curry cake

Perhaps the best thing about rebuilding a kitchen from scratch is that everything will finally get a home in a place that makes sense— at last, form will follow function. My spices, for instance, were once scattered around in cupboards wherever they would fit. Soon, they will live together in their very own cabinet; on shallow floor-to-ceiling shelves, in shiny new jars, each clearly labeled.
I think they're as excited as I am.
In fact, I know they are.

I'm pretty sure that they planted the idea of spice cake in my head while I was organizing them. I tried to shake it off because, frankly, I've been baking more judiciously lately. But it was of no use. I think I heard them cheer when I pulled out my go-to recipe for spice cake, which made cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and ginger very happy, but caused some others to feel slighted. Five bold spices came forward and asked  "Why can't we play too? You know we play well together…you always put us in your garam masala."
They had a point, but did I really want to make a curry cake?
I did.

Conceding to a new direction, I scrapped the spice cake recipe and decided that a yogurt cake would be a more appropriate platform for the savory spices. I measured them out individually, planning to blend the spices together into the finished batter, but they had other ideas. They didn't want to be muddled together.  They each wanted to star in their own individual layer and be united as a cake.
"Really?" I asked, "you want me to make nine different layers?" 
They did.

It wasn't as complicated as I thought it would be. I simply weighed out the batter in grams and divided by nine. Then I added just enough spice to each batch to allow each flavor to come through, but not overpower the others. This was all going well until I tasted the turmeric batter, which had the distinct flavor of musty cardboard. I didn't want to insult the old chap, but I had to be honest. He took it pretty well— considered it for awhile, then invited the other spices to join him.
"We'll be the curry layer… the reference for the cake."
What a trooper. 

After the layers were baked, cooled, and trimmed, I joined them together with coconut frosting. Because turmeric stepped up and took one for the team, I gave him a distinct layer where his vivid color could be best appreciated.

As I ate the curry cake,  I found myself tasting each layer with a hyper awareness, then searching for that unique flavor in the blended layer. I thought about the process of synthesizing— how we often blend things together to create something new and synergistic.  Taking them apart, not to deconstruct, but to isolate, reminded me of the importance of being mindful of individuality, while celebrating commonality.
For me, it was a lesson about so much more than food. 

curry cake
mango chutney ice cream