History of a Cake

When I was six years old my family moved to Naples, Italy. It ended up being one of the happiest times of our lives. Who could resist the Neapolitans, Mt. Vesuvius, the joyful chaos of the ancient city, the stories, the ruins, the Romans, and most of all, the food. Naples changed our family's diet forever. We still live--all five of us, scattered all over the world--largely on pasta, parmesan cheese, garlic, tomatoes, red wine, mozzarella, basil and every other Italian thing we can get our hands on.

One find that changed us forever was Capri cake. This is the Neapolitan version of the flourless chocolate cake, dense, rich, packed with ground almonds, and sprinkled with confectioner's sugar. You see them in every bar and pastry window, and they rarely let you down. My mother learned to make them, and we loved them so much that after she cooked them she had to chase us out of the house until dinner time so we wouldn't pick away at them before dessert. Once she locked us all out to protect the cake and our three-legged springer spaniel somehow found a way to leap up onto the counter top. When we came back into the house for dinner the cake plate was empty, with nothing but a few crumbs remaining. Grendel lay in the corner groaning. Chocolate is very very bad for dogs, and this was a lot of chocolate.

For his wedding, my brother wrote to my mother and asked for her Capri cake recipe so he could send it to a local baker. On this continent I was doing my own search for the perfect Capri cake recipe. I finally found it in Naples At Table, a fabulous ode to Neopolitan cooking. I can read the introduction to that cookbook and salivate and cry for nostalgia. I had found my recipe. For my fortieth birthday I made two immense Capri cakes to serve all my friends. And for my brother's 40th birthday over the holidays, I cooked him a Capri cake. He is a gourmande with finicky tastes and demands for the highest quality ingredients. But he was happy.

Since then Theo has been asking for Capri cake. Mommy, for my birthday cake I want the cake that Ian had, he keeps saying. I tried to bribe and distract him with promises of chocolate frosting, lemon icing, butter icing, something more sugary and childlike. But he stood firm. No, Mommy, I want the cake Ian had.

And so the love of Capri cake is passed to the next generation. I can't say I'm not happy. Someday I hope I can give Theo Capri cake on Capri, but for today, I will go downstairs, grind up a pound of almonds and a half pound of bittersweet chocolate and make a flourless chocolate cake to spoil my boy, and celebrate the birthday of a dear friend.

Long live the cake!