Thank you for reading Between the Layers! Perfect Chocolate Cake for Dad - No. 222Why ‘’The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel’’ is about fathers, why Abe reminds me of my dad, why Tony Shalhoub deserves another Emmy, and why chocolate cake.
WHEN I WATCHED THE LAST EPISODE of the final season of ‘’The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel’’ recently and saw Midge and Susie sharing that fat slice of chocolate layer cake, I knew I was writing about Perfect Chocolate Cake today. I already knew I was writing about fathers when, an episode earlier, as Midge’s father, Abe Weissman played by Tony Shalhoub, is having lunch with colleagues and you sense the show is tying up loose ends and beginning its end, Abe delivers a soliloquy that would have had Shakespeare leaning in to listen. It went something like this…
Actor Tony Shalhoub might have portrayed this 1960s intellectual Jewish dad on New York’s Upper West Side in the Amazon Prime series, but he spoke to a lot of us in a lot more places. He spoke about the human side of being a father, the imperfection that’s involved with it, and he blows up the notion that ‘’father knows best.’’ He is the grumpy yet soft-hearted dad you want to sit next to at the holiday dinner.
As one of three daughters, Maisel hit home for me because my father didn’t have a son to mold.He just had three red headed, freckled, laughing daughters who loved the outdoors, dogs, friends, watched way too much TV growing up, but in the end it all worked out well and we loved our parents and enjoyed their company, too. All of us traveled with them in our later years. It was all you could wish for, really. Our dad was quiet, kind, wise, and outspoken when he needed to be. He was fiercely loyal and honest. Maybe a bit too honest. The things he told my husband before he married me… My dad was an only child and doted on by his mother. And he grew up in this house where we live today. About a decade ago when we were considering buying this home and restoring it, we walked down to what was the cellar to look around. Besides a fat king snake in one corner, there was a coal room where my father was said to have shoveled coal to feed the upstairs fireplaces. There was a narrow room with shelves for stacking and storing things, and I am sure his mother put up jams and jellies and all the vegetables from the garden there. I could only envision props for photo shoots and a nest of Pyrex 9-by-13 casseroles that would remain nicely out of sight down there. The former residents of this home told us to look carefully at the walls because in my father’s boredom, grief, or whatever emotions he felt, he scribbled his feelings on those cellar walls. They were still there and dated, some written painfully in red the day his dog walked down the drive and was hit by an oncoming car on the highway.
His was a simpler time.It wasn’t an easier time by any means. He fought in two wars, would watch his parents age and weather the Depression. He would pay for our college and budget carefully. And he would suffer a debilitating stroke far too young in his life, tragically when three of his five grandchildren were living in Nashville and he could have forged long and wonderful relationships with them if only he’d had more time. They called him Poppy. They knew when he and my mother came to live with us that we needed to be quiet after dinner and that for the time being there would be no sleepovers at our house. And they understood as a child does, without asking questions, on the morning Poppy died, that he had gone to a better place. When you are reminded of someone dear to you by a performance, with brilliant writing from a team who clearly created Mrs. Maisel to honor their dads, it stirs things up and brings back memories that life pushes down somehow. Feelings aren’t erased but they are just re-shelved, and you feel that tightening in your chest, and maybe your jaw starts to ache, and possibly a tear wells in an eye even though you don’t cry much anymore. Because fathers like my dad—fathers like the fictional Abe Weissman—well meaning, imperfect, and honest people who didn’t over-parent, who let their children dream big, they deserve to be remembered. With a perfect chocolate cake. Happy Father’s Day! - xo, Anne A Little Housekeeping…This Thursday for paid subscribers: How to Make Homemade English Muffins! You’ll never go back to store-bought—promise! It’s a very fun project for summer. I’ll be taking a summer break from the free Tuesday posts for the next two weeks, returning in July, so don’t worry if it doesn’t show up in your inbox. I will continue to write the Thursday posts in June.
THE RECIPE: Perfect Chocolate CakeThis cake used to begin with a from-scratch cake, but we’ve streamlined it now to begin with a mix, which I doctor up, of course. My dad loved this cake. It is filled with whipped cream and finished with a fudge frosting so decadent that even with the multiple steps and countless mixing bowls to wash, it’s still worth it. And that frosting is what makes it perfect! Store this cake covered in the refrigerator for up to three days. Makes 12 servings Prep: 30 to 35 minutes Bake: 25 to 30 minutes
Perfect Chocolate FrostingThis frosting really is perfect. It’s rich, it’s smooth, it glides onto the cake. And it’s especially good on a spoon straight from pan. Makes 3 1/2 cups, enough to frost a two- to three-layer cake Prep: 20 minutes
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