A simple provencal bean salad

I’ve haven’t stopped in here with something to share in far too long for my liking. I have nothing to say for myself except that maybe, possibly, I have a severe case of laziness. Laziness both in terms of making something to eat that isn’t some form of cheese or vegetable or egg (or some combination of the three) on toasted bread, and then more laziness towards actually putting in the slight additional effort to photograph anything decently. However, that’s not to say I still haven’t been eating well. Toast is pretty tasty, it turns out.

But, I decided that as an excuse for me to post something and say hi, I’d share a simple bean salad that I’ve eaten a couple times over the past two weeks. I guess it’s so simple that it barely constitutes a recipe, but no matter! I’ve been picking up a combination of yellow and purple-tinted wax beans as well as  regular green beans at the farmers market the past few weekends. Going to the farmers market these past saturdays has been one of the few perks in returning to a college city that I normally otherwise lovingly refer to as a cultural wasteland. In the slow transition from summer into fall here, I don’t have a firm grasp of what’s in season or not. I really am terrible at that. But I’ve just been grabbing things, like these beans, and they end up tasting good, very good.  So thank you, farmers market, and sorry, city that I live in, for putting up with my complaints about your inferiority.

Anyway, in almost every instance, this is how I’ve been eating the share of beans I bring home every weekend. The recipe comes from Mireille Johnston, in her cookbook Cuisine of the Sun. I’ve been reading that book a lot lately when I try to figure out how to deal with any summer (especially late summer) produce. It’s almost always simple, and always delicious. The first time I made this bean salad, I brought it picnic-style for Lindsey and me to share on a day-trip to Portland when she was recently here visiting. We ate it at room-tempurature, in the sunshine, with a couple rolls of bread. It was awesome. I’ve since made it, sprinkling it with either basil or parsley depending on what I have, and eaten it warm. It’s a little bit of a lazy salad, I’d say, and it has been fitting in just right with me lately.

One Year Ago: Dried-Cherry and Walnut Oatmeal Cookies and Whole-Wheat Date Bread

A simple provencal bean salad
Adapted from Mireille Johnston’s Cuisine of the Sun
Serves 4 (although a half serving of this has served solely as my meal on a couple occasions)

3 tablespoons red wine vinegar
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper
1 garlic clove, minced
1/3 cup olive oil
2 pounds green beans, rinsed
1/2 cup parsley or basil, chopped

For the vinaigrette, mix the vinegar, salt, a good pinch of black pepper, and the garlic in a small bowl. Drizzle in the oil, whisking the whole time, in order to emulsify the vinaigrette. Likewise, you could just stick all of the contents in a small glass jar with a lid and then shake it until it’s all combined. Set aside.

Bring a big pot of salted water to a boil. Meanwhile, snap off the tips of the beans. Cook the beans in the boiling water, uncovered, for about 4 to 5 minutes, until tender with a little bit of a bite still to them. Drain, and put the beans into a medium bowl. Add the vinaigrette to the still warm beans and toss immediately. Sprinkle the parsley or basil, and serve warm or at room temperature.

Alice Medrich’s New Strawberries and Cream (and a quick visit to the bay area)

Hello, everyone. I just returned from a trip to California. I spent a few days visiting my twin sister, Lindsey, in Berkeley and San Francisco, while also getting to spend a nice weekend with some family in Santa Barbara. (You may remember that I take some version of this trip just about every year.) A part of me wishes I would have been the type of blogger that would have updated you with a post mid-trip; but, lo and behold, a greater, more lazy and more wise part of me steers me away from the internet and those nasty little things called computers whenever I’m travelling. So I apologize for the silence around here (sort of, not really).

Anyway, that little trip may have been one of the most memorable vacations of my life so far, but I think I’ll keep most of the personal, cheesy memories and revelations  for myself. I do think it’s appropriate if I share some food-related observation though, don’t you? So, I present to you Amy’s Selective and Superficial Notes on Anything Food (and then some) in the Bay Area (along with some photos, most of which have graciously come from Lindsey’s camera):

1. Tartine Bakery. I know this place is celebrated to no end in the food-blog world, but for some reason, I didn’t think it was that memorable. Lindsey and I stumbled across it while exploring (and loving! devouring!) the Mission district of San Francisco. We picked up a lemon cream tart and a pain au chocolate, and both were alright. I swear the key lime pie Lindsey had waiting for me at her house in Berkeley (this recipe!) was better than that lemon tart. Maybe it’s just a personal preference thing, though.

