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For the 80th time.
Sticky Apple Cake
Alison Roman via A Newsletter
This cake. Easy. Snackable. Autumnal without being a too on the nose. A bit flavorless and a tiny bit temperamental (don't over stir!), but one that for some inexplicable reason, I continue to make again and again, apple after apple, on the verge of waste, sliced into the base of a round pan, lazy and comforting. A slice for breakfast. A slice after a rich dinner. A slice for dinner. Make it and tell me what you think.
INGREDIENTS
½ cup unsalted butter (1 stick)
½ vanilla bean, split lengthwise, seeds scraped (or 1 teaspoon of vanilla extract)
Non-stick spray (optional)
⅔ cup light brown sugar, divided
2 large, unpeeled apples, cored and sliced (not too thin- you want some texture here)
1 ¼ cup all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ teaspoon kosher salt
2 large eggs
¾ cup buttermilk
INSTRUCTIONS
1. Preheat oven to 350°. Melt the butter in a small pot over medium-high heat. Cook, stirring or whisking occasionally until the butter starts to brown and foam, 2 to 3 minutes. It should smell like toasted nuts and be the color of caramel; add the vanilla bean if you’re using it and remove the pot from heat to cool.
2. Spray an 8”–9” cake pan (springform or regular), pie plate, 1.5qt baking dish, etc. with non-stick spray (you can use softened butter to grease, too). If you are less confident in your upside-down cake flipping skills, line the cake pan with parchment (leaving some hanging out of the pan for easy lifting after).
3. Scatter half the brown sugar (⅓ cup) on the bottom of the cake pan and top with sliced apples; set aside.
4. Whisk flour, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, salt, and remaining ⅓ cup brown sugar together in a medium bowl.
5. Whisk eggs and buttermilk together in a small bowl (or, just add the eggs to the measuring cup you’ve measured the buttermilk in and whisk in there). Add the vanilla extract, if using. Add buttermilk mixture to the dry ingredients, mixing just to blend. (Don’t overmix here, or the cake will become tight and tough.)
6. Remove the vanilla bean if it’s in the butter. Whisk in the vanilla-y browned butter until the batter is smooth and streak-free. (Again, don’t overmix it, just until everything is well blended.).
7. Pour batter over the apples, smooth the top (although the batter is pretty viscous, almost like pancake batter and should smooth itself), and bake until cake is golden brown on top, pulls away from the sides of the pan, and springs back lightly when pressed in the center, 25–30 minutes.
8. Almost immediately (but without rushing or panicking), place a plate on top of the cake pan. With a towel under the pan, flip it over (this isn’t as scary as you think it might be, I swear) and remove. Alternatively, if you’ve got parchment under it, lift the cake up and out of the pan and uh, flip it onto a plate. I can’t honestly tell which method might feel more complicated to you but wanted to give two options to decide for yourself.
New York continues to taunt.
A cliche of itself, I sit in a coffee shop, listening in on conversations about music, politics, landlord woes and leaves are falling outside. It brings me in close with its perfect weather (this week) and ice cold martinis. Closer with its bowls of olives and great friends. Closer with its meandering walks and jazz music playing from... somewhere? Only then, when my arms are outstretched does the city, somehow always personified in my mind, very clearly shout in my face that it doesn't need (or want) me back. A school yard crush. High school prom. Online dating. The cool kids. Free therapy in the West Village. When I come to, I realize, I never really wanted it either. Again and again, I know this. When I close my eyes, picturing the next 5, 10, 50 years of my life laid out, it space. It's large rooms with lots of light. It's quiet and non-confronting. Less comparison. Me in a small town. A kind man, some savings, and a creative job, a very ugly dog. Rooms for sewing. Rooms for cooking. The changing leaves are there, yes, but the sirens and the bustle aren't, no matter how invincible they make me feel. Is this fear leading?
Then explain to me this: why am I looking up apartments in tree-lined streets of Brooklyn, down the street from one of the best meals I've had in years and a few blocks from the train that broke down and left Claire and me stranded last night at 11pm? Is it a yearning I can trust? Is it fear of regret? Is it simply just the falling leaves?
I think it's clear to me that a change is coming. Of one type or another. I can't quite tell if it's an out of my hands collision, coming at me like a comet, my intuition telling me to brace for impact. Or if it's the kind of change that I'll have to break open myself. That's my least favorite. Either way, it's my least favorite.
Matzo ball soup for lunch. Martinis, again, for dinner.
Meanwhile: How much of the arc was Noah still building the morning floods came? When the land was dry again and he stepped onto land, what projects were still on his to-do list?
I love you, New York, but I gtg.