a serious relationship. Still, we knew not to pry; he’d tell us if he wanted us to know.
When I called Gavin to tell him I was closing things up in New York, he shouldered the massive renovation of Gran’s house without missing a beat. And he was also helping me revamp the Rainbow Cake building. I couldn’t wait to see that, either.
“Let’s bring in a few things, just to get you started.”
Roshonda helped me unload the handcart from the back of the truck and wheel a few boxes into the kitchen. She also wheeled in my two suitcases.
“When are the guys coming to move you in?”
“Not for another two hours.”
“Well, then let’s take a look at the bakery, shall we?”
Although Gavin had texted me photos as the work had progressed, it still wasn’t like seeing it in person. I hoped it looked as great as my house.
The simple truth was that I owed Gavin, bigI found the front door key in my purse, and we stepped inside the revamped storefront.When I turned the lights on, I felt like I had stepped inside a Tiffany’s box.
“Oh, Neely!” Roshonda said.
The walls were painted a robin’s egg blue. Antique wood-and-glass display cases had mottled milk chocolate–brown marble countertops. Antique iron-and-glass stands would make the future little cakes (under their glass domes) pop up and down the on the counter like jaunty hats.
From the top of the left wall of the bakery, Gavin had hung a canvas curtain and arranged a display area in front of it. Both the curtain and display would change each month—as would, of course, the colors and flavors we showcased. The idea was to sell not only cakes, but also cake stands, serving pieces, plates, paper napkins, and other goodies, so once your little cakes got home, they’d look as good as they did in my bakery. One-stop shopping.
On the right, Gavin had arranged a seating area with dark bentwood chairs and café tables. It looked like a tea salon in Paris.
I sighed with delight.
But I wanted to see where I would spend most of my time.
The work and storage areas were screened off in the back, although I would have been happy to show off my two Vulcan convection ovens-on-wheels and the big stainless steel worktable with the cool marble slab at one end for chocolate work.
The calm milk-chocolate plaster walls, stainless steel, and white marble made the workspace look like a shrine to the cake baker’s art. And I liked to think it was.
“Does this start to make up for everything else?” Leave it to Roshonda to get right to the point.
I nodded yes. I was too tired, too frazzled, to cry.
She offered to help me put things away, but I knew she was busy, too. And I wanted to get into this new life without distraction.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” she said. “Just text me if you need anything.”
As I unloaded the smaller boxes of bakery gear from the truck and started putting everything away, I had that soothing sense of making order out of chaos. Like reading a mystery novel and having everything tied up at the end.
But no matter how many whisks I hung on hooks or metal cookie cutters I put in plastic bins, there was still a hole in my heart. Two holes, in fact.
The old one had been shrinking. The new one was still ragged at the edges.

Chapter One
January
Dark Chocolate. Rich Coffee.
I didn’t know until I licked the mocha buttercream from my third devil’s food cupcake that this was the flavor of starting over—dark chocolate with that take-charge undercurrent of coffee.
I could actually taste it, feel it. And now I craved it.
Slowly, I was coming back to myself.
The past two weeks had gone by in a flash: packing up on a drizzly December day, driving from the East Coast to the Midwest, getting my house and then my new business set up. I yearned to curl up in front of my fireplace and just stare at the flames.
But here I was on yet another Sunday, getting ready for a soft opening by next weekend. Everything was a fast-paced blur on the outside of my life, but inside, where it counted, I was back in working order. I could taste.
At the moment, I needed a quick break from the sensory overload in the bakery, which held every color, aroma, and flavor of the past few days of frenzied production. I had once read about a Montreal baker who developed a perfume she called “Wheat Siren,” inspired by the aroma and flavor of sweet things baking. Even though my own muse seemed to be plodding in chef’s clogs rather than sashaying in Jimmy Choo’s, the full-body allure of the kitchen had returned to me with emphasis. Years ago, during my very first weeks of pastry school, I had learned that too much of a good thing was still too much. So over time—and with some difficulty—I’d trained myself to step back and reassess at regular intervals. If only I had been as wise in my personal life.
Today, I decided I should step outside, even if it was January. Maybe the shock of the cold and a blast of winter wind would sharpen my focus.