2. This place, also in the Mission district, had some of the best pizza I’ve ever had outside Naples. (Jeez I sound like a spoiled brat on here, don’t I?)

3. I didn’t see any “gluten-free” this, or “dairy-free” that anywhere. I love that. This is an area that seems to be a bit unconcerned with food trends, and they make things the way they like. Which, in case you didn’t know, is unarguably good.

4. Chez Panisse. Good, good food. I do think I over-hyped it though, in my head. After all, even Alice Waters can’t make food non-food. I think that’s her whole point anyway though. Oh well. Moving on.

5. I learned a new word: bourgy (pronounced boo-gshee). As in, bourgeois. As in, “that whole downtown Palo Alto area is so bourgy.” (True story.)

6. Oh yeah, and how do people not get the fear that they might die while on the BART, sailing under the Bay, in the case of an earthquake? Freaky.

7. As good as food is in San Francisco and Berkeley, nothing can beat your grandparent’s house where they never fail to continually replenish the same cookies in the cookie jar (pecan sandie’s and oatmeal cranberry cookies), and they still have the same box of granola in the pantry that you bought them over a year ago. Food tastes better when it’s around people you love. Maybe that’s what I forgot when I entered Chez Panisse with the expectations that I did.

Anyway, I guess this as good a time as ever to move on to tell you about the recipe I wanted to share with you today. I made this just before I left on my trip, when I wanted to end one particularly hot day with some sort of fresh fruit dessert. This one comes from Alice Medrich, and she calls it the “new” strawberries and cream. She infuses cream with mint, and then melts in some white chocolate. This mixture chills, until you’re ready to whip it up into a whipped cream consistency and then spoon dollops of it over the freshest fruit you can get your hands on. What you end up with is a fluffy cream with the sweetness and body of white chocolate, but with the freshness of mint to cut through any heaviness. It’s a perfect summer dessert, hands down. (By the way, this is coming from someone who, at best, doesn’t really like white chocolate, and at worst, is anti-white chocolate. And still, my verdict: perfect.)

If that’s still a little too much effort for you, you can simply chill the mixture, and then spoon it as is, liquidy consistency and all, over the fresh fruit. This is the way Waylon and I enjoyed it this waythe first time I had it. I not only thought there were definite charms in its ease, but that it was just as pleasent (if not a little less aesthetically pleasing).

It is important to note, though, that this dessert is only as good as the berries you’re using are, so make sure you spend the extra money to pick up some good ones when making this. What you’ll end up with fresh fruit who’s flavor and ripeness isn’t bombarded or covered up, but complimented. Really—I’m not just saying that to justify some sort of “bourgy” summer dessert. It’s definitely good. But most of all, don’t forget to share it with people you love on this last stretch of summer nights.

One Year Ago: Zucchini Cake with Crunchy Lemon Glaze (I need to add that glaze on more things), and Blackberry Buttermilk Cake

The New Strawberries and Cream
Adapted from Alice Medrich’s A Year in Chocolate
Serves 6 to 8

One bunch fresh mint
1 cup heavy cream
6 ounces white chocolate, finely chopped
1 quart ripe strawberries

To make the mint cream, rinse the mint and blot dry with paper towels. Set aside a few mint leaves for garnish, if you’d like. Chop of the remaining leaves to make roughly 1/4 cup, lightly packed. Combine the chopped mint and cream in a small saucepan and bring to a good simmer. Remove from heat. Cover pot and let the mint steep in the hot cream for 5 minutes.

Meanwhile, place the chocolate in a medium, heat-proof bowl and set a strainer across it. Pour the still-very-warm cream through the strainer, pressing the mint to extract the cream. Discard the mint. Stir the chocolate-cream mixture until all the chocolate has melted and it is completely smooth. Refrigerate at least 3 hours or up to 2 days.

To serve, rinse the strawberries and pat them dry. Hull and cut the berries into halves or quarters, depending on what you like. Divide among the dessert dishes. Beat the chilled white chocolate-cream mixture with an electric mixture until the cream stiffens and holds it shape, like thick whipped cream. This should happen pretty quickly, after only a few minutes. Top each dish of berries with a dollop of the whipped chocolate-cream, and garnish with a sprig of mint, if you’d like.

