Deep Draught - Tishpishti, or, Sephardic Walnut Cake with a Honey-Lemon Syrup.

How's that for a slice of fried gold?

Ah, now, this one. This one right here. Lemme tell you about this one.

We'll get there.

In a minute.

I have casually mentioned in the past (sometimes I'm even asked first) that I am a formally trained pastry chef. Specifically I went to the (now defunct) Le Cordon Bleu College of Patisserie and Baking in the Twin Cities. This, as it turned out, was a mistake and a boon at the same time. A mistake because I found out in, what let's call a fairly definite manner, that I don't have what it takes to be a professional pastry chef. God bless those folks who do, I wish them nothing but joy and happiness in their fields of effort.

Whatever, though, right? Plenty of people get out into the real world and realize that it's not quite what they thought. That's life. It's fine. My training is a tool, not an end destination. Therein lies the boon.

I'm a foodie with a relatively high level of expertise and ability. I drink deeply from that well of knowledge and am always thirsty for more, and since I have been divested of my fear of making mistakes - because very little could be bigger than the one that brought me here - the world of food is open to me. Which, I suppose, is a pretty florid way of saying that even if I goof I have a pretty solid chance of still making something pretty tasty.

Super great.

Which brings us to the here and the now. We're making a tishpishti, which is you read it in the title. What makes it Sephardic? I don't know. I do know that Sephardic refers to Jewish people whose ancestors came from the Iberian Peninsula, the spit of land where you'll find Spain and Portugal. So, I'm going to operate under the assumption that this technique is probably French. Because I have no freakin' idea if it is or not and when it comes to European cooking, that's usually a good guess.

Bunch of cheese eatin' surrender monkeys anyway, right? Well, no. Not right. Not right at all, actually. Just before World War Two, France had one of the mightiest armies in the world. Then another wildly overpowered force emerged, propped up by the rantings of a charismatic madman and more than a little amphetimine. Seriously, the Third Reich's army ran on speed.

What's that got to do with cake? Well, in all likelihood, nothing. It's just that, like many people who've worked in the food industry (I have about ten years in varying non-managerial capacities behind me) I have a real love/hate thing with the French. Art, music, wine, food, the French have made some of the finest. Have you ever had to work directly for one for more than half an hour, though? I have. Just about gave me PTSD. Definitely gave me anxiety. How bad? I'd flinch whenever I heard Jacques Pepin's voice. I could go on, but this part is already in mortal danger of being edited out.

Let's get moving, doofus.

So, yes, cake. Cake is what brings us here. This one can be a complete showstopper, too.

Might get a handshake out of this.

You will need the following hardware:

• Nine inch round baking pan.
• Fine mesh strainer.
• Various measuring cups and spoons
• Mixing bowl
• Whisk
• Wooden spoon
• Rubber scraper
• Oven
• Large sauce pan
• Small sauce pan
• Range
• Round cake pan
• Microplaner

Edibles include:

For the cake -

• 1 cup (two sticks) of butter, cut into pieces. If you don't want to use that much butter* you can use half a cup of butter and half a cup of vegetable oil.
• 2 cups of water
• 1 cup of honey
• 1 cup of sugar
• 1 1/2 teaspoons of ground cinnamon
• 2 cups of finely chopped walnuts
• 1/2 teaspoon of salt
• 2 1/2 cups of AP Flour
• 1 teaspoon of baking powder
• 1 teaspoon of baking soda
• 4 dozen perfect walnut halves, optional for garnish

* Who hurt you?

For the sauce -

• 1 cup of honey
• 1/2 cup of water
• The juice and zest of two lemons.

You can probably already tell, there's a lot of stuff going on in this cake. I like to make it for special occasions; birthdays, anniversaries, office potlucks when everyone is sick to the gills of Karen's "secret recipe" rum cake that you know is a box mix and it's time to let Karen know who the 400 lb. gorilla is and where they sit.

Or just because. You do you.

We begin.

Put your two cups of water, one cup of sugar, one cup of honey and one cup of butter in the large sauce pan and put it on the stove to boil.

You might notice there's no sugar in the pan. I jumped the gun with the camera. Put in the sugar.

Next, using the fine mesh strainer, sift the flour, salt, cinnamon, baking powder and baking soda into a mixing bowl. Whisk to combine.

You need to mix it up now, because once you start the next part it'll be too late.

Is your large pan boiling? Good. Now stir in your chopped walnuts. They're going to float, that's fine. Because they won't be for long.

Here's the odd part.

You're going to pour, in three batches, using a wooden spoon or rubber scraper, the flour mixture into the boiling liquid. First third goes in, give it a stir, be sure to scrape the sides of the pan. Work quickly, because thanks to the magic of our leavening agents - the baking soda and baking powder - there will be some gas forming and releaseing in the pot. It's fine, it's supposed to happen. Maintain a brisk pace. Second third goes in, the batter will be stiffer, so give it a more vigorous stir, scraping the sides of the pan. Third third goes in, stir it good and hard because it's going to be like halfway set concrete now. That's why I instructed you to sift the dry powdery stuff first. If you have lumps of flour in the bowl, you'll have lumps of flour in the cake. Scrape the sides of the pan. 