I opened the front door of Rainbow Cake and, like a genie from a bottle, the warm bakery air escaped with me. All of those aromatized esters, the flavor bouquet that wine geeks described as they swirled and sniffed a glass of wine, spiraled out above the sidewalk along Benson Street.
I looked up to see the sun struggling behind a gray mass of snow clouds.
I could relate.
And then a beam of sunlight found a way through. A sign? Maybe.
But what was this? I gasped. The bakery esters had refracted into visible bands of flavor.
Red raspberry, orange, and the yellow of lemon and butter.
Pistachio, lime, and mint green.
The deepest indigo of a fresh blueberry.
The violet that blooms when crushed blackberries blend into buttercream.
The Roy G. Biv that a baker loves.
And then the darkness: chocolate, spice, coffee, and burnt sugar caramel.
Every flavor, I knew, was a shortcut to a feeling. Sorrow. Joy. Anticipation. Fear.
And every feeling was the heart of a story. And we all had a story.
Above me was a rainbow of stories. Maybe I could have a quick taste of one right now. . . .
Something purple. Mmmmmm. Plum.
Could a flavor be pleased with itself and its position in the world? That was plum. Not the sharp-flavored skin and the sweet flesh of a fresh plum, but more the concentrated flavor when the fruit was cooked down for a tart filling. Like the taste of port. In fact, I liked to pair plum and port together.
You won’t be able to wear your pretty gloves and eat one of Mrs. Skillman’s crullers; I can vouch for that.
Who said that? I turned around to look for the old-fashioned gentleman who had just spoken, but he wasn’t there. Never mind. My imagination was in overdrive, so I didn’t see what was coming.
“Watch the dog!”
Tiny, low-to-the-ground Mrs. Amici almost bowled me over as she walked her dog, Barney, down the sidewalk.
“Good morning to you, too, Mrs. Amici.” She looked deceptively sweet with her cotton-candy hair, faded pink parka, and aqua velour pants. But we all knew her bark was every bit as bad as her bite. Barney, half dachshund and half beagle, practically toppled over as he angled his long, tubular body to christen every parking meter and streetlight pole.“Hope you got enough people around here who can afford those fancy cakes,” she grumbled, and nodded up to Rainbow Cake’s colorful sign.
“I hope so, Mrs. Amici.”
“You’re not going to make it if you go around looking like that. You’ve got blue hands,” she pointed out. “And your hair hasn’t seen a comb since I don’t know when.”
“You’re right, Mrs. Amici,” I had to admit, wiping my hands on my white baker’s apron, for all the good it did. “A little frosting, that’s all. Robin’s egg blue is our signature color.”She tut-tutted, and her gaze went up to my face.
Did I have buttercream there, too? Probably. I quickly patted my face. I knew I still looked tired, as I had been working nonstop.
“If that’s how you ran around in New York City, no wonder you had to come home with your tail between your legs,” she added, with a mean chuckle. “Little Claire O’Neil. Or is it still Claire Davis? Miss I Can’t Wait to Get Out of This Dump. Oh, wait a minute—it’s Mrs. Big Shot running back home to her mother. Only thirtysomething and you’re already washed up. Don’t look so shocked. It has happened before, believe me.”
I gasped. Her sharpness started to work its way inside me like a splinter.
Lemon. I could just taste it. Above her head, a band of yellow seemed to separate from the rest of the flavor rainbow. As it went into free fall, enveloping us both, I could taste the crumb of a buttery lemon bar that got more and more puckery. Ehhhh.
“Whatever,” Mrs. Amici grunted at me, oblivious, and then hobbled along as Barney did his funny arabesque down the sidewalk.
The wind picked up.
Roshonda opened the front door of Jump the Broom to get the newspaper from her front stoop. “Whatever you’re baking up in there, Neely, it sure smells good,” she said. “Reminds me of my auntie’s tea cakes.”
“I’ll bring you something later,” I promised.
“Neely! We’re ready for January,” Gavin called from the bakery doorway.
The flavor rainbow was gone, and I went back inside where Gavin and the photographer were setting up the first digital shot. For the grand opening next weekend, I’d gone all out. My signature rainbow cake —layers of lavender, coral, lime green, lemon yellow, and raspberry pink cake frosted with our robin’s egg blue buttercream—provided the logo for the bakery sign, brochure, business cards, and website. We took that photo yesterday.
