Lemon Capri Torte and Meyer Lemon Curd

Egads, I can't stand January.  It is the dreariest and most dismal month that ever was.  And the longer it seems to drone on, and the greyer it seems to get outside, my longing for something (anything) citrus seems to mirror it*.  There is, after all, something very cheery and alive about a clementine or satsuma, is there not?  And Emilia loves to sit at the table and peel one in the morning.  She slowly removes every bit of peel and then breaks the orange in half.  She hands half of it to me, and then sits back, tucking into her own half, and chatting all the while.  ('Do you like pith, mama?'  The answer is no.  'Grandma Jo likes to eat the peel.  That's crazy!  I don't like to eat the peel.  Do you like to eat the peel, mama?'  The answer to this is not unless it comes from Fran's and is covered in chocolate.  Then I find it tolerable.)  See what I mean?  Cheery.

But my favorite citrus in all the world is the Meyer Lemon.  I still remember the first time I saw one.  It was in my favoritest** grocery store that ever was -- Zagara's, in Marlton, New Jersey.  And when we lived in Haddonfield, we would go there all the time.  (This is despite the fact that my mother-in-law claimed it was quite elitist of us, and that after Michael finished law school he was going to have to get two of those jobs, in order to pay for his wife's habit of fancy food things.  I still say that isn't the worst idea I've ever heard***.)  Anyway, no matter what time of day it was, Michael and I would go and get an enormous cup of Viennese Cinnamon coffee, some rugelach, and whatever else happened to be on our list that day.  In the winter months I gravitated to oranges and lemons, along with sundry other items.  (For example, these nasty raviolis filled with tofu.  Seriously, doesn't that sound revolting?  Oddly, they weren't half bad.) 

And so, we would load up on Meyer Lemons and, when they had them, these Sicilian blood oranges.  They were actually from Sicily, mind you, and half of them came wrapped up in papers with a picture of some Italian mamasita right across the front.  The flesh was the color of a raspberry and they were exquisite.

Cutting into a Meyer Lemon is one of the loveliest fragrances in the world.  It smells of lemon, with a just little bit of orange -- the scent is unmistakable and oh so wonderful.  It reminds me of my Grandma Aileen's backyard in California when I was a kid.  She had lemon trees scattered all around and we would ride our tricycles all around them, feeling pretty slick, no doubt.  Anyway, I digress.


So after a very long and particularly dreary week, Emilia and I decided to make a lemon cake.  Nothing terribly fancy or ornate, just simple and yummy, if you please.  The one I had been looking at for some time comes from Sophie Dahl's cookbook, and I'm very glad we made it.  The recipe is pretty simple, and for once, I didn't tweak it.   For some reason or another, I've found that the majority of Sophie Dahl's recipes require tweaking, but they are otherwise very good recipes.  At any rate, there was way too much chaos going on in the kitchen at the time.  So frankly, the idea was to hurry up and get the cake in the oven and get on with it.  (Remind me to tell you about it later, it's quite a story -- something to do with enemas and Mickey Mouse on YouTube.  Aaaah, good times.)

Anyway, the only tweaking that I think this recipe needs is that it is not sweet enough -- in the least.  We served it with barely sweetened whipped cream, and I quietly wished for a great big dollop of lemon curd to go on top.  And that is why Emilia and I whipped some up this afternoon before her nap.  Michael sat tapping away on his laptop, blasting Oscar Peterson Trio for all to hear, and we made lemon curd.  I love the stuff, and apparently, so does Emilia.  Once it was all said and done and I was cleaning up the mess, she ran for her stool, propped it up right next to the counter, grabbed a spoon and happily dug into one of the jars that were left cooling on the counter.  Seriously, where does she get her manners!  It's downright unseemly, I say. 

After the cake is gone, I fully plan to smear a bit of this on my toast in the morning.  Or, if I'm feeling inspired, I'll make scones or something.  It's nice, though, because lemon curd will keep in the fridge for quite awhile -- and from the looks of it, January is going to be looooong, so we'll be needing a bit of cheer.

*I harbor a love for citrus in the winter months, while my sister starts obsessing over Mexican food.  I suppose it all comes to the same thing, though.  You know, livening up the senses a bit.
**Yes, I know this is not a word. And yes, I chose to use it anyway.
***We actually spend gobs more at the grocery store now.  It is a complete mystery to me, and one that depresses the dickens out of me, if you must know.

Lemon Capri Torte

1 ½ sticks of butter, at room temperature, plus extra for greasing
1 cup super-fine sugar (I used regular because I always forget to buy the super-fine sort)
6 eggs, separated
Zest and juice of 4 lemons (I obviously used the Meyer Lemon sort)
2 cups blanched almonds, toasted, and then ground
1 cup potato flour, plus extra for flouring the pan

Preheat the oven to 400°F.  Butter and flour a 9-inch cake pan.  Miss Dahl suggest using a spring form.  This seemed too much of a bother to me, so I used my usual cake pan, to great success.

Using a heavy duty mixer, or a hand-held sort, cream the butter and sugar.  Add the egg yolks, all in one go, and the zest and juice.  Mix until well combined. 

In a separate bowl, whip the egg whites to form soft peaks.  Fold into the mixture.  Lastly, fold in both the almonds and the potato flour.  Pour the batter into your cake pan, plonk it in the oven, and bake for 10 minutes.  After 10 minutes, turn the oven down to 300°F and bake for another 40 minutes or so.  Cool and then invert onto a wire rack to cool completely. 

Also, Miss Dahl suggest frosting it with a mix of creme fraiche and lemon curd. If you skip this part out, you'll be very sad, because I'm quite serious when I say you'll want it a bit sweeter.  (Recipe from: Miss Dahl's Voluptuous Delights by Sophie Dahl.  William Morrow Publishing, 2009.)

Meyer Lemon Curd
makes about 2 cups

4 lemons, at room temperature
1 ½ cups sugar
¼ pound unsalted butter, at room temperature
4 extra-large eggs, at room temperature (I used regular size)
1/8 teaspoon salt

Remove the zest from the lemons.  Juice the lemons to make ½ cup.  Set aside.

Put the zest and the sugar in a food processor and process until the zest is very finely minced.  In your heavy-duty mixer, cream the butter with the sugar and zest.  Add the eggs, one at a time, and then the lemon juice and salt.  Mix until combined.

Pour the mixture into a saucepan and heat over low heat.  Stirring constantly, cook for about 10 minutes, until nicely thickened.  It should be 175°F when ready, or just below a simmer.  Remove from heat and hide from your daughter.  (Recipe from: The Barefoot Contessa Cookbook by Ina Garten.  Clarkson N. Potter Publishing, 1999.)