This drift of daffodils started out a modest clump. Then I began to separate and replant the bulbs each season . In no time, a few blossoms became many, and stole the show.
In my garden, spring is heralded by a cheerful brass section of daffodils, all eager to trumpet the advent of longer and warmer days. From nowhere, they appear bigger and better than the year before, naturalizing into bouquets of amber and gold. And I say, Hallelujah for their visual song and seasonal promise.
Redeeming some shady bystanders with a change of scene
The daffodils down my lane welcome me home this time of year, but some have quit blooming because of the deep shade of a large western red cedar. The tree is going nowhere, so it’s moving day for several clumps of daffodil bulbs.
How to divide daffodil bulbs
As a bulb, the daffodil rarely needs a gardener’s intervention, but if said gardener wants more daffodils, fewer things are easier than dividing daffodil bulbs and spreading the love. In this post, I’ll show you how to divide daffodil bulbs, and replant them for future bloom. Here’s to a spring concert in your corner of the garden.
1. Select a healthy clump to move.1. With a shovel, cut a circle around the clump. 2. Shovel blade should be at least six inches away from the shoots. 3. Position blade vertically before stepping down to dig. 4. Not Good: If handle is vertical, the blade will be sharply angled and slice into the bulbs.5. With shovel handle, rock and leverage bulb clump on each side of circle. 6. Lift bulb clump with shovel. 7. Gently shake off soil to reveal bulbs. 8. Return soil to hole.9. Working from the outside of the clump, pull off an individual bulb. A light tug separates the roots. 10. Set aside and continue until all bulbs are free from the clump (40 bulbs in this clump).9. Dig a new hole. 10. Chop up and loosen soil. 11. Place several bulbs apart in the hole. 12. Plant to original depth. 13. The leafy green growth should be above the soil. 14. The bulb and emerging white stem should be below the soil line.18. Cover bulbs with soil. 19. Gently press down to firm soil 20. Water bulbs to rejuvenate foliage.Blooming friendship: Big Leaf Maple and new spring neighbors
Every year I divide daffodils bulbs and plant them around the property. One year later, I receive many a cheery and floriferous thank you.
Dividing and Planting Daffodil Bulbs: More Info and Tips
Daffodils
are long lived, and very deer resistant
require good drainage
prefer full sun, but can take partial shade
can be planted in lawns, but must be allowed to die back naturally as the foliage makes the food that is stored in the bulb for next year’s bloom
go dormant in the summer
are great long-lasting cut flowers
are available from bulb supply companies to be planted in the fall, including these favorites of mine:
Odelia, Dowager Countess of Barkley, dressed and ready for a walk.
Now that Downton Abbey is over for the season, I’ve turned to another English family for vicarious pleasure, one that is no stranger to sniffing around a family tree or two (in both the figurative and literal sense). Coming from a long line of kennel clubs, rascals and aristocrats, my bulldogs Boz and Gracie recently regaled me with a few stories of their own—juicy kibbles and bits of pedigrees (or not) from a bygone era—British bulldogs of historical note.
Odelia, the Dowager Countess of Barkley, known for her halting beauty and keen sense of style, brought Boz’s family to prominence as a steadfast and trusted companion to the royal family. Her insights and advice steered many a young prince away from the temptation of impropriety and scandal. Her brother Sir Dudley Osbourne Gainsworth, a poet and scholar, fell on hard times due to his unchecked habit of gaming, and his love of costly tobacco mixes and marrow bones. With his sister’s intervention, he learned to focus his energy on the written word and became a celebrated author and lecturer.
Sir Dudley Osbourne Gainsworth: Spinner of tales (and tails)
On Gracie’s side of the Atlantic, her too-many-greats-to-note grandfather Broderick “Skippee” Bunkport was making a name for himself as an expert boat builder and yachtsman. His swore never to relinquish the America’s Cup under his watch or under one of his hulls, especially to likes of his arch-rival and distant relation Sir Thomas Lipton.
