Strawberries Part 4 — (Not So) Perfect Génoise and French Strawberry Cake

Yes, well, there is no need to be rude about it.  I'm well aware of the fact that my French Strawberry Cake looks far from elegant (as the recipe promises), and just plain wonky — excuse me, I mean rustic.  This was even my second attempt, if you can believe it.  As we sat to the table eating the first attempt, Michael says to me, 'what kind of crust is this?'  Of course I completely let loose and told him off.  'There is no crust!  It just cake, OK!  A very difficult and rather testy cake, in case you were wondering, not that you were.  And if you think you're so smart then make the damned thing yourself!  Hmpf!'  Or something like that anyway.  And if some of those words were left out of the actual exchange, then I can promise you that they were on the forefront of my thoughts.  I mean, really.  Crust?  For hell's sake.

Anyway, if you happen to find yourself thumbing through Baking With Julia, the ever so marvelous cookbook (and telly show) that Julia Child hosted once upon a time, then you will find yourself stumbling across the recipe for Génoise, or The Perfect Génoise, as it is called.  Apparently anybody who fancies themselves to know anything about cooking at all can whip up one of these little babies in no time.  And everyone then stands back to marvel at your most amazing and adept skill.  That being said, the recipe says something along the lines of this: 'this cake is wildly temperamental.   You must tread lightly and you will still completely fail.  People will probably even laugh at you for it.  So, bearing that in mind, you must make it at least five times in a row if you ever plan to master the concept.'  Well, I never!

The funny thing is that the cake is actually so easy to make.  The second time I made it I did not even pull out the cookbook because I remembered the whole thing. Yet there is still fear and intimidation; because, yes, it is easy — but it also requires a serious understanding of the technique.  And sadly, after all the work you put into it, if it is going to crumble and turn into a 'crust', that bit happens literally within the last thirty seconds of making it.  Drat, to say the least.  However, if it does turn disastrous, then you can always fall back on the divine, heavenly, beyond superb filling that goes in the cake — just sitting on top the crust, if you will.  Essentially you are meant to cut the cake into three, and then sandwich it with layers of macerated strawberries and cream.  It's superb.  In fact, the next time I make whipped cream for anything I am doing it in the manner of this cake — adding two tablespoons of sour cream.  The rest is a given: heavy cream, sugar, and vanilla extract.  After I made it the first time, Emilia and Governor stood in the kitchen cleaning the bowl for me — Emilia with the beaters and Governor with his little head lost somewhere inside the deep bowl.

And so, as my pièce de résistance, here is the last strawberry recipe I am giving to you.  In many ways it is my favorite.  The only problem with it (other than the sheer temperamental-ness of the cake) is that is does not store well in the fridge longer than a day or so.  (This is ironic as you are meant to put the cake in the fridge for at least an hour before you serve it.)  And having a rather small group to feed here, we cannot possibly eat that much cake (no matter how elegant/rustic it may be) in that short of time.  Particularly when you are already doing battle with jam, muffins, and ice cream — all of the strawberry nature.

Anyway, I am finding myself rising to the challenge of the Génoise.  I'll be damned if I don't master the technique.  Only next time I'll have to look for another filling (I daresay raspberry picking is right around the corner...).  Because as much as I love and adore strawberries.  I don't actually want to see another one for awhile.  In the meantime, get ready for the longest recipe I've ever put on my site. Yikes.              

Perfect Génoise
Makes enough batter for one 8-inch round cake

2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
1 cup sifted cake flour
½ cup sugar
1/8 teaspoon salt
4 large eggs, at room temperature
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Melt the butter and then place in a 1-quart bowl.  Set aside.

Sift the cake flour.  Then sift it again with 1 tablespoon sugar and the salt.  Makes it much easier if you sift onto a piece of waxed paper.  Set aside

In your heavy-duty mixer (aka KitchenAid), crack the eggs, and add the remaining sugar.  Holding the whisk attachment in your hands, whisk the eggs until blended.  Attach the whisk and then turn on medium speed and whip until it is 'airy, pale, and tripled in volume.'  It is essential that your eggs are room temperature, otherwise don't even bother.  It should take about 4 or 5 minutes in all.  The eggs are ready when they form a ribbon, meaning that you lift the whisk and the mixture falls in a ribbon back into the bowl.  It should rest on the surface for 10 seconds before sinking completely back in.  If it does not do this then continue whisking on medium for another minute or so.  In the last moments of whisking, add the vanilla extract.

