Bourbon Pear Cake

     The bundt cake strikes me as a quintessential middle-class food. I have lost count of the times I've seen bundt cakes at gatherings. My family was notorious for using the bundt cake pan for all sorts of terrifying Jell-O molds involving layers and suspended fruits.  It was almost unavoidable that I would eventually buy and use a bundt cake pan.  One of the first things I made was a Bourbon Pear Cake. I think I got the recipe from Relish.com, but can't find it there anymore. If anybody locates the original source, please let me know so I can give proper credit. I liked this recipe because it incorporated booze. However, I can't get myself to cook with high-end liquor, that stuff is for drinking! Unfortunately, I didn't have any bottom-shelf booze on hand so I had to use the workhorse in my bar, Jim Beam. This is just a good looking cake and is moist and flavorful. I always feel like such a pompous ass when I say stuff like that. Hmm.. CAKE SQUISHY AND TASTE GOOD. There. Much better. As always, any notes or changes are in blue.

Bourbon Pear Cake

Ingredients

• 3 eggs 
• 2 cups sugar 
• 1 1/2 cups vegetable oil 
• 3 cups all-purpose flour 
• 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon 
• 2 tablespoons bourbon (I'm pretty sure some form of honey bourbon would be really good here)
• 1 teaspoon salt 
• 1 teaspoon baking soda 
• 1 1/2 cups pears - peeled, cored and chopped (there's nothing stopping you from using apples instead)
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 
• 1 1/4 cups confectioners' sugar 
• 2 tablespoons milk 

Directions

1. In a mixing bowl, beat eggs on medium speed. Gradually add sugar and oil; beat thoroughly. 
2. Combine flour, cinnamon, salt and baking soda; add to egg mixture and mix well. 
3. Stir in pears, bourbon and vanilla. (The batter will be stiff. Notice how I took the moral high ground and didn't make a joke here.) 
4. Spoon into a greased and floured 9-in. Bundt-cake pan. 
5. Bake at 350F for 60-65 minutes or until a toothpick inserted comes out clean (obviously, you'll want to stick the toothpick into the actual cake and not the hole in the center). Let cool in pan 10 minutes before inverting onto a serving plate. 
6. In a small bowl, combine the confectioners' sugar and milk; beat until smooth. Drizzle over warm cake. Cool completely.

"Miss Moneypenny, fetch me another slice of that fantastic cake. I'm too shitfaced to get it myself."
Good times! 

Completely Odd Cooking Habits

     I think everybody has an odd cooking habit or two. A certain way they stir, a special pan. That sort of thing. Not in my family. My family's odd habits are a bit more esoteric and idiosyncratic (BONUS FOR ADVANCED LANGUAGE SKILLS).

Toothpicks in cakes
I'm not talking about the time-honored tradition of using a toothpick to check if a cake or bread is done through. I'm talking about my grandmother's (my dad's mom, henceforth referred to as "Loretta") predilection for hiding toothpicks INSIDE the cake. I remember she made a pretty awesome Fred Flintstone cake for my birthday when I was little. I also remember nearly choking to death on a toothpick buried in the cake. My dad pierced the roof of his mouth with another toothpick hidden inside. I recall exactly what he said to his mom: "JESUS LORETTA, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHY ARE THERE TOOTHPICKS INSIDE THE CAKE?" She went on to explain that she needed the toothpicks to support the cake and keep it from collapsing. She apparently had special load-bearing toothpicks. The problem was, you never knew if you had a piece with a toothpick until you speared one through your cheek.

Eating Loretta's cakes was very much like playing Minesweeper.

Cooking without a recipe
In all my years living at home, not once did I ever see either of my parents consult a cookbook or recipe. No exaggeration here. Never. I'm assuming they memorized recipes and then burned the paper copy in the interest of National Security. My dad's chili varied from batch to batch. Apart from his standard 1lb meat=1 can tomato sauce=1 can kidney beans, it was up for grabs. My mom had a recipe that consisted of putting a load of rice and water in a baking dish, throwing in a bunch of chicken breasts, onions and green peppers and covering the whole thing in tomato sauce. Everything was wonderful, but to this day, I still have no idea how to exactly replicate anything from them. Maybe that was the point.

Cryptic Names
Many recipes in my family had really goofball names. "Fall-apart Chicken" was fairly self-explanatory, but somewhat ominous. Was my grandmother (my mom's mom, henceforth referred to as Bubby, not the toothpick grandma) referring to chicken cooked so long the meat simply fell from the bone, or was the chicken leprous? "Wally's Dressing" was another classic. No indication as to what is in there. This sounds more like a reason not to go into Wally's room than a recipe.

"Stay out of the bedroom, dear. Wally's dressing."

Possibly it was referring to bandages for a wound on Wally. Actually, it was a combination of oil, elbow macaroni and chicken livers.

Horrifying Jell-O Suspensions
I'm not talking about the fun fruit and marshmallow in a Jell-O mold we all know and love. My mom made a great one with whipped cream that was layered. Very picturesque. No, I'm talking about the occasional Jell-O that made it to our table from some of the more damaged members of my family and their friends. Specifically, I remember a story of someone serving my Bubby a Jell-O with gefilte fish suspended in it. Green Jell-O no less. As the story goes, Bubby blew a gasket. It is said she announced, "WHO PUTS GEFILTE FISH IN JELL-O?! FUCKING [the religion of the person in question. I'll just go ahead and leave that part out as to not offend anybody]." My Bubby was a firecracker.

     I'm sure if I take some time and work with my therapist I can dredge up more alarming memories for you for another day.

Good times!