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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My grandmother used to make bourbon balls for christmas. One year (her last year for making bourbon balls) I think she had a shot of bourbon for every pan she made. It was a big year, lot of family, but long story short, she tripped over the rug by the sink, lacerated her old lady skin open and purchased a visit to the ER for a few sutures. All her other uncomely visits to a hospital in the Deep South were due to pathetic hospitals and stupid human doctor tricks. It has only gotten worse. BTW, the bourbon balls were ok, but a little strong, even for me. I do miss my grandmother. She would have grown up after the crash of the late 1800’s, flapped with the best of them, grown up in Arizona when it became a state, lived through WWI, the Great Depression, WWII, Korea, civil Rights, Viet Nam, Nixon, cataract eye surgery that left her blind, death of a husband from leukemia with children still at home (she helped grandaddy in the cafe - she said she was the first woman in GA to get a liquor license). She was stern with her children but so appreciative of her grandchildren (however we didn’t care for eating the crusts on our sandwiches - she would dig them out of the garbage). That will make you clean your plate, I don’t care how rich you are. We would sit with her in the Queen Ann chair and watch her soaps until we were literally too big (and too bored) to continue on. When I was in college, I would come home to visit, buy a 6-pack and head to grandmother’s before I’d even let the others know I was home. I’d have polished off one PBR or Schlitz before she had found a glass, ice, poured beer and put her salt in it. Cheers, here’s to you, Grandmother and all the food garnished with libations!
Chocolate is very important for helping us power ahead with our vital work.