Fanouropita Cake for Lost Things (Otherwise Entitled, 'Do You Miss Your Brudder, Mama?')

We dropped my brother Danny off at the airport a few days ago.  Seattle was the last leg of his long journey back to the states, and he was returning to China, the place he has called home now for six going on seven years.  And oh, Dear Reader, I was sorry to see him go.  I suppose it went a bit like this: I stood on the curb at the departures area, while Danny reached in the backseat of the car to give his little niece a great big hug goodbye.  I tried really hard not to cry -- honest, I did, but nothing doing, I cried anyway.  This, in turn, made Danny yell that his street cred was evaporating before his eyes.  Yes, well. 

Back in the car a few moments later, and trying not to look at Emilia too much (on account of the copious tears that were streaming down my face), I sat quietly trying to pull myself back together.  And then Emilia says, 'What?  Are you sad because you miss your brudder, mama?'  'Yes, baby, I'm very sad.'  I miss Danny so much.  We all do.

Our plan that day was that we (that would be Danny, Kari, Emilia, and I) would wander around coffeeshops, bookstores, and wherever else we felt like, before Emilia and I had to drive him to the airport.  Apparently my sister had to say goodbye as fast as she could and then dash, because she couldn't stand it and didn't want to cry.  Meanwhile, she didn't tell me this was her plan until we were talking on the phone two days later.  This is why I spent twenty minutes wandering around Gap, getting highly annoyed, buying Emilia a shirt, and getting ready to accuse her of turning into our mother (who has a serious issue with disappearing the moment you walk through the front doors of a shop -- any shop -- causing you to wander around for the next three hours looking for her...).
 
Anyway, I will stop rambling on about it, but not until I say this: I wish my brother lived closer.  I wish we were part of eachother's everyday lives.  I wish this wasn't the first time he met Emilia.  I wish we could go and visit him in China.  I wish that our plan to visit him in his city next summer (not this summer coming up, but the one after that) was not so far off.  I wish he could come over for dinner more often, and I promise not to cook up rather dry looking salmon again.  (It's Lent and it was all QFC had!)  And I promise to throw a fit if he ever tries to give me more of that nasty ol' raisin salad he got from Whole Foods on his way out of town.  'Oh Tonya, it'll be way too annoying carrying it through the airport.  You take it...'  Yuck.  And above all, I hope he is alright.  I hope so much that he is happy in the little Chinese life that he is carving for himself.  He is my little brother, after all. *sniff sniff* 

Alright, upward and onward.

And so, I was thumbing through Tessa Kiros's new-ish cookbook on Greek cooking a week or so ago, and I found a whole section on 'fasting' foods.  It's magnificent.  And then there is a whole section on Easter foods to follow.  This is exactly the sort of things cookbooks are missing these days.  I love the sort of cooking that is defined by the saints; or Feast Days; or Holy Days; or whatever else you want to add to the list.  I suppose that this cooking goes on regularly throughout the world, but it is extremely difficult to come across where we live.  Seattle is one of the least religious areas of the country, don't you know.  This is why Michael resorts to yelling in the car Sunday mornings when it is really sunny outside and we are trying to get to church.  Everyone digs out their rollerblades, running shoes, bikes, unicycles, 45 tiny dogs on leashes, and spandex.  'Heathens!  Pagans!  Leftist Pinko-Commies!  Hippies!  Go home and cut your skullet -- and get out of the road, we're late!'  Or something like that anyway.  (Funny though, he never seems to mind when the twits in bikinis saunter down the sidewalk stumbling in their high-heels and spilling their 40s of beer all over the place.  Apparently those dames are A-OK in his book.  Yes, well, I digress.)

Ahem.

It was in this Greek cookbook of Tessa Kiros where I found the recipe for a Fanouropita cake.  The name of it caught my interest immediately, so did the fact that it was a cake for a feast day -- albeit a saint I've never heard of.  It is meant to be served on St. Fanourios's Feast Day (which is August 25th, I believe), but the lovely Miss (actually Mrs.) Kiros says it can be made anytime when something has been lost -- 'a ring, or a lover, or even when a mind is in search of an answer.'  Ding ding ding, went the alarm bells in my mind, because not only have I lost my brother to China once again, but I've also felt for some time now that I am losing my marbles. (This was actually the original reason I decided to make the cake.  I've been feeling such a sense of loss lately and I don't even really know why -- just know the pesky feeling is there and it doesn't seem to be too bothered about leaving.  So, for some reason, the very idea of this cake made me feel better.)  She also says that it is ideal during periods of fasting because their are no eggs or butter in it.  I've never given up eggs or butter during Lent, as it sounds like hell on earth, or worse.

The cake takes no time to make, and is actually quite good.  It smells of oranges and olive oil and is excellent served with strawberries.  Emilia willingly ate it, and I was incredibly surprised as there was no frosting, jam, pastry cream, et al, in sight.  Granted, she was very disappointed when I told her that it wasn't the kind of cake that gets a yummy pink frosting on top.  So I suppose in that sense, she was a little bummed about having lost something too.  How very appropriate.

Fanouropita Cake for Lost Things

360g plain flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
160g sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
185ml light olive oil
185ml fresh orange juice
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Preheat the oven to 375F.  Brush a spring-form pan with oil and then flour it, tapping out the excess.

In a bowl, add the flour, baking powder, sugar, and cinnamon.  Stir.  Add the olive oil, orange juice, and vanilla, and mix with electric beaters until combined.  Don't go bananas here and over mix it.  The batter will be very thick.  Using a rubber spatula, scrape the batter into your pan, and bake it for about 40 minutes.  Your cake tester should come out clean.  Let cool on a wire rack before slicing.  Should keep well for 5 or 6 days in an airtight container.  (Recipe from Food From Many Greek Kitchens by Tessa Kiros.  Murdoch Books Pty Ltd, 2010.)