Tostadas de Tinga and a Jicama-Cabbage Slaw

In my post for Father’s Day last year, I mentioned that my Dad has a specific set of tastes. I’d sum it up as Southern Californian Mexican meets 50′s child nostalgia meets snack-hungry sweet tooth. He loves when I’m around the house because there’s always some sort of treat he can have after dinner, and he asserts that pineapple upside-down cake is an under-rated dessert that is a sad example of lost food trends getting the best of people’s palates. Most food “bores” him, but he’s made a meal out of cereal or cheese and crackers more than anyone I know. Even though he’s not very picky, it’s hard to truly impress him with food.

We don’t really make a big deal out of things like Mother’s or Father’s Day around my house (sorry Mom, Dad), but I liked the excuse this past Sunday to try and cater to my Dad’s tastes for dinner. This year, it meant Mexican food in the form of spicy shredded pork tostadas, a spicy jicama-cabbage slaw on the side, and a white chocolate banana cream pie for dessert.

Sound awesome? It was.

(Well, besides the dessert part. Which is odd, because usually baking as opposed to cooking is the thing I can always rely on—if I’m making something sweet, I usually have faith that it’ll turn out well. But tell that to the pile of cornstarchy-tough-crust-overly-sweet mush of a pie sitting in the fridge uneaten at the moment. It seems like I’m making a pattern of Father’s Day, seeing as last year I served a good dinner with a mushy, falling-apart pineapple upside-down cake. Anyway.)

This tinga doesn’t taste like the regular carnitas you get at the taco truck, but I like that. They’re a little sweet, from the tomato sauce and onions, pretty spicy from the chili in adobo, and completely flavorful, complex, and delicious. And what’s more, they were pretty straightforward and easy to make: you simply boil the chopped and trimmed pork in some water and aromatics until the pieces are tender, saute half of that pork with onions and  to get it crispy and browned, and finally combine it all back together with reserved stock and tomato sauce until it bubbles and reduces down.

I served them on 6-inch corn tortillas that I fried in oil to make tostadas out of them, but next time I’d fry up 4-inch tortillas—6-inches left a little too much room for the juicy tinga to fall all over our chins when we were eating it. Better yet, I’d go ahead and recommend buying the tortillas already tostada-fied from the store actually. Or! Do like I did, and serve some of the tinga on soft just-warmed corn tortillas. Which, you know, obviously takes away the whole “tostada” part of this dish, but whatever. Whatever you do, make sure you serve it with some crumbled queso fresco, some cilantro, and a good squeeze of lime. That part is definitely necessary.

Before I send you off with the recipe, I have to  comment on the slaw that we ate the tostadas with. To cut to the chase, it’s really, really good. I think I loved it more than anyone else at the table, but maybe that’s also probably because I saw how much oil I used to fry up the tostadas and so I was naturally counter-balancing that with some craving for the tangy, spicy, crunchy and always-healthy cabbage and jicama. The dressing, a spicy-sweet mixture with lots of lime juice and jalapeno, was what probably made the slaw for me—I swear, you could serve that dressing on anything.

Oh, and one last thing about dessert: Though I stand by everything I stated earlier about how that banana cream pie went, my Dad still ate a good serving of it by scooping it out and eating it on graham crackers. Because as he says often when he sees a culinary mishap of mine, “it still has all the right ingredients.” And even though I think that all the “right” ingredients are very capable of producing something very “wrong” indeed, I can’t help but appreciate that my Dad’s uncommon food tastes sometimes cause my family to gather around some really great meals. Whether it’s these tostadas, or a pile of cheese and crackers.

One Year Ago: Orange, Currant and Coconut Granola, Chicken Poblano and Cornbread, and Rhubarb Raspberry Crostata

Tostadas de Tinga (Spicy Shredded Pork Tostadas)
Adapted slightly from America’s Test Kitchen Menu Cookbook
Serves 6 to 8

As mentioned above, I wouldn’t feel the slightest bit guilty in buying tostadas already deep-fried from the grocery store. A good brand is Mission, or so I’ve heard. 