Like any bakery, we’d have the standard stuff—breakfast pastries and muffins, cinnamon rolls, coffee cakes, cakes, cookies, and more. But it was the monthly, flavor-themed specials that would, hopefully, bring customers back to try something new. It was a marketing idea that ice cream makers had been all over for years.
At Rainbow Cake, January’s special flavors would be dark chocolate and coffee, those pick-me-ups we all needed to start the day—or a new year. To me, their roasty-toasty flavors said that even if you only had a mere handful of beans and your life went up in flames, you could still create something wonderful.
A little trial by fire could do you good. After all, if it worked so well with raw cacao and coffee beans, it could work for others, including me. Or so I hoped.
I ran back to the workroom, where I had everything ready to go on my rolling cart of vertical shelves. I brought out the sweet, little pillowy kisses—the version of French macarons I call “polka dots” because they sort of dance in your mouth. Every month, our polka dots will highlight a new set of signature flavors and colors.
Same with the éclairs, which would be a weekend special. January’s éclairs would be filled with a coffee-flavored pastry cream and finished with a chocolate icing.Gavin arranged the paper-frilled mocha cupcakes with robin’s egg blue frosting and chocolate sprinkles. Sugar cookies individually decorated like snowflakes—each in a unique pattern of turquoise detailing dusted with a flurry of sugar crystals—as well as cookie mittens and ice skates. Chic bridesmaid’s sugar-cookie dresses painted in mocha and espresso. And a five-tiered wedding “cake” display of individual petit fours in pale aqua fondant dotted with dark chocolate.
I thought, again, how lucky I’d been—really. Rainbow Cake was the bakery I’d never have been able to afford in Manhattan, Brooklyn, or the Hamptons. At least, not on my own. While it was true that I had access to money back East, and lots of it, I never felt it was mine enough to spend.
I couldn’t have afforded Gavin in New York, either, so I’m doubly lucky he hasn’t accepted one of those job offers he’s always getting from either coast. His arrangement of platters, plates, and stands holding these little works of Rainbow Cake art against January’s chocolate-brown canvas backdrop looked as good as I knew everything tasted.
“We’ll have different color and flavor themes every month and use social media to announce them,” he told me a few weeks ago, visual and marketing genius that he was. “We’ll take all the digital photos at once, so you can use them for advertising and your website and for showing all those clients who will be lined up as soon as you open.” He talked even faster. “Then Williams-Sonoma will be calling. . . .”
It would take a village to get all of this done in time, in addition to the village already working at Rainbow Cake.
Jett Patterson was going to make all our specialty decorations, from piped roses and ribbons to marzipan fruits and sugar paste flowers, based on my designs but with her own special flair. She was the high school art student I hired to work for me afternoons and Saturdays when school started again. I was starting to think of her as “the Goth Van Gogh” on a good day or “Vampira” on a bad one. She took a little getting used to.
Maggie Lierman, my other close high school friend and now a much-put-upon single mom, would run the business.
Norb Weisbrod, tall, pale, and quiet, would be my baker, back of the house. He used to work at Gateaux, the European-style bakery in Queen City that specialized in elaborate cakes and petit fours. But he came out of retirement to work for me—and get away from Bonnie, his bitchy wife. He was also going to help with deliveries when I needed him.I’d do everything else—meet with clients, do wedding cake tastings, design and assemble the specialty cakes, generate new business, and oversee it all.
“Charming, utterly charming,” the reporter from Queen City Weddings  “Genius,” I wanted to correct her. Rainbow Cake was better than I could ever have imagined it. I sighed and gave Gavin a watery smile.
“Don’t say it,” Gavin warned. Like every guy I’d ever known, he was unsettled by the imminent threat of tears, especially female ones. “I owe you, remember? You don’t owe me.”
Gavin and I always looked out for each other. I had come to his aid several times in the past, especially in high school when his slight build occasionally made him a target for abuse from bigger guys. And while I wasn’t in the habit of keeping score between us, Gavin was the sort of person who remembered every kindness.
