When my grandmother died in September last year, she was 87. She was one of the happiest, most content people I’ve ever known, despite the fact that in the last twenty-odd years of her life her husband died, and six of her sisters, and her son-in-law, and so many of her friends. That’s just what happens when you start to go beyond a certain age, I guess. But my point is, as the cliché goes, she’d had a long and full and happy life, so there is no call to be sad for her on that front.
But of course I’m sad for myself, especially so now that my wedding day is drawing near and she won’t be there like I’d always dreamed. I prefer not to think about it too much; when I do, I inevitably start thinking about my dad who also won’t be there.
Sometimes the thoughts sneak up on you though, you can’t see them coming and avoid them. Just now I was zesting a mineola and two limes for a cake for book club tonight, idly wondering if I should make citrusy iced tea with the insides of the zested fruit. That made me think of homemade lemonade which I haven’t had for ages, and bam – my grandmother’s homemade lemonade. A thick sweet lemony syrup with lots of little bits of zest that we mixed with water, usually the fizzy water made with the ancient Soda Stream. I think that’s the last homemade lemonade I drank. It must have been years ago, she hadn’t made it for a long time, and now I wonder where the recipe is, if one of us still has it and if I could maybe make some.
And then of course within seconds, leaping and bounding on from lemonade, I’m thinking about the wedding and the outfit my grandmother had already bought for it and what my dad would have thought of it all. The lime and mineola zest lies forgotten on the kitchen counter.
The cake does get made eventually, zest and all. That’s after I remember that I was lucky enough to have had such a grandmother for so long, and that she was so happy for me and Andrew. After I think that my dad would have thought well of it all. Especially since so many times, little things about Andrew remind me of him, and I know how lucky I am that I’m marrying him. What a happy day it will be.
Citrusy rhubarb polenta cake
Serves about 16
I like the gritty texture of polenta cakes, and the fact that most of them aren’t too sweet. I wanted a loaf cake but had quite a bit of batter and rhubarb left over after filling my standard-sized loaf pan, so I made four little loaves as well. In a standard round cake tin you’ll end up with just one cake. The rhubarb is very tangy, so I balanced it with the sweet citrusy drizzle for the bigger loaf cake. I left the little loaves plain, though, so that I can justify eating them for breakfast.
Also, I followed all the rhubarb cooking rules and cooked mine in a stainless steel pot – not aluminium, copper or iron, which reacts with rhubarb and makes it brown. I still ended up with brownish rhubarb. No idea why, but it tasted good.
1 large-ish bunch rhubarb stalks
½ cup sugar
1 orange (or mineola, which is what I could find)
2 limes
1 ½ cups cake flour
¾ cup fine polenta
2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
4 large eggs
1 cup sugar
¾ cup olive oil
1 ½ cups sifted icing sugar
Preheat the oven to 160 C. Butter your cake tin, line with baking parchment, butter again, and dust with flour (you probably don’t have to do all of this, but I was convinced the cake would stick otherwise). Set up a stand mixer with a whisk attachment (or alternatively, you can use a hand-whisk and large bowl).
Wash the rhubarb thoroughly and chop it into inch-thick pieces. Place it in a ceramic or stainless steel pot along with the ½ cup of sugar, and place it over medium heat. No need to add any water – as it warms, the rhubarb will release its own juices and dissolve the sugar, and cook down into an apple-sauce-like mixture. Stir it every now and then as it cooks, about 20 minutes.
Meanwhile, zest the orange and limes, and squeeze their juices into a small bowl. When the rhubarb has cooked down, add about half of the citrus juice and stir, then remove from the heat.
Whisk the flour, polenta, baking powder and salt together in a bowl until well-mixed. Add the eggs and 1 cup sugar to the stand mixer bowl and whisk on medium-high speed until the mixture is light and thick – this should take about 4 minutes. By hand it unfortunately takes more like 10 minutes. Add the orange and lime zest, and whisk again to mix thoroughly.
Add the flour mixture and olive oil to the whisked egg-sugar mixture by turn, whisking all the while – a third of the flour mixture, then half the oil, again a third of the flour mixture, the other half of the oil, and end with the final third of the flour mixture.
Now you have a choice: either spoon the rhubarb mixture onto the bottom of the cake pan(s) and cover with batter, or pour the batter into the pan(s) and drop spoonfuls of the rhubarb into the batter. In the first method, you’ll end up with an upside-down cake, and in the second, the rhubarb will peek out but will mostly be baked into the cake.
Bake for about 30 to 40 minutes (little loaves will take 15 to 20 minutes, a regular loaf about 30 minutes, and a big round cake will take 35 to 40 minutes), turning the cake 180 degrees halfway through the baking time so it bakes evenly. While it bakes, you can whisk the remaining citrus juice with the icing sugar to make a citrusy glaze.
The cake is done when a knife or toothpick inserted into it comes out clean. Remove the cake from the oven and cool in the pan for five minutes before either turning out (for the upside-down cake) or lifting out (for the baked-in-rhubarb version). Drizzle with the glaze, if you like, or leave plain for a slightly more virtuous cake.
