Mimosa Pound Cake

My great-grandmother was the archetypal Southern hostess. Every Sunday, she and my grandmother prepared a big meal for the whole family, loading up the kitchen counters with casseroles, simply-prepared vegetables, an impressive medley of pickles, and “salads” that had never seen a single leafy green. And while everything she cooked was excellent, we all waited with great anticipation to see what cake she would make on a given week.

Her layer cakes were varied and colorful, ranging from strawberries and cream to German chocolate to a deep, dark red velvet (my favorite). She took a lot of pride in her cakes, and she continued making them well into her 90s. My grandmother, on the other hand, will quickly tell you that she’s not a baker, and I don’t know that I’ve ever seen her so much as attempt a tall, fluffy layer cake. But whenever I see the Tupperware cake carrier sitting on her counter, my heart does a little flutter of joy, because I know that hidden behind the opaque plastic dome is almost certainly a pound cake.

She makes a plain pound cake, chocolate pound cake, and, my favorite, a “7Up Pound Cake,” which does indeed contain 7Up. You’d think that, in contrast to my great-grandmother’s glorious and showstopping layer cakes, squat, dense pound cakes wouldn’t measure up. But for whatever reason, I’ve always preferred them. I love the tender sugary layer that forms on the top (once inverted, the bottom); the tight texture of the crumb, unbothered by the many tiny air bubbles essential to most cakes; the slightly denser layer that forms on the bottom as the cake sits, compressing itself with its own sturdy weight (Paul Hollywood would call this a flaw—”stodgy,” I can hear him say).

I appreciate how demure pound cakes are, how honest. No thick froth of frosting or fiddly trimming and layering. Pound cake is basically a delicious brick of cake, with nothing between you and the magic of unadulterated butter and sugar.

When I was starting my farmer’s market baking business, I wanted to develop a pound cake recipe that didn’t stray too far from my grandmother’s recipe, but I needed to give it a little zhush, both to make it mine and because I can’t help but fiddle. I loved the little bit of citrus tingle that 7Up gave her cake, so I mulled over some possible substitutions, eventually landing on sparkling wine. At that point, it was a very small leap to adding orange zest and a simple orange icing for window dressing.

Similar to my cheddar-scallion biscuits, the mimosa pound cake was an instant hit at the market, and every time I’ve served it since then, no one seems to mind the lack of layers or frosting. They’re too busy putting bite after bite into their mouths to complain.

Some Tips and Tricks

• Preparing the pan: Regardless of how nonstick you think your cake pan is, generously butter every square centimeter all the way to the top edge, then dust with cake or pastry flour.
• No shortening swaps: The vegetable shortening in this cake (i.e. Crisco) gives it an especially velvety crumb. Don’t be tempted to substitute it with butter.
• Don’t splash out on the wine: In terms of sparkling wine, feel free to go with something affordable. Those tiny bottles of cava or prosecco are ideal here.
• Less stress with unmolding: You don’t want to try to unmold this cake while it’s piping hot because it will be fragile and prone to falling apart right out of the oven. However, do not wait for the cake to cool completely in the pan, as I’ve found it will cement itself into the pan, giving you a very bad time.
• The secret to Goldilocks icing: It can be a little tricky to achieve the right consistency in powdered sugar-based icings. The most common mistake I see is making the icing so thin that it either runs right off the cake or soaks in, making it wet and sticky. My best advice is to start slow when adding the liquid. You can always add more, but it’s harder to correct a too-thin icing. Stop when the icing is just pourable but still quite thick. It should form a thin but distinct layer on the outside of the cake.