Uncle Skippee stands his ground against contender Shamrock III
His revolutionary 90-foot yacht Reliance, the largest gaff-rigged cutter ever built, swept the America’s Cup in three races in 1903. After the race, Skippee married his long-time love Daisy Baker, whom he met in 1899 at the christening of another winning yacht, the Columbia. The two settled in Newport, Rhode Island.
Broderick “Skippee” Bunkport: Yachtsman, Ladies Man, Raconteur, Cover Boy
When I asked why had I never heard these stories before, Boz and Gracie remained silent, their sheepish look reminiscent of the times I’ve called them out for a spot on the rug or a missing dinner roll from the table. Now I’m not one to question a storyteller’s veracity, but I may check my computer’s history for visits to Wikipedia or dust its keyboard for paw prints.
Boz and Gracie: Repose in the parlor
Update…
Boz and Gracie were gobsmacked that I had not included a photo of them in this post. I could see their point, and obliged by including their favorite indoor portrait, the one that makes them look “well-bred but not snooty.” (Their words not mine.)
Mount Rainier from the southern tip of Maury Island (which connects to Vashon).
A few days ago, the Pacific delivered a day of delights and a much needed reprieve from the rain. Mt. Rainier stood out across the Sound like a grand back-drop presiding over a lofty opera: so surreal and stunning, I half expected to see brush strokes and stage lighting. The clouds were thinly woven, easily unraveled by a winsome breeze one warp and weft thread at a time. By mid-morning the sun was well above the tree tops and reigning unchallenged. Underfoot, the crocus blossoms, scattered like confetti on the lawn, caught the light and the attention of a few brave honeybees and this backyard explorer. This was indeed a day to seize.
Crocuses join the sunshine welcome wagon.
Hoping to refresh the stale air and woodsmoke smell of winter lockdown, I propped open all of the doors. The lungs of my old farmhouse took a deep breath and welcomed fresh air through the front door to the East, the backdoor to the West, the warped French doors on the sunny side south and weather side, and the north-facing divided-light door where Boz spends many an hour plotting the demise of indifferent deer and dancing towhees.
Moss on Madrona
Boz and Gracie retreated to the front porch to nap (and snore) in the sun, awakening occasionally for a side trip to the lawn, to investigate and to christen a rogue daffodil or two. I headed down to the front field where I marveled (and lamented) over the rapid rate of weed growth on my veggie plot. The orchard looked good, rows of adolescent trees bare-branched and strong, awaiting longer days and warmer soil.
Walking back to the house, tripping over some downed branches and trying to clear my mind of the chores ahead, I took refuge on my lodgepole swing. I ignored the crackle of dried leaves on the seat as another item to be added to my to-do list, and instead closed my eyes, caught the breeze and listened to spring awakening. The robins obliged with a chorus of chirps, the crows followed with fly-by caws, and a duet of bulldogs barked to be fed. Then, the sun kissed my face like a sorely-missed friend, and I forgot all about the weeks of rain.
In that moment the day was mine, and spring had lifted her hem and showed me a little ankle, and for that I am grateful. Today the rain is back, soaking all that is rooted, legged and held down. Not a bad thing, as I love the rain and the Northwest’s moody disposition, but it is nice to see that on occasion the sun can shine, and the sky can be blue, and my memory of rainy days can escape me, even in March.
Gracie and Boz are prepared for anything.
In honor of our rain, let me share with you my favorite Seattle joke.
A newcomer to Seattle arrives on a rainy day. He gets up the next day and it’s raining. It also rains the day after that, and the day after that. Standing on his porch, he sees the neighbor kid poke his head out the door and asks him out of despair, “Hey kid, does it ever stop raining around here?” The kid says, “How would I know? I’m only 6.”
Candy Roaster squash: thin-skinned and meaty goodness
Seed catalogs are my salvation this time of year. Poring over the photographs of glossy gold pumpkin varieties can often distract me from the reality outside my window: gray skies and wet fields.
The bashful orange skins are thin and marked by a green starburst on the blossom end of the squash.