Remove the bowl from the mixer.  Going in a set of three, incorporate your flour.  You must fold it in!  Do not just plonk it in and then give it a good stir!  Use your rubber spatula and add a third, fold it, add a third, fold it, add a third, fold it.

As for the rest — tread lightly.  Gently spoon about a cup of the batter into the bowl with the melted butter.  Gently fold.  Apparently this is the most dangerous part of the process.  All will literally be lost if not done carefully.  Pour back in to the bowl with the rest of your batter and fold just until combined.

And now breathe.

French Strawberry Cake
Makes 8 to 10 servings

1 recipe Perfect Génoise batter
2 pints ripe fresh strawberries, hulled and sliced
¼ to ⅓ cup sugar (depending on the sweetness of the berries)

Put the rack in the lower third of the oven and then preheat it to 350°F.  Grease the bottom and sides of an 8-inch round cake pan with solid shortening.  (Sorry, I can't bring myself to do this.  I used butter and I intend to keep using it.)  Dust with flour and shake out any excess.  Fit the bottom with a ring of parchment paper.  (I know this seems excessive,  But just do it, alright?  Besides, Julia Child wants you to.)

Carefully pour the batter into the pan, and smooth out (with a rubber spatula) any areas that need smoothing, and trying to give slightly raised edges around the cake.  Tiptoe to your oven and bake for 25 to 27 minutes, or until the top springs back when lightly touched and the edges come away from the side of the pan.  Transfer to a rack and let it cool for 5 to 7 minutes.

To remove the cake from the pan, run a knife around the edges, place a wire rack over the pan and flip over.  It should come out no problem.  Carefully peel off the parchment paper.  Then take another wire rack, sort-of place it on top of the cake without squishing it, and flip it back over.  Let it cool entirely.  Once it is cool, it can sit on the counter for up to two days.  (Shocking, n'est-ce-pas?)  Or it can be wrapped tightly and frozen for up to 10 days.

Moving on.  Toss the berries with the sugar in a large bowl and leave them, uncovered, on the counter for at least two hours.

Coarsely mash the berries with the tines of a fork and then toss them again.  Let them stand for another hour.  This part can be done a day in advance, but the berries should be covered with plastic and stored in the fridge after they are mashed.

The Cream
1 ¼ cups cold heavy cream
2 tablespoons sour cream
2 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

5 large strawberries, with hulls

Using a mixer of sorts, fitted with the whisk attachment, whip everything together until it begins to form soft peaks.  It is the proper consistency when tracks made close slowly and almost disappear.  Use immediately.  Or, cover and put in the fridge until needed.  However, before using it, give it a good whisk to liven it back up.

Assembling the beast:  Using a serrated knife and 'a gentle sawing motion', cut the cake horizontally into three layers.  Place the bottom layer of a cake on a cardboard round or a removable tart-pan bottom.  Scoop half of the berries (and their juices) onto the cake.  Follow with a thin layer of the cream.  Repeat with the next layer of the cake.  Use the last of the cream to frost the top and the sides (I clearly omitted the sides on account of the fact that so much cream went into the middle.  Maybe this is why mine lost the elegant touch and ended up with the rustic touch.  Suppose it's neither here nor there now.  Although I'll try harder next time, I promise.)

Take the rest of the cream (of which I had none) and put it in a pastry bag.  Pipe it nicely along the edges being sure to do fancy rosettes and such.  Slice each berry in half, blossom to stem, leaving the hull attached, and prop, cut side down, along the cake in a rather attractive manner.

Refrigerate for at least an hour before serving.  And be sure to remove anything rather smelly from the vicinity of the cake.  Apparently whipped cream takes on any odors that happen to be next to it.  (Recipe from Flo Braker, via Baking With Julia by Dorie Greenspan.  Morrow Publishing 1996.)