Almond Orange Cake —rsquo; The Recipe Is the Constant

Easter. I drove Lourdes to the Easter Vigil on Saturday — which goes from nine PM to past midnight. She does the whole thing. I do most of it. Easter Sunday lunch — pancit, lumpia, pork sinigang, an Easter ham with pineapple. The American holiday food on the Filipino table. The fusion is the family.

Lourdes is 76. She is slower. She still cooks. She still tells me to find a husband even though I have one. Joseph and Suki sent photos of the kids this week.

I made adobo Sunday. The recipe is the recipe. The recipe is the constant.

A reader wrote me a long email this week about her grandmother's adobo, which differed from mine in every measurement. The differences were the conversation. I wrote her back. The writing back is the work.

Angela came over Saturday with the kids. We cooked. We argued about pancit proportions — she uses more soy, I use more calamansi. We are both wrong, according to Lourdes.

Pete texted me Saturday. He retired three years ago. He still texts me Saturday. The friendship is the broth.

I cleaned the kitchen Sunday afternoon. I wiped the stove. I scrubbed the sink. I reorganized the spice cabinet. The cleaning was the small reset. The reset was the marker. The marker said: the week is over, the next week begins, the kitchen is ready.

The break room had cake Tuesday. Someone's birthday. We ate the cake. We did not ask whose birthday. The cake was the cake.

Lourdes called me twice this week. The first call was about a church event. The second was about a recipe variation she had remembered from her childhood. The remembering was the gift.

I took a walk on the coastal trail Saturday. The light was good. The body was tired but moving.

The Filipino Community newsletter announced a fundraiser for typhoon relief in Samar. I committed to making three hundred lumpia. The number is the number. The number has always been the number. Three hundred is what I make. The math has stopped surprising me.

I sat on the balcony in the cold for ten minutes Sunday night with a cup of broth in my hands. The cold was the cold. The broth was the broth. The body held both.

A reader from New Jersey wrote in about her grandmother's adobo, which used pineapple. I had never heard of pineapple in adobo. I tried it. It was strange. It was also good. The strange and the good are not opposites.

Pete and I had a long phone conversation Tuesday. We talked about the family — his and mine. The talking was the keeping.

A blog reader sent me a photograph of her grandmother's wooden mortar and pestle, used since 1962. The photograph was holy. I wrote her back. The writing back is the work.

The Anchorage sky was the Anchorage sky. The mountains were the mountains. The inlet was the inlet. The geography was the geography.

I made tea late at night. The tea was the small comfort. The comfort was the marker.

I read three chapters of the novel Saturday night before sleep. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The nurse was being undone by her work. I knew the unraveling. I had lived the unraveling. I read on. The reading was the witnessing.

The neighbors invited us over for a small dinner Thursday. They are an Iñupiaq family — Aana and her grandson Joe. We ate caribou stew and rice. I brought lumpia. The kitchens of Anchorage have always been the small UN. The food is the proof.

The week kept returning me to citrus — the calamansi Angela and I argued over, the pineapple that surprised me in a reader’s adobo, the way sharp brightness can cut through something heavy and make it good again. When I wanted to bake something that felt like the week in full — the grief and the lightness, Lourdes’s voice on the phone, the cold balcony and the warm broth — I reached for this almond orange cake. It is not a Filipino recipe. But orange and almond together are the kind of warm, particular thing that earns a place at any table I set.

Almond Orange Cake

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 40 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour | Servings: 10

Ingredients

• 1 1/2 cups almond flour
• 3/4 cup all-purpose flour
• 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
• 1/4 teaspoon fine salt
• 3/4 cup granulated sugar
• 1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened
• 3 large eggs, room temperature
• Zest of 2 large navel oranges (about 2 tablespoons)
• 1/3 cup fresh orange juice
• 1/2 teaspoon pure almond extract
• 1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
• 1/3 cup plain whole-milk yogurt
• 1/4 cup sliced almonds, for topping
• Powdered sugar, for dusting (optional)

Instructions

1. Prepare the pan. Preheat your oven to 350°F. Grease a 9-inch round cake pan and line the bottom with parchment paper. Lightly flour the sides.
2. Combine dry ingredients. In a medium bowl, whisk together the almond flour, all-purpose flour, baking powder, and salt until evenly distributed. Set aside.
3. Cream butter and sugar. In a large bowl using a hand mixer or stand mixer on medium speed, beat the softened butter and granulated sugar together for 3 to 4 minutes until pale and fluffy.
4. Add eggs and flavoring. Beat in the eggs one at a time, scraping the bowl between additions. Mix in the orange zest, almond extract, and vanilla extract until combined.
5. Incorporate wet and dry. With the mixer on low, alternately add the flour mixture and the orange juice in three additions, beginning and ending with flour. Fold in the yogurt by hand with a spatula until the batter is smooth and uniform.
6. Fill and top. Pour the batter into the prepared pan and spread evenly. Scatter the sliced almonds across the top in an even layer.
7. Bake. Bake for 38 to 42 minutes, until the top is deep golden and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. If the almonds brown too quickly, tent loosely with foil during the last 10 minutes.
8. Cool and serve. Let the cake cool in the pan for 10 minutes, then turn out onto a wire rack and cool completely. Dust with powdered sugar before slicing if desired.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 310 | Protein: 7g | Fat: 18g | Carbs: 32g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 115mg