TANGERINE SOUR CREAM POUND CAKE
I have a theory that Starbucks has heightened our tolerance for bad, sad pastries. There’ve been moments in my life, at an airport, at a rest stop, where I break down and order a slice of a Starbucks lemon pound cake to go with my coffee. It tastes fine. It’s not bad. It’s sweet, cakey, nicely glazed. But it’s not, by any means, good. Most people don’t know that because most people don’t take the time to make their own glazed pound cakes; but if you do take the time, yours will be light, where theirs is dense. Yours will be authentically flavored, whereas theirs tastes synthetic. Yours will be made at home with love whereas theirs is made in a warehouse. Plus, if you make your own, you can use tangerines instead of lemons.
This recipe comes from the new Valerie Confections cookbook, Sweet. The book is stylishly laid out and offers up many enticing desserts, including cakes, both fancy and practical, as well as cookies and pies and jams and ice creams. At the very end of the book, the very last recipe, in fact, is one for tangerine sour cream pound cake. And lucky enough, my CSA box on Sunday arrived with two pixie tangerines in it. Call it fate.
The cake has lots of stuff in it. Lots of butter, lots of eggs (six), lots of sugar, lots of tangerine zest (which, incidentally, is what Ruth Bourdain used to smoke).
You make a standard cake batter and then put it into a well-buttered tube pan. (It better be well-buttered or that cake’s not coming out!) I loved being able to use my tube pan; it’s spent to much time alone, isolated, in a drawer.
The cake takes a while to bake–over an hour–at 325. When it comes out, though, it looks pretty glorious.
But you’re not done with the cake yet; not at all. While it’s cooling, you juice your tangerines (I supplemented with some oranges) and make a syrup with lemon juice and granulated sugar.
And you brush that all over the bottom and sides of the cake.
Let that soak in for an hour then flip the cake upside down and make a glaze using tangerine juice and powdered sugar.
And pour that glaze all over the cake, so it drips down the sides.
It’s a beauty of a cake and really knocks you out with all of that citrus flavor. Just the kind of cake to make you look at the pastry case at Starbucks and scoff. “If I’m going to eat a glazed citrus pound cake, I’d rather make it myself,” you’ll say to yourself; but then you’ll realize you’re at an airport and you’re hungry, so you’ll buy a slice anyway. And you’ll eat it but secretly be dreaming about this.
