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18
MY
ROUSES
EVERYDAY
MAY | JUNE 2017
T
here’s a scene in my friend Mara
Novak’s unpublished first novel (I
have the privilege of being one of
her early readers). Something devastating
has just happened to Ellen, the female
protagonist. In the wake of this unlooked-
for tragedy, she finds her way to the kitchen
of Ginny, her best friend.
“Ginny’s kitchen is like a warm cave, a secret
den. The dark beams make the low ceiling feel
even lower, and the walls are covered with
baskets and bunches of herbs and pictures of
chickens. The kettle is just coming to a boil when
Ellen steps into the steamy banana-scented
air. Ginny hugs her, while the kettle works
itself up to a scream, and they both ignore it.
“‘How are you doing?’ Ginny asks as she pours
(the) water…
“Ellen has given several answers to this
question over the past week:
‘We’re hanging in there,’ and ‘We’re taking it
one day at a time.’
“But toGinny she says,‘I can’t remember anything
I’ve done this week. I don’t think I’ve eaten.’
“‘You don’t remember, or you really haven’t eaten?’
“‘I haven’t been hungry.’
“‘ You’re going to eat this.’ Ginny slices off a slab
… (of banana coffee cake…)”
How is Ginny so sure? What makes the
offer of something sweet, warm, homemade,
served in a kitchen still fragrant from
baking, so deeply comforting? Why is its
“
there, there, it’ll be okay
” nature enhanced
when served with hot, dark, strong coffee?
First, let’s consider a more basic question.
What makes a particular cake a “coffee”cake?
First off, confusingly, it’s not a cake that
includes coffee in its batter. Rather, it’s a
cake specifically intended to be served
with
coffee. In its batter are the commonplace
ingredients of most cakes: butter, sugar,
flour, eggs, milk (or another liquid),
leavening, vanilla and/or other flavorings.
And coffee cakes as made in this country
almost always include cinnamon.
A perfect American-style coffee cake
combines these ingredients in proportions
that yield a single-layer cake, exceptionally
moist and tender, sweet but not crazy-
sweet, decidedly buttery. It’s quickly mixed,
leavened with baking powder and/or soda
(we leave the yeast-risen varieties to the
Europeans, who evidently have more time
on their hands than we do, or at least are
better at planning ahead).
And, American coffee cake is not frosted.
The lack of frosting (okay, sometimes there’s
a little decorative squiggle of white icing,
but not generally) is, I think, supposed to
fool you into thinking it is less “cake” than
it actually is, so therefore you can eat it with
impunity as a mid-morning or afternoon
snack, or at breakfast, as you would not, say,
a layer cake covered with chocolate frosting.
(I would advise not being fooled; coffee cake
is definitely cake and, alas, there is no such
thing, nutritionally and calorically speaking,
as eating cake with impunity. Sometimes,
however, I think there is a psychological
immunity, as when Ginny serves her friend
Ellen, in Mara’s still-untitled novel.)
In lieu of frosting, coffee cakes are usually
sprinkled with streusel, a baked-on crumbly
topping. The streusel, besides giving the
characteristic crunch, is inviting and
interesting, but not all that showy. However,
the
Coffee
issue
Coffee
&
Sympathy
by
Crescent Dragonwagon +
photo by
Romney Caruso