I smiled fondly at my old friend as he slid the curtain off the pole. Gone was January’s dark chocolate and coffee. Next up was February’s blood orange and raspberry.
Gavin climbed down the ladder and started arranging February’s display. “Before I forget and we’re too far into this, I’ve got something for you,” I told him. I ran to the workroom and brought out a pale turquoise box tied with a chocolate brown ribbon—Rainbow Cake’s signature wrapping for our high-style cakes.
“This doesn’t match our color scheme for February,” he grumbled.
“It’s a gift, you dope.” I pressed the box into his stomach. He read the card that said, “Thank you for helping me feather my new nest.” He opened the box and saw a tiny cake shaped like a bird’s nest in three small round layers of tender, browned butter-vanilla cake with an apricot filling. A “nest” border of piped rum and mocha buttercream enclosed a clutch of pale blue marzipan eggs and a sugar paste feather. The complicated yin and yang of rum and mocha, the “everybody loves” vanilla, Mr. Social white chocolate, tart and witty apricot, and artistic marzipan—all said “Gavin” to me.
“It looks too good to eat, Neely,” he said as he carefully took the cake out of the box, slid it onto a little white plate, and looked at it from all sides.
“Let’s get a casual shot of this quick,” he told the photographer. And click, click, it was done.
Then Gavin brought the cake closer to him and inhaled the aroma once, twice, three times. “I have to taste this.” He took a forkful, closed his eyes, and savored the tender cake, the smooth buttercream, the flavor energies I had animated just for him.
He breathed a sigh of pure pleasure. Then he looked at me, puzzled, as if I had seen into his deepest self. He ate a few more bites, nibbled each marzipan egg, and then breathed in, closing his eyes for a moment.
“I don’t know what you put in this, Neely, but I find it weird and wrong that you knew how much I needed it,” he said, eyes twinkling.
“I told you about the townhome rehab I’m doing for that cute Chicago couple, right?” He ate the last bit of the cake, plucking off the sugar paste feather, which he put playfully behind his ear.
“Well, they want everything clean and spare and monochromatic. But it just doesn’t fit them as people. They’re quirky and relaxed—and they’ve hated every beige and winter-white scheme I’ve designed. Even though my gut keeps telling me to go another way, I’ve been fighting my instincts in favor of what the clients think they want. It’s been driving me seriously nuts, if you want to know the truth.”
Gavin licked a stray bit of apricot from his fork. “But after one taste of this cake, the whole direction of the project is suddenly clear to me. I’m thinking a streamlined version of homey—maybe a palette of mostly cream with some turquoise and chocolate-colored accents that pop. And a mix of comfortable modern seating with some carefully selected, not-too-crenellated, art nouveau pieces . . .”
“You had me at ‘crenellated,’” I said, rolling my eyes.
He shot a wry look in my direction as his thoughts trailed off. “Hey, Neels, if this whole bakery thing doesn’t work out, you could always be a cake therapist.”
I smiled, and felt myself drifting off again. A cake therapist. Hmmmm.
“Uh-oh“You need caffeine, honey, and you need it bad.” Gavin ground the dark-roasted beans, tamped down the grounds into the holder, brewed the espresso, and steamed the milk. Then he handed me a latte, complete with a design in the froth.My new leaf.My smartphone began to brrrrrrrr in the pocket of my jeans. I looked at the text message. The 212 number and I Heart U  made my heart get back on that roller-coaster ride it had been trying to get off. “It’s just the caffeine,” I muttered to no one in particular, and walked back into the workroom to put March’s cakes on trays.


May 1908
Ben Nash and Ethel Parsons stepped out of the hansom cab that had taken them to the Plum Street dock in Queen City. The Aurora, a blunt-nosed wooden canal boat sitting low to the water, awaited them.
It was a cool spring morning, and thank goodness for that, as the oily brown water showed the flotsam of all the breweries, tanneries, pork barreling works, and paper mills that lined the canal and dumped into it—including a dead mule that had yet to be hauled out.
Ethel was tempted to put her handkerchief to her nose, but decided against it.