3 to 4 pounds boneless pork boston butt roast
2 large onions, quartered
4 garlic cloves, smashed
6 sprigs fresh thyme
kosher salt
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 onions, diced
1 teaspoon dried oregano
3 garlic cloves, minced
2 tablespoons chipotle chili in adobo, minced
2 (14.5 ounce) cans tomato sauce
2 bay leaves

4-inch corn tortillas
1 to 2 cups vegetable oil
salt

queso fresco, crumbled
cilantro, roughly chopped
diced avocado
lime wedges

To prepare the shredded pork, pull apart the pork at the seams and trim the pieces of its fat. It may be impossible to get all of the fat trimmed off, but do the best you can; any fat that’s leftover will translate to chewy pockets of greasy fat when it’s all finished. Cut the pork into rough 1-inch pieces, and combine with the quartered onions, smashed garlic, thyme, 1 1/2 teaspoons of salt, and 8 to 9 cups of water in a large dutch oven. Bring the water to a simmer over medium-high heat and skim off any grayish foam that rises to the surface. Once the water is steadily simmering, reduce the heat to medium-low, partially cover, and cook until the pork is tender and falls apart when pierced with a fork, about 1 1/4 to 1 1/2 hours.

While the pork is cooking, make the tostadas. In an 8-inch skillet, heat a little more than a cup’s worth of vegetable oil until its hot enough so that a sprinkle of flour sizzles when dropped in. Working with one at a time, fry each tortilla for about 30 seconds, or until its crispy throughout and slightly golden. While the tortilla fries, it helps to hold it submerged under the oil with a metal potato masher. Once each tortilla is done, remove from the oil, place on several layers of paper towels to cool, and sprinkle with salt. The tostadas can be kept at room temperature for up to a day.

Once the pork is completely tender, remove and reserve 2 cups of the cooking liquid, then drain the pork and discard the onions, garlic and thyme. Returning the pork to the pot by itself, mash with a potato masher until very roughly shredded. Be sure to not shred it too much—it will continue to break down before being served.

In a 12-inch nonstick skillet over medium-high heat, heat the two tablespoons of olive oil until shimmering. Add the diced onions and dried oregano until the onions are softened, 5 to 7 minutes. Add half of the shredded pork and cook with the softened onions, stirring often, until the pork gets browned and a bit crispy. Stir in the minced garlic and minced chili until it all becomes fragrant, about 30 seconds.

Return the pork mixture back to the dutch oven pot with the other half of the shredded pork. Use some of the reserved 2 cups of pork cooking liquid, about 1/2 cup, to deglaze the browned pork left in the skillet by scraping up any browned parts. Once completely deglazed, add this liquid to the dutch oven with the pork, along with the remaining reserved cooking liquid, tomato sauce, and bay leaves. Bring mixture to a simmer and cook until the mixture is reduced until almost no liquid remains. Discard bay leaves, and season with salt to taste.

To serve, spoon the shredded pork tinga onto the center of each tostada and garnish with queso fresco, cilantro, lime juice, and avocado.

Jicama-Cabbage Slaw
Adapted from America’s Test Kitchen Menu Cookbook
Serves 6

However you slice, shred and cut the red cabbage, carrots and jicama, just try and keep them within the same size range and small enough so that the pieces can actually fit in your mouth.

1/2 cup lime juice, from about 4 limes
1/4 cup sugar
1 jalapeno chili, stemmed, seeds removed, and minced
1 small garlic clove, minced
1/4 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 cup olive oil
1/2 head red cabbage (1 pound), core removed and sliced thin
3 carrots, peeled and shredded
1 pound jicama, peeled and sliced thin
1/2 cup minced cilantro

In a small bowl, whisk lime juice, sugar, jalapeno, garlic, cumin and a 1/2 teaspoon salt. Whisking constantly, drizzle in the oil in a small stream.

In a large bowl, combine the shredded and sliced cabbage, carrots, jicama and cilantro. Drizzle the dressing over the cabbage mixture and toss it all to coat. Cover and refrigerate until ready to serve, at least 30 minutes and up to 1 day. Season and taste for salt and pepper before serving.

Strawberry Cream Cake

This cake required two pounds of strawberries, eight ounces of cream cheese, a pretty good dose of whipping cream, and cake flour. Believe it or not, I did not just mention that to try and openly display that this cake is not of the most healthy or wholesome sorts. No, I listed out those ingredients—none of which were in my pantry or fridge before the making of this thing—to show that I am somewhat failing at my whole frugal use-up-what-I-have mission.

