Carrot Cake, Provençal-Style
An American pal said to me the other day, “The French like carrot cake. You just can’t tell them what’s in it first.” Indeed, I remember making an all-American dinner for some friends and when I’d mentioned “carrot” cake coming afterward, the look on their faces was like, “WTF?”
One mouthful, and of course, they loved it. But then again, you could slather cream cheese frosting on an Michelin tire and it would be enticing as well. There’s a certain amount of chefs in France who are experimenting with vegetables in desserts, with mixed results—a gâteau au fenouil (Fennel Cake) I had at Le Grand Véfour comes to mind which, after a few bites, the waiter swiftly offered to replace.
Much of it may be attributed to cultural differences. After all, when was the last time any of you Americans out there looked forward to digging in to a pile of sausages made from the bowels of pigs?
Aside from ordering a 36€ piece of fennel cake (and an unfortunate incident when I accidentally ordered the aforementioned sausages) another one of my biggest regrets was when Richard Olney came to Chez Panisse and we did a dinner for his book on Château d’Yquem, the most famous—and the most expensive, wine in the world.
The first time I had Yquem, Danny Kaye was entertaining a group at the restaurant and had a special bottle from 1938 and graciously sent me back a small sip. One single taste of the burnished syrup, with a cacophony of flavors that I can still recall, and included roast apricots and honeyed-almonds, absolutely justifies the insane price. So I guess I shouldn’t bad-mouth him.
But for some stupid reason, I didn’t get a copy of Olney’s Yquem book, signed or otherwise, and I spent a few years afterward trolling websites selling used books looking for a copy. Unfortunately each one I found was priced as much as a bottle of the elusive sauternes itself, although it’s fortunately been reprinted.
Richard also wrote Lulu’s Provençal Kitchen, where he followed Lulu Peyraud around while she cooked. When eliciting ideas for serving suggestions for her bagna cauda, she offered forth such dining advice: “It’s very messy. It is best eaten out-of-doors and it has to be eaten standing up, with an apéritif.”
This kind of writing and cooking, comes from a time when cookbooks were published not because they were marketable or the author had a potty-mouth (does calling someone a ‘dick’ count?) or could toss dinner together in 22 minutes. But it was because the cook had something to contribute and their recipes absolutely needed to be documented. And there was no better food writer than Richard Olney to do it.
Lulu is the proprietaire of Domaine Tempier in Province, and is a natural cook, using products from the region; lots of spring garlic, just-caught fish from the Mediterranean, locally-pressed olive oil, and pungent thyme.
This is her recipe for Carrot Cake. It’s not a traditional two-layer pièce de résistance, but moist and compact. And it’s a recipe I’ve always been intrigued by. I like it cut into wedges and served alongside a compote of fresh fruit. Or when my ship comes in, a cool glass of Yquem. Any year will do. But if you want to ‘Americanize’ it, a scoop of Cheesecake Ice Cream, enriched with cream cheese, might not be such a bad thing, either.
And you’re looking for an American-style cake, check out the post: Carrot Cake with Cream Cheese Frosting, for a recipe for the two-layer classic.