The two young people stood quietly, their minds on what they were there to do. On the ride up the Miami and ErieCanal to the Simms & Taylor cotton mill and mattress factory in Lockton, they would show their drawings for brocade mattress covers that could be in the next Sears, Roebuck catalogue. The 1909 mail-order book would offer even more products to outfit the popular Sears homes that could be assembled from a kit.
Ben and Ethel had come by train from New York City, staying at the grandiose Alms & DoepkeHotel downtown, all expenses paid by Pearson & Associates, the forward-thinking design firm that had gone out on a limb to hire a woman. Ben had received strict instructions to do most of the talking, unless George Taylor asked Ethel a direct question. Nash was also to keep an eye on her, as a young woman staying unchaperoned at a hotel was not, of course, ideal.
Ethel, in a crisp Gibson Girl shirtwaist under a gray serge jacket and long skirt, her blond hair bundled up under a broad-brimmed black straw hat, thought about her older sister designing jewelry in Boston’s Nob Hill. Like her sister, Ethel was determined to succeed. She tucked her flat black portfolio up under her left arm. Ethel hoped she could convince the men of Simms & Taylor that her designs would appeal to working-class women who, after all, dreamed of domestic beauty like their upper-class sisters, but lacked as much wherewithal to make that dream happen.
Ethel held out her right hand, unbuttoned and removed her gray glove—no true lady went about without gloves—and once more admired the ring her sister had made for her: a pretty sapphire surrounded by tiny gold leaves and seed pearls. Then she polished it against her skirt for good luck and put her glove back on.
Rounding the corner, three men in bowler hats and stiff-collared shirts strode toward the young people.
“Great morning for our little trip up to Lockton, Miss Parsons and Mr. Nash.” The oldest-looking man nodded to them, tipping his hat to Ethel. He looked like a port-drinking gentleman, she assessed quickly, and she envisioned a well-run household with a potted palm in the front bay window of the parlor and maids in black dresses and white pinafores.
“George Taylor, at your service.”
She extended her gloved hand to shake his, but he gallantly raised her hand to his lips and gave it a courtly peck. Ethel blushed as she withdrew her hand, then blushed at the thought that she had blushed to begin with.
Mr. Taylor smiled benignly at her, eyes twinkling, then informed the group, “We’ve asked the captain’s wife to come along and make us coffee. She’s also frying her famous crullers.” The Simms & Taylor men’s eyes widened in delight. Taylor turned back to Ethel. “You won’t be able to wear your pretty gloves and eat one of Mrs. Skillman’s crullers; I can vouch for that.” She blushed yet again as all three men chuckled.
She stole a look at Ben, and he was smiling, too, not annoyed, so all was well.The Simms & Taylor men led the way onto the short deck of the squat canal boat, then down the three steps into the hold, where a large enameled coffeepotsat on a small cast-iron stove. Mrs. Skillman, a rawbonedwoman in a long dark dress covered by a striped pinafore-style apron, smiled uncertainly. The little, low-ceilinged room smelled of coffee and frying, the welcome aroma of breakfast.
When everyone was seated, Captain Skillman roared the motor into life. It then quieted to a steady hum, and the boat slowly chugged upstream.
Taylor gave the two designers a bit of the company history, from their beginnings in the 1840s making special-order carriage upholstery in Queen City, to their expanded mill and factory fifteen miles north up the canal in Lockton. It was the modern Lockton mill that the boating party was now on the way to visit.
Ethel took out her sketches and arranged them on the gateleg table in the center of the small room.
Mrs. Skillman served the coffee in cups and saucers. She gave each person a starched and ironed napkin, then passed a basket of cinnamon sugar–dusted crullers, still warm from the lard in which she’d fried them.
For the next two hours, they sat around the table talking rosebuds, filigree, vines, and scrolls versus more classical acanthus leaves and urns. Ethel had brought several sepia wedding photos of working-class couples, borrowed from a photographer friend.
At first, the Simms & Taylor men saw only the unsmiling couples, looking straight into the camera, rigidly posed in their best clothing. But, as Ethel explained, this might be the only photo they would ever have taken of themselves, and they wanted it to be respectful, dignified. There was the requisite formal chair, with either the bride or the groom seated and the other standing. There was a suggestion of a Persian carpet on the floor. A bouquet of flowers. The bride’s hand posed to show the ring, no matter how modest.