But! There was a birthday. And not just anyone’s birthday, but the birthday of one of my very best friends, Abbey. I’m kind of big on birthdays, or any sort of holiday really that gives me an excuse to prepare sweets, treats and dishes and to be extra happy for a day. But especially birthdays. I actually have a little spot reserved in one of my notebooks titled “Treats for Occasions & Birthdays,” where I have written out the favorite treats of family members and close friends so I can remember to surprise them with it on their birthday. Sometimes it doesn’t always work out.

For example, did I make my brother creme brulee a few months ago on his birthday, December 28th? No, of course not, I was still reveling in Christmas and preparing for New Year’s! (Sorry, Jimmy.) Will I make the two treats I have planned for my mom and twin sister, both of whose birthdays are right next  to each other next week? Probably not, seeing as I will be stuck in the trenches of finals here in Oregon—not to mention that little fact that it is my birthday too (in case you didn’t catch the “twin sister” part!) in which case I get terribly ego-centric and attention-grabbing. But I still like to plan for them at least, and sometimes my birthday-treat plans actually do work out. Case and point: next to Abbey’s name I had written, Strawberry Cream Cake. So strawberry cream cake there will be, I thought, even if it interrupted my attempts at avoiding the grocery store.

I really ended up liking this cake, and I hope Abbey did too. It’s kind of like strawberry shortcake, only fancied up a little bit in order to be event-worthy. But with the whipped cream piled like clouds on top of the layers of cake and strawberry filling while the sides are left untouched, it still has something of a casual edge to it so that the cake doesn’t seem intimidating or too fancy. A couple of years ago I made this for the Fourth of July, which I think is a perfect event for it.

In terms of how it tastes, it really is like strawberry shortcake…but better. Rather than shortcakes, it’s a chiffon-style vanilla cake that is light and tender, but sturdy enough to handle the aforementioned clouds of cream and strawberries in a cake form. And I have to say this–when these cakes were baking in the oven it seriously sent me into a whirlwind of nostalgia into my childhood when I would smell those vanilla funfetti birthday cakes. That may be a turn off to some people, but oh gosh it smelled heavenly. Anyway, the strawberry component of this part is really parallel to its shortcake counterpart, save the fact that some are left un-macerated for pretty presentation, and the fact that the macerated berry juices are reduced down with Kirsch liqueur to further the strawberry-ness flavor of the filling. I found this part helpful, seeing as the strawberries I was using were not quite peak-of-season quality yet (errmm insert foodie-guilt from not having shelled out the $3 a pint for farmer’s market strawberries). And finally, the whipped cream. Cook’s took whipped cream and fortified it with cream cheese to make the best of both worlds: a strong enough whipped cream so that it can be used on a cake and hold without disintegrating, while still retaining a lightness that can’t be found in traditional cream cheese frosting. It’s awesome and addicting, and I’m not even a “frosting” person.

So yeah, if you couldn’t tell from my heavily praising description above, I think it’s a lovely cake. A lovely cake for a lovely girl. Happy Birthday, Abbey! xx

Strawberry Cream Cake
Adapted from Cook’s Illustrated
Serves 8 to 10

I varied a little bit from the assembly of the cake. The cake is suppose to be a three-tiered layer cake, all the layers of which come from the slices of a cake baked in a 9-inch springform pan. I don’t have one of those, so I opted to simply divide it between two 9-inch cake pans, and end up with a two layer cake. I think I like this way better, actually: it allowed me to really pile on the strawberry filling and whipped cream without the fear of running out. That being said, if  you have a 9-inch springform pan, by all means whip this up into a three layer cake–it really is beautiful that way too. Also, Cook’s Illustrated notes that the cake part of this can be made ahead of time, wrapped tightly in plastic, and frozen. Simply thaw at room temperature, unwrapped, for about two hours before continuing with the recipe.

