Lemon Cake With Crackly Lemon Sugar Topping

The great thing about this cake are all things you don’t need to make it: fancy equipment, fancy ingredients, baking ability. All that, plus it’s delicious and keeps really well, provided you don’t wolf it down in one sitting.

This recipe comes courtesy of Diana Henry’s Plenty, written in 2010, well before another, more famous Plenty made its debut. Like all of Henry’s cookbooks, Plenty is full of terrific recipes–pork belly with star anise, cherry wine, wonderful salads. I have no idea why Henry isn’t better known in the United States. She should be.

Henry’s recipe calls for ingredients the IK doesn’t stock: self-rising flour, for one. When the need arises, I take a page from Nigella Kitchen, where Nigella suggests adding 2 teaspoons baking powder to 1 cup of all-purpose flour, creating self-rising flour at home. As Henry’s recipe requires 1 3/4 cups flour–just under 2 cups–my math-impaired mind quickly clouded. Fortunately, John was home.

Have I mentioned John is an engineer? Who is therefore in possession of numeric prowess? He scribbled a couple equations and told me to use 3 1/2 teaspoons of baking powder. He tried to explain why, but it involved decimals, which give me anxiety attacks. Thanking him profusely, I wrote “three and a half” on a sticky note and hurried back to the kitchen.

Henry also asks you to sift the flour. Being no fan of flour sifters, I take the strainer-over-a-measuring cup route. But go your own way (you can call it another lonely day).

This cake is more like a quick muffin batter than fine pastry–likely why I can bake it. The butter and lemon juice provide all the liquid, and you aren’t supposed to overmix, lest you activate the gluten. The first time I baked this, it worked a dream. Naturally, when I baked it for the blog, the ingredients misbehaved. There wasn’t enough liquid to incorporate the flour. Welcome to real life in the kitchen, where variables in ingredients, weather, and equipment try wreaking havoc.

For a moment I looked down into the bowl of sunshiny yellow batter and plotzed (Yiddish slang for dropping dead). Then I pulled it together. I mean, this isn’t Belgium. It’s a cake. How to fix it?

I squeezed in another half lemon. Still too dry. Would more water work? I poured in about 1/3 cup. Violà-The batter relaxed, finding itself. It looked and tasted like cake batter. Best of all, it baked beautifully.

So however unorthodox this may seem, proceed with the recipe, and if necessary, add a little water. Don’t let the ingredients control you.

While the cake bakes, make the topping, which takes this from from ho-hum snack material to dangerous dessert. Henry calls for another renegade ingredient the IK doesn’t stock–superfine sugar (I’ll spare you the Styx lyrics)–which isn’t to be confused with Confectioner’s Sugar. Superfine sugar is just what it sounds like–sugar, ground superly fine. Like self-rising flour, you yourself can produce this at home. Place plain sugar in a spice grinder or food processor. Hit the power switch.

This superfine sugar is mixed with more fresh lemon juice and poured over the warm cake. Then, using all your willpower, allow the cake to cool completely. The topping will form a crackly crust.

Henry notes this cake may be made with limes, too, though you must double the amounts of fruit. Oranges might be worth a try, too, or even a blend of citrus fruits. I used Meyer lemons, thought to be a cross between regular lemons and either mandarins or other oranges. Meyer Lemons are the platonic ideal of lemon, deeply flavored, thin-skinned, juicy, and intensely fragrant.