Chocolate Whiskey Loaf Cake

The complexity of balance.

“Good news is rare these days, and every glittering ounce of it should be cherished and hoarded and worshipped and fondled like a priceless diamond.” — Hunter S. Thompson

I’m not a drinker. At all. Oh, I’ll order a glass of wine with a meal, especially at a restaurant, especially in Chinon. I mean, I live in a wine region, so I know that local wine complements a meal prepared with local ingredients perfectly. “If it grows together, it goes together” is something we learn really fast living in France. Terroir isn’t just a fancy word or concept; it’s a way of life.

But I don’t drink liqueurs or spirits, or whatever the term for it is. I guess when one doesn’t drink, one doesn’t need to know what to call it, am I right? But I digress.

As a baker (and as a jam maker, I might add), I long ago learned the value of adding whiskey or cognac, Grand Marnier or Triple sec, or Amaretto or rum to a dessert. I’ve added each of them at one time or another to a cake or brownie batter, to panna cotta and rice pudding, chocolate ganache, buttercream, and roasted fruit, and to so many jams I can’t even remember them all.

That kick of alcohol adds the perfect je ne sais quoi, a hint of flavor, a luxurious warmth and depth, a certain special, often mysterious oomph. It’s all a bit of alchemy, isn’t it? Take something that, on its own, might be overwhelming, too harsh, or something we don’t particularly like, and transform it by blending it, heating it, giving it time, and it turns into something subtle and balanced, one part of a beautiful, rich, tempting whole.

I’m not going to bring up politics in this post. Writing for The Contrarian, I always try to tie what I’m cooking and the recipe I’m offering into how I’m feeling about the current political landscape.

But that landscape these days is so dystopian — rocky and dark, stark and desiccated and tenebrous — that all I can think of is that if I were much of a drinker, well, I would. But for today, whiskey and chocolate will be my saving grace.

Mind you, I’m not saying that we should drown our sorrows in drink or eat ourselves into an oblivious stupor. We should never do that. But right now, at this very moment, spring is here, the sun is shining, and the days are growing longer and warmer. And we’ve arrived at another holiday season for so many of us of different religions, a season of grace and thankfulness, renewal and community; we gather with friends and family to celebrate the return of light.

This cake isn’t about excess; it’s about indulgence without the weight of overindulgence. It is complex yet subtle, dark yet light, and remarkably elegant. Though it sounds rich, it is unexpectedly delicate. Despite its whiskey notes and bittersweet chocolate, it remains a simple tea cake, perfect for settling down with a cup of steaming tea or milky coffee. Or, yeah, even a glass of wine. I recommend a red.

Or use slices of this cake as a base for a fancy dessert.

Jamie Schler is an American food and culture writer — immersed in French culinary history — living in France where she owns a hotel, makes jam, and writes the Substack Life’s a Feast.

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