Cake
1 1/4 cups (ounces) cake flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1 cup (7 ounces) sugar
5 large eggs (2 whole and 3 separated), room temperature
6 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted a slightly cooled
2 tablespoons water
2 teaspoons vanilla extract

Strawberry Filling
2 pounds (about 2 quarts) fresh strawberries, washed, dried, and stemmed
4-6 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons Kirsch (optional–don’t use if you have peak-of-season beautiful strawberries)
pinch of kosher salt

Whipped Cream
8 ounces cream cheese, slightly softened (soft enough to beat and make fluffy)
1/2 cup (3 1/2 ounces) sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
pinch of kosher salt
2 cups heavy whipping cream

For the cake, preheat the oven to 325 degrees and adjust the oven rack to the lower-middle position. Butter and flour 2 round 9-inch cake pans (or one 9-inch springform pan, see note above), and line with parchment or wax paper. Whisk flour, baking powder, salt, and about 1 cup + 1 tablespoon of the sugar in a medium-large bowl. Whisk in 2 whole eggs and three yolks (reserve the whites!), the melted butter, water, and vanilla. Whisk until the batter is smooth and thick.

In a clean bowl of a standing mixer fitted with the whisk attachment, beat the reserved three egg whites at medium-low speed so that they get frothy and broken up a bit, about 1 or 2 minutes. Increase speed to medium-high and gradually add the remaining three tablespoons of sugar. Continue to beat until soft peaks form, about 2 minutes more. Take one-third of the beaten egg whites and fold it into the batter, to lighten it. Add the remaining beaten whites and gently fold until there aren’t any more white streaks and it’s pretty much evenly mixed. Pour the batter between the two prepared cake pans, dividing it evenly, and bake until a toothpick inserted in the center of the cake comes out clean, about 30 minutes. Cool in pan for 10 minutes, then invert cake onto a wire rack to cool completely (it’s necessary!), about 1 1/2 to 2 hours.

Meanwhile, prepare the strawberry filling. Halve 24 of the best-looking strawberries in your bunch and reserve. These will be used to border the layers and decorate the top. In a medium bowl, quarter the remaining berries you have and toss with 4 to 6 tablespoons of sugar, depending on the sweetness and ripeness of your berries. You should have a mixture of a little more than 1 1/2 to 2 cups worth. Let this mixture sit for one hour, stirring occasionally.

Strain the juice from the  macerated berries (should be about 1/2 cup) and heat over medium high heat in a small saucepan with the addition of the Kirsch, if using, until syrupy and reduced to about 3 tablespoons, about 3 to 5 minutes. Meanwhile, put the macerated berries in a food processor and whir them for about 5 one second pulses. Alternatively, like I did, you could simply chop them up best you can with your knife–you’re just looking for a mushy strawberry filling mixture. Pour the reduced syrup over the chopped berries, add a pinch of salt, and toss to combine. Set aside.

When the cake has cooled, place the softened cream cheese, sugar, vanilla and the pinch of salt in a bowl of a standing mixer fitted with the whisk attachment. Whisk at medium-high speed until fluffy and somewhat light, 1 to 2 minutes. Make sure to scrape down the bowl with a rubber spatula a few times throughout this process. Reduce speed to low and add heavy cream in a slow, steady stream. When it’s almost all the way combined, increase the speed to medium-high and beat until the mixture holds stiff peaks, about 1 to 2 minutes more, scraping the bowl as you go. You should have around 4 to 5 cups–a lot!–and if you’re only making a 2 layer cake like me, you will probably have extra. I’m sure you can find a use for that.

To assemble the cake, Place one layer of the cake on a cake plate and arrange a ring of the reserved strawberry halves, cut side down and stems facing out, around the border of the cake. Pour about 1 cup of the berry mixture in the center (once again, if only doing two layers like me you’ll probably have extra–I’m not saying anything but it is delicious with leftover whipped cream). Spread mixture to cover any exposed cake, but be careful not to extend the mixture out too far so that it will spill over when you add the cream and other cake layer. Next, gently spread about 1 1/2 to 2 cups (or more to your liking) of the whipped cream over berry layer. This is a little difficult, because you want to be sure not to create an incorporated mush of the two parts. Leave a 1/2-inch border from the perimeter of the cake. Place next cake layer down and press gently (!)–so that the whipped cream layer should become “flush” with the cake edge. Add another 1 1/2 to 2 cups of whipped cream and spread to make an even layer on top. (Note: if you’re making the three layered cake, here is when you want to repeat the process of the first cake layer before moving on.) Decorate with remaining cut strawberries. Serve, or chill. This cake is best served the day of, but it’s doing fine holding up in our fridge at the moment, too.