Pennsylvania Dutch Funny Cake

Late January. The newsletter platform is set up — the email service, the design template (clean, simple, a small image of a ceramic bowl at the top, the bowl as logo, the logo as identity), the scheduling system. The technical infrastructure of a newsletter is simpler than the emotional infrastructure: the technical requires a platform and a template. The emotional requires the willingness to be raw on a schedule, to deliver honesty weekly, to open the kitchen door at three AM and let strangers see the woman who stands there in her pajamas making soup and crying and not crying and being human, fully human, without the editorial polish that the blog provides.

I made Fumiko's amazake — the sweet fermented rice drink, the February comfort that is now the January preparation food. The amazake was warm and sweet and I drank it in bed while formatting the newsletter's first issue, the chipped-bowl issue, the one Miya chose. The formatting was the final step. The issue is ready. The launch is in March. Two months. Two months of waiting, which is nothing for a woman who has been waiting eleven years for the practice to become visible, for the writing to find its fullest form, for the dashi to finish soaking.

Ken's birthday is this month — he turns seventy-four. I called him. The conversation was four minutes: garden (dormant, winter), health (stable, managed), miso soup (still making it, every morning). Four minutes. Four topics. Four Nakamura sentences, each one carrying more weight than its word count suggests. I said, "Happy birthday, Dad. I love you." The "I love you" was new — I do not usually say it, we do not usually say it, Nakamuras do not usually say it. But I said it. Because I am forty now. Because the medication experiment taught me that life is shorter than the anxiety says it is. Because "I love you" is three words and my father is seventy-four and the words should be said. He was quiet. Then: "I love you too, Jen." Six words from Ken Nakamura. Six words that have never been spoken before in the history of our family. Six words that shattered and rebuilt the silence simultaneously. The silence is still our language. But the language now includes six new words.

After the amazake was gone and the newsletter issue was finally formatted and closed and sitting there waiting for March, I needed something to bake — something with a surprise inside, something that does what you don’t expect it to do. Pennsylvania Dutch Funny Cake is exactly that: you pour the chocolate sauce in first, and during baking it migrates upward through the cake layer, reversing itself, becoming something different than what you started with. I thought about my father saying “I love you too” and how that is the same thing — something you pour in at the beginning that takes years of heat to rise to the surface. This is the cake for January nights when the infrastructure is ready and the words have finally come and all you can do is sit with the warmth of both.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 45 min | Total Time: 1 hr 5 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

1 unbaked 9-inch pie shell
1 cup all-purpose flour
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup whole milk
1/4 cup unsalted butter, softened
1 large egg
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon salt
For the chocolate layer:
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 cup boiling water
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Instructions

Preheat the oven. Heat oven to 350°F (175°C). Fit the unbaked pie shell into a 9-inch pie plate and crimp the edges; set aside.
Make the chocolate sauce. In a small bowl, whisk together the cocoa powder and 1/2 cup sugar. Pour in the boiling water and 1 teaspoon vanilla, whisking until smooth. Pour this chocolate mixture into the bottom of the unbaked pie shell.
Make the cake batter. In a medium bowl, beat the softened butter and 3/4 cup sugar together until light and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Add the egg and 1 teaspoon vanilla and beat until combined.
Combine dry ingredients. Whisk together the flour, baking powder, and salt in a separate small bowl. Add the dry ingredients to the butter mixture alternately with the milk, beginning and ending with the flour mixture, stirring until just smooth.
Assemble and bake. Gently spoon the cake batter over the chocolate sauce in the pie shell, spreading it carefully to cover. The chocolate will appear to be beneath the batter — this is correct. Bake for 40–45 minutes, until the top is golden and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. The chocolate layer will have migrated upward through the cake as it bakes.
Cool and serve. Allow the cake to cool in the pie plate for at least 20 minutes before slicing. Serve warm or at room temperature. A small dollop of whipped cream is welcome but not required.

Nutrition (per serving)

Pennsylvania Dutch Funny Cake — The Sweetness You Don’t See Coming