“They want better than what they’ve had,” Ethel commented. “If you look closer at the dresses, you’ll notice lace, satiny stripes, dressmaker details like bows and those tiny rosebuds sewn from ribbon.” She pointed to several photos and the rosebuds just visible on the trim of a sleeve or a bodice. “These women may live in tenements, but they dream of gardens.”
Ben sat quietly. Ethel had prepared well and the men seemed to respect that. Ben’s job was matching the aesthetic to the technical—could these designs be woven, with an eye for the bottom line, on a factory loom? Would the design work for a mattress cover?
As Mrs. Skillman poured another round of coffee, Ethel boldly asked her, “Which design do you like best, ma’am?”
The men looked at one another. Why ask this poor woman?
“Oh, I’m sure I couldn’t say,” the captain’s wife murmured as she noticed their puzzled frowns, backing away from the table.
And then it dawned on them. She was a working-class woman—their customer.
George Taylor motioned her back. “I’m going to give you twenty-five dollars.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out bills secured with an engraved money clip.
Mrs. Skillman looked uneasy. “You’re very generous, to be sure, sir.” It was more than the Skillmans usually made in a week.
“I’m paying you for your opinion, Mrs. Skillman,” George explained. “If you were going to buy something for your home with that money,” Taylor said, talking with his hands, “maybe it’s wallpaper, curtains, a divan—”
“Or a mattress,” one of the men joked.
“In one of these patterns,” Taylor continued, “which one would you buy? It’s important that we know. Very important. You would be helping us quite a bit.”
“All right, sir, if you put it that way.”
“Now, have a look at these,” he said, motioning her to look over the drawings. Mrs. Skillman considered each one in her methodical way. She wiped her hands on her apron, then pointed with a blunt, work-roughened finger to the design with the most flowers—climbing roses on classical pillars against a background of scrollwork.
The men looked at one another, at Ethel, and they all nodded. Taylor gave the money to Mrs. Skillman, who didn’t know whether to bow or curtsy, and so did a bit of each before nervously stuffing the bills in her apron pocket.
“Ben?” Taylor asked.
“The looms can handle it,” he said. “Might take a week or so to set the pattern, but the design should work.”
Now that one of the designs was settled, they looked over the other sketches to choose two more.
Mrs. Skillman was gathering up the last of the coffee cups when a sharp crack of thunder cleaved through the conversation. They all turned to look out the small eyebrow windows and saw an ominously darkened sky.
The boat seemed to shudder to a stop before the lock, which could gradually take a canal boat from a lower to a higher level of water before proceeding north to Lake Erie. But The Aurora would simply turn around and make its halfheartedtrip back down to Plum Street.
Captain Skillman jumped down from the captain’s berth onto the old towpath while his boy tied up the boat with a thick loop of rope.
“Let’s finish this up at the factory,” said Taylor, rising from the table.
They gathered up their belongings in a rush. Ethel’s gloves fell on the floor, but she didn’t notice.
This time, the captain handed Ethel up to the shelter of a large black umbrella, held by the factory foreman. She had just enough time to take a quick glance across the canal. The chimneys from the paper mill and the asphalt shingle factory sent smoke up into the heavy air.
Rain began to fall like dirty net curtains.
The foreman walked to her left, nearest the canal, gripping her elbow. They hurried to the mattress factory, which was looming like a fortress.
When the foreman stopped suddenly on the towpath to navigate around a murky puddle, Ethel peered up again at the coal-darkened brick building. The factory’s massive five stories rose like Sleeping Beauty’s castle under the enchantment of a dark fairy, she mused. It was surrounded, not by a thorny thicket as in the fairy tale, but by a darker spell that Ethel sensed, but could not see: cotton dust, coal smoke, and tiny filaments of asbestos.
Close to the lock, the wind spun around, pelting them from the other side with cold rain. Her wet hands quickly reddened and numbed.
Ethel hoped her petticoat and skirt weren’t ruined. But she couldn’t ruck up her skirt and hold on to the foreman and her sketches, all at the same time. As she tucked her portfolio higher up under her right arm, Ethel didn’t feel the ring loosen, slip from her fingers, and disappear into the mud.





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