Red Velvet



We had a little birthday party last night. It was one year ago this week that I felt the urge to make sweet potatoes, and the next day, during an inspired (but slow) day at the office, Dinner Last Night was born. I thought it fitting to honor its first anniversary with a celebration, so I baked it a cake – a red velvet one.

Cakes are normally too fussy for my laissez-faire M.O., requiring me to use, of all things, measuring cups. I do, however, relish the image of a cake dome gleaming on a sunny kitchen counter, holding a few leftover slices of some scrumptious creation. It fuels the 50’s home-maker fantasy I secretly aspire to, in which I, in an A-line dress and pumps, greet my husband at five thirty with a perfect martini. On very special occasions therefore, I give in and bake a cake: I calibrate my oven thermometer, refresh my supply of baking powder and dust off the beautiful flour sifter Chris and Jill picked up for me at an antiques shop in Orleans. I tie on an apron to make it official.

Though Krista’s toasted coconut cake, boca negra cake (made with chocolate and chilies), and chocolate cherry cake were equally compelling, I opted to make a red velvet cake for Dinner Last Night’s first birthday. I’d never had one before, but had always been drawn to its hidden allure. From the outside, you’d never guess it was anything more than a plain old layer cake, bland, white and innocent – but one single slice reveals its startling scarlet interior, and you know you’ve found something special.

I should tell you that Red Velvet is just an alias for the cake’s original descriptor: Devil's Food. The same cake has also been known through the years as Demon Cake, Red Devil’s Food, Satan Cake, Black Midnight Cake, Oxblood Cake, and Devil’s Delight. While I admit that it can be a sinful temptation, I sort of hate to link Red Velvet with the Devil. It can’t help it if it has a luxurious velvet texture and moist, crimson crumb – it’s just its nature.

Seriously, all diabolic associations aside, the first cause of Red Velvet’s ruddy hue was a chemical one. Cocoa contains small amounts of anthocyanins that become red in the presence of acids (such as the buttermilk and vinegar characteristic of this cake). When the more alkaline Dutch-processed cocoa arrived on the scene, the reaction was muted and so was the color. Although bakers preferred the chocolately taste of the new cocoa, they longed for the Red Velvet their mothers had made, and added red food coloring to the batter. In WWII, when sugar rations were a concern, some bakers turned to beets for sweetness. They too underscored the importance of color in an otherwise ordinary cake, and grated beets or beet baby food is still found in some Red Velvet recipes.

I did not use beets, though I do love the idea. What I did use was one tub of intensely concentrated red food-coloring gel. It amounted to little more than a teaspoon, but packed a serious punch (my fingers are still Barbie-style fuchsia this morning, after two loads of dishes and a long shower). The red gel got mixed into the liquid ingredients, namely a cup of buttermilk and a teaspoon each of white vinegar and vanilla. Following the advice of bakers on Epicurious.com, I added some cocoa powder into this mixture. Supposedly it helps to unify the color of the final batter. I also added a little vegetable oil to ensure a moist crumb. The mixture looked nothing less than sanguine.

In two buttered and floured cake pans, the cake baked for 25 minutes, which seemed on the short side, but actually was a little bit too long. To counter dryness (again) and to add an extra something, I brushed each layer with Chambord. This was a TERRIFIC idea, if I do say so myself. You could detect a subtle but delicious raspberry touch in every bite. I used a cream cheese frosting, which complemented the chocolate nicely and did a good job of concealing the redness. It also helped to give the cake some structure since the crumb was a little... loose, for lack of a better term. With one birthday candle on top, it looked splendid – splendidly white and innocuous.

Many things are popularized by legend, but Red Velvet became legendary because of its popularity. It doesn’t have a deep history, nor is it associated with myth. It wasn’t “created” or “developed” by anyone (not even Satan worshipers). It wasn’t invented at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel and sold for $200 to some woman who simply requested a recipe (though many claim this is the case). It is also not a Southern classic, although it still thrives in the South today. It just happened – because of chemistry, because of utility – and people fell in love with it. It distinguished itself from generic chocolate cakes, provided something unique and vivid, something out of the ordinary. And people continue to love it – not for its external beauty – but because in the case of Red Velvet, it really is what’s on the inside that counts.

I blew out the birthday candle and Jacob popped some bubbly. Then I sliced into the cake. The deep red crumb was shocking next to the pale frosting – it looked delightfully scandalous. I toasted Jacob for being my faithful publisher and guinea pig, and toasted all of you for being so wonderfully supportive of me and of this project. Your encouraging words over the past year have been a true inspiration. I only wish you had been there to have a piece of cake.

Posted: Fri - November 19, 2004 at 11:38 AM      

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