Nanny's Banana Cake

One of my greatest joys in life is cooking for friends and family.  It is rarely a chore for me.   Many of the tasks associated with cooking are somewhat distasteful, however:  driving to the local Stop and Shop, lugging the bags of groceries from the car, putting food away in the pantry.  These are major sources of oppression for me, yet they are easily overcome by family members who agree to be attentive to my critical notes about size and brand.  My son, for example, can be relied upon to bring home exactly what I have specified from the supermarket.  My husband, on the other hand . . . not so much.

Once I have a well-stocked kitchen, it is hard to stop the food production in our house.  I love filling the house with tantalizing aromas that promise a mouthwatering meal.  I do a little victory dance when I overhear my kids renegotiating their plans with their buddies because they would rather stay home for dinner.   I like to cook large portions, creating my own homemade frozen dinners.  When my kids were still in high school, for example, I used to bake my special macaroni and cheese in large-sized muffin tins and then wrap and freeze the individual microwavable portions.  Similarly, I make my best meatloaf recipe into one ounce meatballs.  Once frozen, it is easy to count out the optimal sized portion for each person.   In the summer, when basil is fresh and at its aromatic peak at our local farm store, I make a ton of pesto and freeze it in ice cube trays, then pop the cubes out and store them in the freezer in a Ziploc bag.  A single cube can turn ordinary sandwiches into gourmet Panini, or be stirred as a condiment into my “can-tipasto” salad, or a bunch of cubes can be tossed with some fresh ravioli for a quick pasta dinner.  This is probably the only house in the neighborhood where kids can come over and have a ready-made snack of potato latkes year round.

Many of my attitudes toward food and cooking come from traveling.  My souvenir bags are normally filled with regional spices and oils so that I can conjure up the memories of our trips with authentic flavors at home.  In my next life I likely will be a food anthropologist.  I am fascinated by the way the heart and soul of a nation can be embodied in the colors and spices of its traditional cuisine.   But this lesson was not learned on the road; it was something I learned in my grandmother’s kitchen.  By “Nanny’s” side, I was witness to the power of cooking to sooth and excite as well as to nourish.  As I cooked with her, I learned how people survived the Great Depression, how families resolved conflicts, and how neighbors came together to mark an important occasion.  With each recipe she prepared—a pot of soup, a pot roast, a casserole—it triggered another memory from her past.  Sometimes I was treated to off-color tales about what it was like to grow up with three sisters.  Sometimes I would hear darling stories about her life as a newlywed.  On rare occasions, she would spin a tale about the life she wished for me.

I am lucky to have Nanny’s own recipe box, containing her index card recipes, hand-written in her perfect school-teacher script.  It is very telling that most of her recipes are nothing more than a list of ingredients—so intuitive was her cooking method that she needed only a reminder of the components and the quantities for shopping purposes.  Among these recipes is her iconic banana cake—the jewel of our family.  This is no dense banana bread loaf; it is a light and fluffy layer cake that transforms overripe bananas into sweet heaven.   When I was very young, I remember her creating rich chocolate frosting fo spread on the layers made with Baker’s chocolate and confectioner’s sugar.  By the time I was in high school she confessed that she had long ago reverted to frosting in a can—a concession to the inconvenience of washing the bulky Mixmaster a second time.  When no one noticed the difference, she kept a clear conscience over this modern timesaver.

It is hard for me to write about Nanny’s banana cake—so primal are the feelings it conjures for me.  Some of the most emotional and exposed moments of my life transpired in the presence of this confection.  It was the just-in-time medicine for any crisis—a difficult exam, an argument, a broken heart, a competitive disappointment.  So persistent was its presence in my life, it seemed like a magic cake with the power to reconstitute itself.  In truth, it was Nanny’s enduring love for her family that kept her forever ripening bananas for the next batch. 

As a tribute to her, (and maybe in need of a little hug from her) I share this recipe with you.

Nanny’s Banana Cake

1 ¼ cup of sugar

¼ lb. of shortening or margarine

2 eggs

1 teaspoon baking soda dissolved in 4 Tablespoons of sour cream

1 cup banana pulp (mash three overripe bananas)

1 ½ cup cake flour  (do not use all-purpose flour)

1 teaspoon vanilla

¼ teaspoon salt

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Grease, line, and flour two eight inch cake pans.

In a mixer, cream together sugar and shortening.  Beat in eggs, baking soda mixture, banana pulp, vanilla, and salt.  Add cake flour and mix until fully blended.  Divide evenly between the cake pans.  Bake 20-30 minutes, until a toothpick comes out clean.

Cool on racks for an hour and then remove from cake pans and let cool completely.  Frost with chocolate fudge frosting, filling generously with frosting between the layers and then finishing with the top and sides.  To serve, slice into wedges.

Tomorrow's blog:  My First Mother's  Day