Last year, I found some winter sunshine in a squash named Candy Roaster (cucurbits maxima). Relatively easy to grow, Candy Roaster squash is an heirloom variety from North Georgia that produces vigorous vines and ample long fruits that store well into spring. My Candy Roasters outperformed other planted varieties, even in a drought year with minimal attention and irrigation.
Creamy as custard pie, candy roaster squash is a culinary powerhouse.
Sweet, creamy and delectable when baked, Candy Roaster is perfectly named, and a winter squash that makes its presence known in both the garden and kitchen.
Eat it unadorned by the spoon or gussy it up in a puree or pie.
I usually bake my Candy Roaster squash whole, punctured several times to release steam when baking. The seeds are easily scooped out (and eaten if you like) and the skin peels away nicely with little effort.
As a disciple of pie, I take my responsibility in sharing this bake-good gospel very seriously. Oh hear me poor pagan apostles who stray down the wayward path of cake, “Pie is the answer!” If you’re still a doubter, I understand (my name is Thomas after all). Fear not, for all are welcome here. I believe in a world where the proselytes of pie can dine side-by-side with the crusaders of cake (and still avoid a food fight).
Pies I’ve made and loved: Shaker lemon, peach, sweet cherry, sour cherry, plum and blackberry.
And so, as a devout pieman, I want to share with you the day I heeded the call, and embarked on a pilgrimage to Pie Cottage, home to my friend and High Priestess of Pie: Kate McDermott. As founder and voice of Art of the Pie, Kate brings the wonders of making and baking pie to the world, teaching classes, hosting pie camps, and sharing her culinary gifts and wisdom in person and on her blog. After I took a pie class from Kate several years ago, I became a willing convert in the ways of butter, flour, fillings, fruit and lard.
The drive from Vashon Island to Pie Cottage in Port Angeles (like pie) should be shared. Lucky for me, my pal and fellow baker Linda adores Kate, the call of adventure, and the promise of pie. We set out for an early ferry off the north end of the island, a time that would fit nicely with a lumberjack’s breakfast an hour or so into the drive.
Vashon to Port Angeles: ride a ferry, cross a floating bridge, and be awed by the majestic Olympics.
Past Port Orchard, around Bremerton and across the Hood Canal bridge, we headed west toward the Olympic Mountains and our destination, Port Angeles. First stop, Chimacum, home to my favorite food oasis, Chimacum Corner Farmstand. In their words, “Chimacum Corner Farmstand is a small rural grocery featuring ‘FOOD FROM HERE’ – scrumptious food grown or produced in the mountain-rimmed fertile valleys of Washington State’s NE Olympic Peninsula.” If I had to shop for a last meal, this would be the place.
Rob and Linda, top left; and Tom and salmon, lower right. (I’m the one in the green sweater)
We asked our new best farm-stand friend Rob where we should eat breakfast. He suggested Farm’s Reach Cafe, that is, if we were hungry. (And when aren’t we?) A short (and very purposeful) walk later, Linda and I were standing before a display cabinet chockablock with bake-good beauties. I asked what was the local favorite, and the friendly gent behind the counter said, “Hands down, our breakfast burrito.” A half an hour later I could see and taste why; it was exceptional. Add to that a dreamy pour of Stumptown Coffee, and the trip almost ended there.
Breakfast is served all day. Joy!
We were so full, but despite our inability to move and our desire to nap, we pressed on toward the Strait of Juan de Fuca and the promise land. Kate was expecting us a little after 1 pm. GPS guided us through Sequim and on to Port Angeles, where it seemed to stop functioning. Amazingly without too much back-seat driving or a bout of fisticuffs, we found our way to Pie Cottage (and I didn’t even have to stop and ask for directions, as if that was an option). Kate met us at the door, her welcome as genuine and generous as the pies she bakes. Her beloved German Shepherd, Gretapie, was also on hand to share in our reunion. Inside, a crackling fire set the stage for enjoying some chai tea and lively conversation.
She had us at ‘hello’ and rhubarb pie.Tom and Kate: a good day for pie and reunions.
