“It was a long story, and like most of the stories in the world, never finished. There was an ending—there always is—but the story went on past the ending—it always does.”
—Jeanette Winterson, Lighthousekeeping
The story came and went, taste remained the same. That is one benefit of a book—how it freezes you in time. You have to be real good at splitting, at breaking, then assembling the ruins of all the places you broke into a newer, shinier, more luminous object to be consumed. Mine leapt off the page and assumed form in the mouth. The flavors I tasted became a working theory. I saw shadow at play that would distort the end result. I wrote it down all the same. Days were lost into night. I woke, I ate, I slept, bit by bit. I orchestrated menus that reflected the little life I held inside. Weeks became months. The months turned into years—five, to be precise. They were split into chapters. And I remained in place. My dreams did not stay, nor did the people that I sat down to dinner. It came out and into the world. It was sold as hardcover.
The hunger was mine, but the desire from which it was born, was not. How you take on the tastes of those you are intimately connected to, their pain, pleasure, how their spirit coagulates on your tongue, and mixes with your own, has a lot to say about what we crave, how we eat, and choose to recall it. He had passed through my flesh like a ghost, leaving no trace. I remained haunted. Exit stage left, was the only option. Go forward, and reclaim your taste.
Angel Food Cake tastes like flight. As light as a feather and as soft as a cloud, chiffon cake is a sort of divine coming together of sponge and meringue, that finally, reaches the upper climbs. It’s a cake, that I find, needs more by way of vibrancy. Roasted strawberries do the trick here, and though I’ve written them with Tequila, orange juice works as a fine replacement, pairing well with the surrounding fennel seeds. You’ll want to do this with crème fraîche or Chantilly, serving a spoonful with a generous slice. I like to finish the cake with a flourish of stark sugar, but I’ve also written up a pigmented strawberry-imbued sugar, if that takes your fancy.
Like the menus I wrote, my tastes have changed since then. To sit beside the one who caused it and choose to let it go, amounts to something more than healing. It is an act of generosity, even love, for the man who once taught me how to hate. What happened is best left in silence, alongside emptied plates from dessert. That’s how it should be remembered. To not shy away but to embrace what you were left with, and became as a result, burns residual traces in the candlelight.
But time has passed and the last course is finishing. Soon, it’ll be tasted only in memory.
Desire for more drives the hands that hold on.
We still have hours.
COCONUT AND FENNEL SEED ANGEL FOOD CAKE with ROASTED STRAWBERRIES
For the cake
1 teaspoon fennel seeds, 12 large egg whites (about 480 g), 1 teaspoon cream of tartar, ¼ teaspoon salt, 1 ½ cups + 1 ½ tablespoons (320 g) granulated sugar (divided), 1 teaspoon vanilla extract, 1 cup + 1 ½ tablespoons (135 g) cake flour, 2/3 cup (55 g) desiccated coconut, confectioners’ sugar or strawberry sugar (recipe follows) for finishing, crème fraîche or Chantilly cream (for serving)
Adjust a rack to the middle of the oven, then pre-heat it to 375°F (190°C). Set out a 10-inch (25.5-cm) angel food cake pan (if you don’t have one, you can hack it here—though it likely won’t reach as high, and be shorter on the amount of batter used, and the baking time).
In a small, dry, skillet that’s set over medium heat, toast the fennel seeds until slightly darkened, and fragrant. Shake often. Tip into a mortar and pestle and grind to a fine powder. Set aside until needed.
In a large (5-quart / 4.7L) bowl of a stand mixer that’s fitted with the whisk attachment, whisk the egg whites, cream of tartar, and salt on medium speed until soft peaks have formed. Scatter in half the sugar, a generous tablespoon at a time, until it is all used up. Be careful not to flood it. Continue to whisk to thick and glossy peaks, then whisk through the vanilla. Quickly sift together the flour and remaining sugar, then sift into the mixture in three batches, folding with a large rubber spatula to almost combine each time. Fold through the coconut and fennel seeds. Spoon into the pan, filling no more than two-thirds full. Use a toothpick to prick any air pockets.
Bake for 30 to 35 minutes, until golden, and the top springs back when lightly pressed. Invert onto a wire rack, and leave to cool for an hour. To unmold, carefully run a blunt knife around the sides of the pan to loosen the cake, before gently turning it out and onto a plate. Dust the top lightly with confectioners’ or strawberry sugar (recipe follows), and serve a slice with roasted strawberries and a spoonful of cream.
For the strawberry sugar
½ cup (60 g) confectioners’ sugar, 1 tablespoon (about 3) freeze-dried strawberries
Pulse the confectioners’ sugar and freeze-dried strawberries together until a fine powder has formed. Sift into a bowl to ensure that any sneaky, disparate clumps have been removed. Use soon after, over the cake. It’ll keep for about a month in an airtight container stored at room temperature.
For the roasted strawberries
about 4 cups (500 g) strawberries (rinsed and hulled), ¼ cup (50 g) granulated sugar, 2 tablespoons light brown sugar, 1 vanilla bean pod (seeds scraped), 3 tablespoons Mezcal, 1 tablespoon freshly-squeezed orange juice
Pre-heat the oven to 400°F (200°C).
Halve the strawberries, then toss them into a large mixing bowl, along with the sugars, vanilla seeds, liqueur, and orange juice. Toss to coat, then spread out evenly across a rimmed sheet. Roast until sticky, bubbling, and just tender, about 15 to 20 minutes, rotating halfway through and stirring occasionally. Leave to cool before serving at room temperature or slightly chilled, with the cake.
