This article is brought to you by Ten Speed Press. Head here to learn more about the wonderful new cookbook Sweet by Yotam Ottolenghi and Helen Goh—or here to enter to win a trip to London, Ottolenghi-style: that's two tickets to London, luxe accommodations, dinner for two at Ottolenghi, and signed copies of all five of Yotam Ottolenghi's books!
When I first got my copy of Sweet, the all-dessert cookbook from Yotam Ottolenghi and his longtime sugar conspirator, Helen Goh, I fainted. But once I came to, I dog-eared nearly every recipe in the book to the extent that all said dog-ears became meaningless.
There is Hazelnut Crumble Cake with Gianduja Icing, and Apricot and Amaretto Cheesecake, and Rolled Pavlova with Peaches and Blackberries. There are cloud-light sandwich cookies called Powder Puffs, there are Saffron and Almond Ice Cream Sandwiches, and there are—for crying out loud—Little Baked Chocolate Tarts with Tahini and Sesame Brittle.
In a stupor of sugar, I baked through the three pounds of butter in my freezer within the first week of receiving my copy.
Vibrant flavors, colors, and textures have made Ottolenghi's other books, as well as his mini restaurant fiefdom, the new standard-bearers of culinary creativity. And with the diligence and ingenuity of Goh—a former psycotherapist who would show up to his house every Sunday afternoon with stacks of cakes, each distinguished by a undetectable-to-most tweak—Ottolenghi laid claim to the realm of dessert, as well.
But paging through the book, I was most surprised not by the abundant citrus, or the fresh gooseberries and husk cherries and figs, or the coffee and semolina, passionfruit pulp and star anise and pandan (would I expect anything else?), but by a fairly plain tea cake called, frill-less-ly, "Lemon and Poppy Seed Cake (National Trust Version)."
How did such a humble loaf—with no fanciful tahini-cocoa swirl, or candied fennel flower garnish, or sumac streusel—end up here? Who let him into this party?
"However ambitious and discerning Helen's palate," the headnote explains, "this light lemon cake is the one she'd take with her to a desert island if she could only choose one."
I asked Helen what made this loaf stand out—if not in looks or in ingredients, than in good old deliciousness. First, it's the method: It has a texture akin to pound cake, but the technique makes for a finer, more delicate texture: Rather than cream butter and sugar before incorporating the eggs one by one, you start by whisking together the eggs and sugar. The addition of heavy cream makes the cake particularly tender and moist; the abundant lemon zest perfumes each slice without inducing puckers; and the glaze, bolstered by confectioners' sugar, does not seep into the cake, thereby avoiding any syrupy sogginess.
The lemon loaf is Helen's perfect accompaniment to a mug of tea—but it was nearly forgotten. While it was included in the earliest version of the Ottolenghi "X Files," a PDF of all the recipes followed by pastry chefs at the restaurants and cafés, no one could pinpoint its origin and the recipe was rarely made. Helen herself had never eaten it before testing it for the cookbook and falling in love: "It does not sell well in our stores," she told me: "It is a plain-looking cake, and is easily overshadowed by all the other colourful offerings."
And it barely elbowed its way into the book—though thank goodness it did. "We felt, initially, it might have been too simple and prove disappointing to the readers. But over time, it became clear that our motivation was for the book to be accessible, and that our mission was to satisfy rather than to impress," she explained to me.
Yet, for what it's worth, we made this cake on a day the Food52 office was inundated with desserts—and it was gone in ten minutes flat. I saved a piece for a friend who told me it was hands down the best lemon cake she's ever had.
If that's not impressive, I'm not sure what is.
| 3 | large eggs |
| 1 | cup plus 2 tablespoons (225 grams) granulated sugar |
| 1/2 | cup (120 grams) sour cream |
| 5 | tablespoons (70 grams) unsalted butter, cubed, plus extra for greasing |
| 1 | tablespoon poppy seeds |
| Finely grated zest of 3 lemons (1 tablespoon) | |
| 1 1/3 | cups (170 grams) all-purpose flour |
| 1 1/4 | teaspoons baking powder |
| 1/4 | teaspoon salt |
| 3/4 | cup (90 grams) confectioners' sugar, sifted |
| 2 | tablespoons lemon juice |
| 3 | large eggs |
| 1 | cup plus 2 tablespoons (225 grams) granulated sugar |
| 1/2 | cup (120 grams) sour cream |
| 5 | tablespoons (70 grams) unsalted butter, cubed, plus extra for greasing |
| 1 | tablespoon poppy seeds |
| Finely grated zest of 3 lemons (1 tablespoon) |
| 1 1/3 | cups (170 grams) all-purpose flour |
| 1 1/4 | teaspoons baking powder |
| 1/4 | teaspoon salt |
| 3/4 | cup (90 grams) confectioners' sugar, sifted |
| 2 | tablespoons lemon juice |
This article is brought to you by Ten Speed Press. Head here to learn more about the wonderful new cookbook Sweet by Yotam Ottolenghi and Helen Goh—or here to enter to win a trip to London, Ottolenghi-style: that's two tickets to London, luxe accommodations, dinner for two at Ottolenghi, and signed copies of all five of Yotam Ottolenghi's books!
Do you have strong poppy seed opinions? Tell us in the comments below.
Written by: Sarah Jampel
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13 Comments
There is no heavy cream in this recipe, is this referring to the sour cream?
I was concerned b/c is says to spoon the batter into the pan, but mine was pourable. All turned out fine:)
This recipe is substitutes non-dairy ingredients for the butter and milk- you can just change that back, or not. I have used every kind of alternate milk/fat and it always works. I do not separate the eggs because I like a slightly denser cake. Good luck!
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