Kate is one of those rare individuals who lives her passion daily, whether pie, people, teaching or sharing. Her enthusiasm is contagious and her rhubarb pie transformative. We enjoyed a wonderful visit and ended our day plotting ways to get Kate to teach a class on Vashon. She was a willing conspirator, and said she may know just the venue to host a class on the island. Fingers crossed, aprons pressed and forks ready.
Rhubarb pie, Kate, and her son’s artful window at Pie Cottage.The only thing better than homemade apple pie, is homemade apple pie with your own orchard’s apples. Thanks Kate, I’m spreading the pie love.
When is a fig ripe and ready to pick? For figs, the peak of ripeness is a magic state reached on the tree, not the kitchen counter. Picked too early, the fig languishes unripe and inedible until rot slowly takes its artful form. An unripe fig has all the culinary appeal of a cotton ball. If you don’t believe me, take a hint from nature; figs can hang untouched on a tree for weeks and the minute (seemingly the very minute) the sugars reveal themselves and true ripeness is reached, every critter in the county with a flying or climbing capability is out to devour the bounty of this aerial smorgasbord.
So how can you tell when fig ripeness is reached? Look for the sugar slump as I call it, the plump point where the fig can no longer support its own weight from the stem. In the following video, I show the stages of ripeness and a close-up view of fig several varieties. (Try not to drool on you laptop.)
Olivia on one of her first visits to Tall Clover Farm
I’ve always been a quiet admirer of the valentine. While the day celebrating its delivery seems a bit overwrought with expectations, I have to admit, I would still be delighted should an artful and poetic missive find its way into my mailbox, hand or heart. As a giver of valentines, I’m a shameful rake on a one-way street, but in my defense I should hope my actions and intent speak for my heart on a daily basis. (Need a ride to the dock, or an encouraging word, I’m your man.) The gifts and actions of the heart are surely not reserved for a single day in mid-February, but I digress.
Just recently, within a red rose’s reach of Valentine’s Day, I received an email from a longtime friend. With no subject line to reveal its aim, the email held added intrigue in the form of an attachment. I opened the email to find my friend Leslie’s kind words and birthday wishes. As for the attachment, she wrote, “Thought I would share an essay Miss Olivia wrote and got a Grade A on! The assignment was to write about a place that was special to her.”
A younger Olivia and I make a visit to the gypsy tree, where trinkets and treasures are often found.
I must say this heartfelt essay warmed my heart as surely, and if not more so, than any store-bought valentine could hope to. Thank you Olivia, the sun shines brighter when you visit.
Olivia’s Essay
Everyone has a special place in their life. What makes a place unique and personal to a person varies depending on the person, however, my favorite place is somewhere that is relaxing, but also somewhere I can have a little adventure. It’s a short ferry ride away from the mainland hidden away in the blue waters of Puget Sound. It is Vashon Island.
Vashon Island always instantly tranquilizes me. Specifically, my mom’s friend Tom’s farm. His small farm is filled with all sorts of plants, from small fig trees to bright dahlias to tomato plants to thorn-filled blackberry bushes. There’s also a huge striped hammock that I take afternoon naps on and is practically the epitome of relaxation. Tom’s house is very charming. It has a cute kitchen that always has something cooking on the stove and little vases of flowers and a huge porch that has a perfect view of the flowers. Whenever we visit him, we always have a picnic lunch on the porch early in the afternoon and then apple crisp later in the day.
Olivia and mom Leslie sure know how to put on a moveable feast.
The scenery on Vashon Island is all gorgeous. The plants are all very green and lush, while Puget Sound is always blue and calm. Downtown Vashon is calm and quiet with minimal traffic and no skyscrapers. Overall, Vashon Island is very peaceful. Vashon Island is also somewhere I can have many little adventures. Whenever I go to Tom’s house I always have to check the gypsy tree. The gypsy tree is this tree that always has random, little things in it left by the “gypsies.” When I was little, the gypsy tree always had coins and animal figurines it, but as I’ve gotten older the gypsy tree has things like charms, small little mirrors, and still a little pottery animal or two.