First batch

Second batch

Third batch. The more astute might notice that I swapped out the stirring tool. This batter gets stiff by now, and you need something up to the challenge.

                                                                                    

Now that your batter is red hot it's ready to bake.

Look, I have no clue how this technique came about. Like I said before, I'm reasonably certain this is the handiwork of some inventive French person - probably a woman who never got her propers for coming up with it - who was feeling experimental and decided to try something weird.

WITH FOOD IN THE KITCHEN! Keep it together, sleaze-o.

By the way, if you like The Great British Baking Show you might actually recognize this technique as the same one used to make a boiled pie crust. Cool, huh?

The batter goes into a greased baking pan with a parchment round on the bottom.

Yes, do explain, s'il vous please.

Ok, junior chefs, it's arts and crafts time! Get yourself a piece of parchment that's a little bit longer and wider than your cake pan. Fold it in half, then in half again, again, and again a fourth time. Similar to making a paper airplane. Holding your paper airplane (let's just call it that, ok?) over your pan, put the nose over the center of the pan. With a pair of scissors, cut off the tail just far enough in so your airplane just reaches the inside of the pan's wall. Open up your plane. You now have a parchment round that should just cover the bottom of the pan. Spray your pan down with pan spray, place your parchment round on the bottom, and spray the parchment. 

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This confusing array of pictures brought to you by Blogger! Free, and worth it!

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It works best to do this step before you start batter assembly, by the way. Once the batter is mixed and hot, you need to keep it hot and pliable until it goes into the oven. Best way to make that happen is to make sure your mis en place is properly in place. While you're at it, set the oven to 375 and start preheating.

What did we do before Google hit the scene?

So, why didn't I put this at the beginning of the instructions? Because I want to impress upon you the importance of reading and understanding the directions before you dive in.

Also, I forgot until just now. I'm not perfect. Moving on.

Here's the chance to really gild the lily, if you want to. Take your perfect, whole walnut halves and spread them evenly on the bottom of the pan, on top of the parchment. This will be the top of the cake once it's all done.

The bottom is eventually the top.
Far out, man.

Dump your batter - it won't pour at this point - into your pan, being sure to work it into the bottom corner with your rubber scraper and smoothing the top nice and, uh, smooth with same.

Don't get super worried about perfection, though. This is the bottom of your finished cake, and no one will be looking.

Here's the most fun part. Pick up your full batter pan, lift it to about twelve inches over your work space and . . . drop it. Straight down. Boom. Now pick it up and do it again. Boom! This is to knock any air bubbles out of the pan that might expand during baking. 

Put the pan into the oven you preheated to 375, close the door, and reset the heat to 350. Bake for twenty minutes, give the pan a half turn to ensure even baking, and bake for another twenty to twenty-five minutes.

Now for the syrup. This one is easy, and can be done front to back while the cake is in the oven.

Four ingredients, no waiting.

You'll want one cup of honey, one half cup of water, the juice and zest of two lemons, and a quarter teaspoon of salt.

Into the small pan put your half cup of water, full cup of honey, and lemon juice. If you want to use the prepackaged stuff, that'll be fine. Fresh juice will taste better, though, and it's way more fun than wrestling with a bottle.

Using your microplaner, zest your lemons right into the pan of water. Then put your strainer over the pan, cut your lemons in half, and squeeze them with a pair of tongs so the pulp and pips stay in the strainer and not into your syrup.

You're more likely to use both hands for this.

Heat to a simmer, then turn the heat down to hold warm.

Unless you did like I did and made the syrup a couple days before you made the cake. Then just put it in a one pint container and stick it in the fridge.

Liquid love.

Congratulations! You've just make a lemon simple syrup.

While you're baking, I recommend you take the syrup out of the coolerator, pour it into a small pan and warm it up on the stove.

The cake is done, and you know this because you've done ye olde toothepicke teste.

Please.

Place your baked cake, still in the pan, on a cooling rack for five minutes. What happens next depends on the pan.

I used a springform pan for this, my rationale being the collar can be taken off, which will make transferring to the serving platter easier.

We're almost ready to un-pan the cake. Take a table knife and gently work the blade between the cake and the side of the pan. If you greased the sides of the pan this part will be a breeze.

The following is my preferred method for plattering (sic) a cake for serving.

Et viola!

Turn your cake out onto a serving platter, pull the pan off, remove the parchment, and using another toothpick, poke a series of holes in the top of the cake. As many as you like, and don't worry about the cake drying out.

Care to guess why?

Yup, you're going to pour the syrup over the cake, little by little, as much as it can hold at a time, until it's all in, or you're just spilling the syrup onto the plate. Which is likely. You'll almost definitely have extra. Don't despair, this stuff is fantastic on pancakes, waffles, ice cream, a spoon, your favorite person's...

Stop is a complete sentence!

Allow to cool completely, slice however you like, and enjoy. This is a pretty good holiday dessert, as well. Or family reunion.

Or because Karen in the office needs a good shuttin' up.

Behold! The fruits of our labor.

A final word of warning - this stuff gets sticky and delicious. Like, lick your fingers, lick your plate, lick your neighbor's plate, etc. Make sure the sinks have plenty of soap available.

Vaillance et courage! Good in peace, make good food.