Himmel Futter Torte —rsquo; The Table That Keeps Growing

Elsa called from Voyageurs. She has met someone. A man named Tom. A canoe guide. She sounds different on the phone — softer, brighter, the voice of a woman who is not as alone as she used to be. Elsa has been alone in the woods for fifteen years. I have respected the aloneness. I have also worried about it. The new voice on the phone is not a worry. The new voice is a relief. Erik turned seventy. We had a small party at his house. He grilled. He drank one beer (his quota, a quota set by his doctor, observed religiously). He was quiet and happy. He looked like Pappa around the eyes. I had not noticed before. I notice now. The resemblance has deepened with age. Erik is becoming Pappa in the slow gentle way that men become their fathers if they live long enough. Astrid had a fall. She is fine. The Twin Cities sister-call club is now its own small intervention. Karin and I take turns calling Astrid. Astrid resents the calls. We make them anyway. The resentment is the love filtered through Astrid's particular Scandinavian self-sufficiency. We do not mind being resented. We mind, far more, the alternative. I cooked Wild rice and venison stew this week. Wild rice from the band. Venison from Erik's freezer. Onion, carrot, celery, garlic, beef stock, red wine, thyme. Two hours on the stove. The taste of the woods in October. The Damiano Center: a regular named Marlene, who has been coming for twelve years, told me her granddaughter just had a baby. She was glowing. She had a photo on her phone. The phone was old and cracked but the photo was clear: a small pink baby in a hospital blanket. Marlene said: "I am a great-grandmother now. The same as you." I said: "Welcome to the club." We hugged. The line continues, even on the hard side of the soup line. Mamma's bread pans are on the shelf where they have always been. I used the smaller one this week. The metal has worn smooth in the places her hands touched it for sixty years. The pan is, in some real sense, a sculpture of Mamma's hands. I knead the bread in the bowl Mamma used. I shape it on the counter Mamma stood at (well, mine, but identical to hers — same Formica color, same dimensions). I bake it in the pan Mamma baked in. The kitchen is the relay. The relay continues. It is enough. It has to be. And on a morning like this, with the lake doing what the lake does and the dog at my feet and the bread on the counter and the kitchen warm enough to live in, it is. I have been blogging for years now. The blog began as something to do at night when sleep would not come. The blog has become — without my fully intending it — a small congregation. The readers come back. They read the recipes. They read the parts that are not recipes. They write to me sometimes. They tell me what they cooked. They tell me about their own kitchens, their own losses, their own continued cooking. The congregation is its own form of company. I have come to think that grief is not a problem to be solved. Grief is a country. You move into it. You learn its language. You make a life there. You do not leave the country, but you also do not spend every minute thinking about the fact that you live in it. You make breakfast. You walk the dog. You write a blog post. The country is the country. You live there now. It is enough.

I made the stew on a Tuesday, but it was the torte I baked for Erik’s birthday that has stayed with me — the way it asked something of me, a little patience, a little care, a little faith that the layers would hold. Erik turned seventy. He deserved something that rose. I found this recipe years ago in a binder that has Mamma’s handwriting on the tab, and I have made it for birthdays ever since, because some occasions require a thing that is clearly, unambiguously a celebration. The table grows whether we plan it or not. The torte says: we planned it. We are glad you are here.

Himmel Futter Torte

Prep Time: 35 min | Cook Time: 30 min | Total Time: 1 hr 5 min (plus cooling) | Servings: 12

Ingredients

• For the cake layers:
• 2 cups all-purpose flour
• 2 teaspoons baking powder
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 cup unsalted butter, softened
• 1 cup granulated sugar
• 4 large egg yolks (reserve whites for meringue)
• 1/2 cup whole milk
• 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
• For the meringue topping:
• 4 large egg whites, room temperature
• 1 cup granulated sugar
• 1/2 cup sliced almonds
• For the cream filling:
• 1 1/2 cups heavy whipping cream, cold
• 3 tablespoons powdered sugar
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1/2 cup lingonberry or raspberry jam

Instructions

1. Preheat and prepare. Heat oven to 350°F. Grease two 9-inch round cake pans and line the bottoms with parchment paper.
2. Make the cake batter. Whisk together flour, baking powder, and salt in a bowl. In a separate large bowl, beat butter and sugar with an electric mixer until pale and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add egg yolks one at a time, beating well after each. Mix in vanilla. Add the flour mixture in three additions, alternating with the milk, beginning and ending with flour. Mix until just combined. Divide batter evenly between the two prepared pans and spread to the edges.
3. Prepare the meringue. In a clean bowl, beat egg whites with an electric mixer on medium speed until soft peaks form. Gradually add 1 cup sugar, one tablespoon at a time, beating on high until stiff, glossy peaks form. Divide the meringue evenly over the batter in each pan, spreading gently to the edges. Scatter sliced almonds over both meringue tops.
4. Bake. Bake for 28 to 32 minutes, until the meringue is set and lightly golden and a toothpick inserted into the cake portion comes out clean. Do not underbake. Cool pans on a wire rack for 15 minutes, then carefully turn layers out and peel off parchment. Cool completely, meringue side up, on the rack. Do not stack while warm.
5. Whip the cream filling. Beat cold heavy cream, powdered sugar, and vanilla on high speed until firm peaks form. Refrigerate until ready to assemble.
6. Assemble the torte. Place one cake layer meringue side down on a serving plate. Spread the jam evenly over the top. Spoon the whipped cream over the jam and spread in an even layer, leaving a 1/2-inch border. Place the second cake layer meringue side up on top, pressing gently to settle. Refrigerate at least 30 minutes before slicing.
7. Serve. Slice with a sharp serrated knife, wiping the blade between cuts. Serve cold or at cool room temperature. Store covered in the refrigerator for up to two days.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 420 | Protein: 6g | Fat: 22g | Carbs: 52g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 115mg