My mom, Tom, and I go on little shopping trips to the antique stores on the island. I always look through the sparkly vintage jewelry and the vintage clothes for a little treasure to take home with me. We also look through the floral quilts and the vintage iron beds. A trip to Vashon Island is never complete for me without a stop at my favorite bakery/cafe, Snapdragon. The bakery is brightly colored with huge bouquets of flowers scattered on the counter, the tables inside and outside in the courtyard. Everything there is perfection like the huge chocolate chip cookies, brick oven pizzas, and chocolate cupcakes decorated with fresh strawberries.
Vashon Island is very calm and full of little adventures. Special places are very personal and specific places, but everyone has at least one place that is close to their heart and meaningful to them.
Four of my favorite hammock testers
Miss Olivia and I go way back, since she was a rosy-cheeked baby, and I had a full head of hair. I must say what makes my place special to me is sharing it with friends who find it special as well. Thank you Olivia, for a lovely essay. I wonder what we’ll find in the gypsy tree on your next visit?
On the mends, Boz reclaims his bed. Gracie is not budging
My bulldog buddy Boz was feeling puny last week, so much in fact that I was a bit of a mess worrying about his sudden withdrawal and lethargy. He began to yelp, the kind of yelp that Stephen King would parlay to summon the dead and a few anxious Kraken, a yelp that pierced my ears as a cry for help, an alarm for unrelenting pain. His eyes were vacant, his loving nature diminished, his playful personality all but gone. I called the vet, immediately.
When I’m sick (seen here on the sofa), Boz is quick to lay down on my stomach and verify breathing. Once confirmed, he remains there, just in case.
Aside from the steady handouts of treats and the chance to annoy some cats, there’s not much Boz likes about the vet, but this time he was stoic and acquiesced to the probes, prods and rubdowns. Temperature normal. Digestion normal. Extreme sensitivity to touch around the muzzle. Prognosis: It appeared that Boz had injured his neck, and likely pinched a nerve. Dr. “Alan” prescribed bed-rest and minimal activity, a protocol perfectly tailored for an English bulldog and his supportive human. (Take three naps per day and call me in the morning.) Boz was a fine patient and for days he laid low, drank some water, and ate a few bites of soft dog food. Ignoring the dog door, he would quietly wait for me to play doorman to let him out. Three slow steps later, Boz would remind the gate post and Strawberry pot who was still boss.
Exchange of power: Gracie assures us, she has everything under control. Now, step away from the sofa.
A week later and Boz is back to normal, begging regularly, whining for treats, chasing deer, barking from the front porch, hogging the sofa, and working to re-establish his canine kingdom. Gracie on the other hand, is not so sure she is ready to relinquish the throne. Ah the balance of power has shifted, at least for this week. So long live King Boz and Queen Gracie; may you reign here for a very, very long time, no matter who’s the boss (and I know it’s not me).
Morning fog means seed catalogs on the table, coffee in my cup, spring in my step.
Fog has insinuated its steely cold embrace on the island, persuading me to just stay inside until our sleepy January sun rises to a height of full muster. At the table, I’m snug in a favorite old sweater, one with more wool in the pilling than in the weave, and surely on the verge of revealing an elbow or two. At my feet, bundled bulldogs snore in unison like mumbling metronomes. Wicked warm slippers save my bare feet from cold bare wood floors, and a cup of joe promises to keep me toasty on the inside once it cools itself down on the outside. Before me a stack of seed catalogs teases with vibrant colors and the promise of future bounty: the perfect January morning.
Eye candy that’s good for you.
I have my favorite seed catalogs, each with its own personality, whether glossy, rustic, heartfelt or quirky. To me, the following seed catalogs welcome spring just as surely as the first crocus or daffodil. I’m just covering the tip of the asparagus spear here, but that’s part of the promise of growing things; each season I discover something new, in a purveyor, a crop, cultivar or practice. So with each page I turn, I’m planting potential, and licking my chops in anticipation of the delicious harvests to come. (A little imagination can go a long way on a foggy winter day.)
With over 1400 heirloom seeds available, and photos that I swear were taken by an out-of-work pin-up photographer, Baker Creek tops my list of seed catalogs that make you salivate. As much coffee table book as catalog, there is not a page portrayed that is not ripe with the passion of growing great things and discovering new and forgotten varieties.
