Moon, June, and Wedding Cake

Wait, it's not June anymore? Okay, okay. Let's say it was start-up pains that delayed me.

Well, back during that romantic and nuptial month of June, I started digging up old recipes for wedding cakes.

You see, my own sister was getting married, and I'd offered to arrange for the wedding cake. My sister's only requirements: "Let it be good. And let it be beautiful."

Naturally, I got to thinking about the very nature of wedding cakes and what they should be. I considered those tiers reaching skyward….those buttercream garlands. . . the fresh flowers and whipped cream swirls-all sculpted into ephemeral sweetness and the hope for enduring love.

It occurred to me that wedding cake may be one of the most symbolic foods in our modern world. Just think about how we all ritually gather around the bride groom and sing and cheer them on while they feed one another in a public display of pleasure and delight.

Naturally I wanted to know where it all began

As usual with such things, we'll never know for sure. But here is the first recipe I could find written in English and specifically named for use in a wedding feast.

For those of you who are not used to reading old recipes, be patient, there are commas where you'd expect periods. "Sweet-meats" probably refers to jam or conserves.

To make a Bride Cake. Take four Pounds of fine Flour well dried, four Pounds of fresh Butter, two Pounds of loaf Sugar, pound and sift fine a quarter of an Ounce of Mace, the same of Nutmegs, to every Pound of Flour put eight Eggs, wash four Pounds of Currants, pick them well and dry them before the Fire, blanch a Pound of sweet Almonds (and cut them length-ways very thin), a Pound of Citron , one Pound of candied Orange, the same of candied Lemon, half a Pint of Brandy; first work the Butter with your Hand to a Cream, then beat in your Sugar a quarter of an Hour, beat the Whites of your Eggs to a very Strong Froth, mix them with your Sugar and Butter, beat your Yolks half an Hour at least, and mix them with your Cake, then put in your Flour, Mace and Nutmeg, keep beating it well 'till your Oven is ready, put in your Brandy, and beat your Currants and Almonds lightly in, tie three Sheets of Paper round the Bottom of your Hoop to keep it from running out, rub it well with Butter, put in your Cake, and lay your Sweet-meats in three Lays, with Cake betwixt every Lay, after it is risen and coloured, cover it with paper before your Oven is stopped up; it will take three hours baking. -- Elizabeth Raffald, The Experienced English Housekeeper, 1769

Leavened cake as we know it today-made with eggs, yeast, or baking powder, highly refined flour and sugar and covered with frosting--is a relative newcomer to the human race.

In ancient history, sweet dishes were made with fruits and natural syrups like honey, perhaps mixed with grains and/or nuts. It is not really not until the late 1500s or early 1600s that "great cakes" for celebrations start regularly finding their way to cookbooks. To the modern palate many of these would taste like rich raisin bread or Italian panetone.

Cake Breaking Rituals

There is an oft-repeated legend that in ancient Rome, it was tradition to break wedding cake over the bride's head. Well there may be some truth to this, but one should always suspicious of such well-worn gems.

A serious academic named Simon Charlsey tried to investigate the truth of this legend for his book Wedding Cakes and Cultural History. He found impressive evidence that in Britain, during the eighteenth and nineteenth century, a number of wedding cakes and biscuits were indeed ritually broken over brides' heads. He could never pin down whether this habit came from the Romans--or if perhaps it was a case of Europeans imitating myths of what they thought Romans did - because hey, it's cool to do like the Romans.

In any case, inuendo was probably at work. Perhaps this cake breaking was to symbolize the bride losing her virginity. Perhaps it stood for a break with the past and starting a new. Perhaps the practice echoed, the breaking of the Eucharist. (Or, perhaps it was just violence against women.) You can take your best guess. As all anthropologists know, it can be impossible to find the original meaning of things. A ritual persists but the why often changes over time.

Which brings me back to my conundrum of what sort of cake to get for my beloved sister and my soon-to-be brother in law.

All I knew was that I didn't have time to make it myself-but I didn't want to use a commercial caterer or baker-either. I wanted individual, caring hands on this cake.

Then, I heard about this lovely woman named Vicki Cortez in Verona, New Jersey who makes them in her own kitchen. After a few conversations and sample photos, I gave her the job and settled on a decision: it would be a buttery yellow cake with strawberries for spring and whipped cream. Not too many decorative frills-just fresh flowers.

On the day of the wedding, I went to Vicki's house and beheld a lovely simple cake, round, smooth and white, with delicate scrolls of cream around it. It was just as requested. I placed fresh orchids about it, and carted the thing proudly and confidently to the big event.

And there we were. The wedding was lovely and small -held at a restaurant on the Hudson River. A huge full moon rose that night over the New York skyline, and my sister Lisa and her man Kayhan made their promises surrounded by a small circle of close family and friends..

We were having fun about an hour into the party when the restaurant manager tapped me on the shoulder and told me he had some upsetting news.

"The cake is broken." he told me. "The chef accidentally dropped it."

"Broken?" I tried to take in the meaning of his words. "Broken?"

"But we've put it back together," he quickly reassured-then added. "We did our best." He paused. "And now the champagne will be free."

Well, to make a long story short, I collected myself and went into the kitchen to investigate.

It was not the cake I had brought, I'm sad to report. No, this was not Vicki's spectacular work, not at all. But it didn't look so bad either. Fresh strawberries were added around the edges. And some of the orchids were salvaged and spread about the top. "Yes, fine enough," I said sadly.

The cake was placed on a special table and encircled with votive candles, then wheeled out. Suddenly, it looked rather beautiful just the same, and being married 15 years myself, I got to thinking of metaphors of marriage being full of challenges and surprises and how we must put broken things back together all the time.

And so we toasted the happy couple. They cut the cake and we applauded. Then they fed one another with delight. We cheered them on some more-with happiness and sweet hope for the future.

Next in "Not to Be Forgotten," A summer recipe from history for your summer kitchen.

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