If there was a standardised test for a domestic goddess, I would get a very generous D-minus. I say this with zero measure of pride. I look on in envy at other people whose folded bedsheets look like a work of award-winning origami, and whose ironed shirt collars look as though they have just exited a factory. My bedsheets look like they are folded by a three-year-old, and I think a baboon could iron better than me. It’s appalling.
The one thing that would move my grading up from an F to that D-minus is my ability to flick a switch on a cake mixer, turn on an oven, and interpret basic instructions that a ten-year-old can follow. Those who do not bake are led to believe producing a cake requires mind-blowing dexterity. They are deluded (although there is nothing wrong with keeping the delusion alive if you enjoy the ego boost.) Piping on frosting may involve painstaking manual labour, but a simple coffee walnut cake with frosting slapped on with a spatula? If you have an electric beater in your kitchen, you can make it in your sleep. Here’s how.
1. Turn on the oven to 180C. Use an oven thermometer. I have lived with a moody oven that lies – it makes for very sad baking projects. Take out butter and eggs so they are no longer fridge-cold. Prepare a 9-inch cake tin by either lining it with baking paper or brushing it with oil, sprinkling flour on top.
2. Cream together softened 8oz unsalted butter and 8oz granulated sugar. Note: if your sugar looks like recently mined diamonds, give it a whirl in the food processor to grind it down until it resembles the texture of salt. Add four eggs one by one, along with 1tsp of vanilla extract. At low speed – or by hand – mix in 8oz plain flour with 2tsp baking powder.
3. In a separate cup, mix in 1 tsp coffee with ¼ cup hot water. Add this to your cake mixture, along with ¼ cup yoghurt. The hot coffee and the yoghurt are both key to giving your cake the ultimate velvety texture. Mix in ½ cup crushed walnuts. Pour your batter into your prepared tin. If you cannot be bothered with frosting afterwards, sprinkle a handful of crushed walnuts on top.
4. Bake for 40 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the centre comes up clean. If your kitchen is engulfed with the aroma of cake before your timer dings, check on your cake, unless you enjoy the taste of burnt things. Similarly, if the 40 minutes are up and your cake still looks wet, stick it back in the oven and check on it in five-minute increments. An undone cake that sags in the middle and tastes of flour is not your end goal here. Watch your oven like a hawk after thirty minutes if you know it is temperamental.
5. If you are frosting (although this cake is perfectly acceptable without it), go ahead and whip some cream and mix in coffee. If you are more of a buttercream fan, look up any coffee buttercream recipe. Slap it on with a spatula. No need to go full Michelangelo here; you want a frosting full of coffee goodness, not a work of art. And unlike getting the butter-sugar-egg-flour proportion right, there is limited science involved at this final stage. Want more coffee? Go for it. Think that buttercream frosting you just looked up will be too sweet? Put in less sugar. Want an added crunch? Sprinkle crushed walnuts on top. Frosting is measured by the heart. Do with it what you will.
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