Baker Creek Seeds Catalog: so pretty it makes you want to eat all your vegetables.
For everything the Baker Creek catalog is, FEDCO is not. And therein lies its charm and power to woo you; it looks, feels and reads like some dog-eared treasure found in an a dusty attic chest. Sketches, vintage etchings, descriptions, expert advice and humor are replete on each page in a chockablock fashion that compels you to make sure you didn’t miss a thing.
FEDCO seed catalog: great selection, nostalgic drawings, engaging writing, and helpful planting and cultivar information
Here’s another great seed seller who gives you the opportunity to buy smaller quantities at lower prices. I like to grow a lot of varieties, so this affords me greater range in the garden and on the table. The catalog also has a seed section for Asian, French, Italian, Middle Eastern, and Latin-American vegetables as well as dyeing and medicinal herbs.
Pinetree Garden Seeds always carries some culinary gems.
This engaging catalog is a fine little work of art with Beatrix-Potter-like paintings of vegetables suitable for framing or decorating the warren of Peter Rabbit. You’ll find great descriptions, interesting varieties and seed amounts clearly shown. And if you’re a flower fanatic, wait until fall and be blown away by their bulb catalog: Beauty from Bulbs.
A non-profit, member-supported organization that saves and shares the heirloom seeds, Seed Savers Exchange (SSE) really put heirloom seeds and seed-saving on the map. The catalog and website are first rate, offering plant diversity rarely seen in other catalogs. SSE supplies me with seed for my favorite cool-weather watermelon: blacktail mountain.
Territorial Seeds is a well known and respected seed catalog from the Pacific Northwest gardener and grower, a catalog that covers an amazing array of seeds tested in and for a climate where cloudy skies outnumber clear days. Territory Seeds turned me on to my favorite French pole bean: Fortex — a curious name for an outstanding green bean.
Artistic Gardens offers a seed catalog on a shoestring, but don’t let that fool you. As a loyal fan, I like their seeds because they have really inexpensive packets of seed sampler packets available. So if I want to try new varieties out, I can do so without breaking the bank. I mean who really needs 1,000 chard seeds. Packet prices range from 35 cents to $1.00 and they have exceptional shallot sets.
Artistic Gardens, Le Jardin du Gourmet sells seed sampler packets, a great way to try different varieties without spending a lot and buying too much seed.
This is my first year ordering from High Mowing Organics Seeds, but my farming friends have nothing to but accolades to share about this company. I’d have to say it’s easy to support an operation with this philosophy, “…we believe in re-imagining what our world can be like. We believe in a deeper understanding of how re-built food systems can support health on all levels – healthy environments, healthy economies, healthy communities and healthy bodies. We believe in a hopeful and inspired view of the future based on better stewardship for our planet. Everyday that we are in business, we are growing; working to provide an essential component in the re-building of our healthy food systems: the seeds.”
My friend Anne is paying attention. I forgot to include Johnny’s Seeds on my list of favorites, so I’m here to correct that omission. As she said in her comment, “I have to put in a good word for the good folks up in Maine at Johnny’s Selected Seeds (www.johnnyseeds.com) Do order a catalogue!– you’ll be glad of it. In addition to carrying loads of things to grow, they’re breeders who have won a number of AAS awards (I can attest to the excellence of their Sunshine, Confection and Black Forest squashes), they design tools, and their catalogue is such a trove of information that you feel like you’ve completed an agronomy course just by studying it (I like people who make me feel smarter). Plus, they’re employee-owned and strictly non-GMO. Their website is full of useful stuff, too…I’ve been buying from them for probably close to 20 years, and know a lot of commercial farmers who prefer their seed, as well.” Thanks Anne, sometimes I need supervision.
And the Fog has lifted…
Boz, is giving me the look, “Tom, it’s almost sunny. Put down the catalog and take us on our walk.”
What’s your favorite seed catalog?
