Fern Cake: A baked good for opinionated women and other people who have no time to waste.

I was born under suspect circumstances. My mother wasn’t married. My father while charismatic, wasn’t reliable, and my mother’s parents were upset. (Even though my mother was a grown woman with her own life; they somehow felt my existence was this awful thing my mother did to them on purpose.) It was Great Aunt Fern who came to see my mom after I was born. My mom said that Fern did the dishes, brought a casserole, showed my mom how to breastfeed me, and told her she was doing okay. Then Fern called up my Grandma and told her to get over herself, and go and see her grandchild. (Fern didn’t have a grandkid yet so she was pretty irritated that Grandma got the best gift in the world and acted like it was terrible.) Grandma listened to her sister, and life went on. (I genuinely love my Grandma but I would be the first to tell you that she was an opinionated woman who could be unforgiving.)

To be born a girl in my mother’s family is to be born with the great talent of subtext and text. It is like having all four burners on a stove going at once at different heats and for different purposes and it can be intense. There isn’t a lot of yelling but there are opinions. Many of them. The one who possessed the most was my Great Aunt Fern. The woman didn’t have a self-conscious bone in her body. She told the truth in a way that could be jarring, could be really tough but also had a sense of humor. She knew she couldn’t take herself too seriously, and that children needed to have a good time and just be kids. When I was about twenty, and she was in her eighties, she was encouraging my youngest siblings to lick their dessert plates after I had told them not to. She proceeded to lick her own plate, and told me to lighten up. I should have known better, as this was the same woman who would give me soda to drink when I was seven years old. She knew my Grandma (her younger sister) would insist that I should be drinking milk with my meal. “It’s my house Gennie-girl, you don’t want milk.” (Gennie-girl is what my Grandma and Fern called me. In my head I can still hear them say it in their faded Minnesota accents.)

When my Grandma died, Fern took over the job of being Grandma to my siblings and I. Whenever we saw her there was always pie or cake. she would arrive with great gusto and one would be fed. Eating at her house was a loud and fun affair. Sometimes she would play the piano, pull some wild story out of her past, and then make more coffee.

At Fern’s memorial/cocktail party (which was amazing. So much to drink, a lot of pickled herring, and some serious snark about certain relations.) there was a table filled with all of her recipe cards and clippings she had acquired over the years. It was a treasure trove that showed the history of American cooking, family favorites and even a few secrets she had been holding back for years. The recipes were free for the taking. I may have inherited a painting, some jewelry, and assorted Scandinavian goods, but ending up with some of her recipes was like being able to carry a piece of her with me. One recipe I came away with was this chocolate cake recipe. It doesn’t stand out as anything unusual but it accidentally turned into a legendary cake. Fern cake (Because everyone should be lucky enough to have a baked good named after them.) is the moist fudgy cake my son insists upon for his birthday every single year. It is a cake I have passed on to friends around the world and has become part of their families. It isn’t fancy and it doesn’t require some great skills as a baker. It just assumes you know how to make people feel loved. Take a page from Fern: make some cake, pour a vodka tonic, and be honest with people.

2 Cups flour
2 Cups sugar
4 Tb cocoa (a good dark dutch-processed cocoa does wonders)

1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 cup oil
1/2 cup butter (melted)
1 cup water
1/2 cup buttermilk (milk with lemon juice works for a substitute)
2 eggs beaten
1 tsp vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 375F

In a large bowl you will combine all of your dry ingredients (flour, sugar, cocoa, baking soda, salt) You can do this by hand with a whisk which will get air into the flour and works to sift everything evenly. Then you will add the oil, melted butter and water. Mix well. Next you will add in the buttermilk, eggs and vanilla. This should take just a few minutes. The batter shouldn’t be too thick. Pour into a greased/floured 9x13 inch pan and then bake about 25–35 minutes. (or until done -the knife test works well)
You can either eat the cake as is and experience an absolute abandon of your good senses so that you wake up a few hours later covered in crumbs or you can let the cake cool a bit (at least half an hour) and make a frosting for it.

Frosting

1/4 cup butter
3 Tbs cocoa
6 Tbs milk
1 Package of confectioner’s/icing sugar

In a sauce pan you will melt butter over medium heat. Add cocoa to make a paste and then add milk. You will stir and cook mixture until it begins to boil. You will then take it off of the heat, and add the sifted icing sugar slowly. A whisk is helpful here. You will add the sugar, whisk it into the cocoa mixture and then add some more. It will be quite thick. Once it is well combined you will pour it over the cake. Let it sit in the fridge for about 20 minutes before serving.

I find the cake keeps well in the fridge (just as long as you cover it with cling film) and it would be damn good with some strong coffee, and gossip about someone in the family who had their car stolen after leaving the keys in the car in the driveway. (It was my uncle. My uncle did that.)