I’d love the hear about your favorite seed catalogs and companies. Please feel free to share your tips and seed resources in the comment section below and/or add them on the link tool below:
My friend Linda is a gifted baker, the kind of baker who can conjure from memory, and woo with taste. On Facebook, I can hear the heads pounding on walls when Linda posts a pic of some yeasty delight or chocolate indulgence. While a photo may be worth a thousand words, vicarious pleasure is not served up on laptop screen when one’s plate is bare of baked goods. Of course the comments stream in like verbal drool, folks pining for a piece of pie, begging for a beignet, selling their soul for a slice of gingerbread.
Now you may think this baker braggadocio, a public forum to showoff a little, but let me assure you it is not. Linda loves to bake and she loves to share the experience with her friends, even if we do grouse about the unavailable nature of the offering before us. And licking the screen doesn’t help a bit.
Easy to make with most ingredients in the pantry.
I was surprised when Linda posted she wasn’t baking for the month of January, keeping those tempting high-caloric cakes and cookies out of the house and away from the oven. I failed to understand such self-inflicted torture (much like my reaction to folks going on “cleanses”) but being the rogue baker and cheeky friend that I am, I felt the need to question her pronouncement with scrutiny and playful disdain. I believe I called it “crazy talk.” Linda has a fine sense of humor so I knew she could take it. I just wondered how long this moratorium on baking would really last.
The next day I had my answer. While Linda was true to her word not baking, she still found a way to draw us into to her vortex of batter and make us bake for her. Here was the clever girl’s post:
Quick! Do this! Since I’m not baking, you should!
Get out a big bowl. Dump in a cup of oatmeal, a chopped up stick of butter, and 1 1/2 cups boiling water. Stir it up a little bit (not too much) and let it sit for a bit. Maybe 20 minutes. Add 1 cup sugar, 1/2 cup brown sugar and 3/4 cup molasses. Stir it up. Add an egg, 1/2 tsp baking soda and 1/2 tsp. salt. Mix it up and add 1 1/3 cup flour and mix well. Put in a buttered cake pan. 350 35-40 minutes. Let me know how it goes.
I had no choice but to oblige. I was doing this for Linda, for her cause, for her misguided month of going cold turkey on baked goods. I was baking and eating this cake for her, taking one for bakers everywhere. When I responded, “What about the frosting?” She said it was moist enough without frosting. What I heard, “Blah, blah, blah, blah frosting.” When I insisted, she suggested I google “boiled coconut frosting,” which I did. And may I say it was the perfect pairing of moist and moister. (What’s that, do I hear angels singing?)
And so I offer up Linda’s oatmeal molasses cake recipe with a crown of boiled coconut frosting—my choice to gild an already exceptional lily of a cake.
3/4 cups molasses ((light, or full though more intense; blackstrap molasses really too strong)
1 egg
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 1/3 cup flour
Directions
Step 1
Get out a big bowl. Dump in a cup of oatmeal, a chopped-up stick of butter, and 1 1/2 cups boiling water.
Step 2
Stir it up a little bit (not too much) and let it sit for around 20 minutes lidded or covered with foil.
Step 3
Add 1 cup sugar, 1/2 cup brown sugar and 3/4 cup molasses, and stir it all up.
Step 4
Add an egg, 1/2 tsp baking soda and 1/2 tsp. salt. Mix well.
Step 5
Add 1 1/3 cup flour and mix well until batter is fully blended.
Step 6
Pour batter into a buttered and floured cake pan. I like to use a larger 10" springform pan. Bake at 350 for 35-40 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean.
Melt butter in sauce pan and add pecans. Stir, and for a toasted nutty flavor cook pecans for 1-2 minutes.
Step 2
Add sugars, and stir until dissolved.
Step 3
Add half and half and stir, simmer on low heat.
Step 4
Add coconut and stir constantly on a simmer for 1-2 minutes to reduce and thicken frosting.
Step 5
Remove from heat, and pour on cake while warm, and spread to cover top surface.
Step 6
You can also place the frosted cake under the broiler to get a crunchier top, but you have to be very observant and remove when it bubbles to avoid burning the sugar.
Print recipe
