Big Love, Little Cakes

In my 30s, I was asked countless times when my husband, Dan, and I would start a family. Never, I would sometimes say. Defiantly. We always knew we didn’t want children. But I also knew that answer was wrong. At some point, I started to inform these people that we already had a family—a family of two. I would say we started a family when we got married in November of 2005, but that isn’t true either. We were already family by then.

When do two people become a family? There’s not always a clear distinction. In my mind, it has something to do with cake. You know it’s happened when you are baking or buying cakes for one another, to mark birthdays and special occasions. You know you’re family when someone blows out candles over a cake you’re about to share and no one cares about the germs.

Cake has always been a love language of mine. In my family of origin, I was known for my sweet tooth. It was the most greedy and voracious sweet tooth of anyone I knew—until I met Dan, who, even on our earliest dates, would sometimes ask a restaurant server to see the dessert menu before we ordered anything so he could plan ahead. It wasn’t unusual for the two of us to order three desserts.

As a passionate home cook, I’ve baked my fair share of cakes for Dan and others in my family. Pre-pandemic, sometimes the group was enough that the standard cake—a nine-inch layer cake—wasn’t ridiculous. There were always leftovers, but not an overwhelming amount.

In 2020, Dan and I “celebrated” our 15th wedding anniversary. It was deep Covid times; no one had been vaccinated. We couldn’t have a party, take a vacation, or go out to dinner. We ordered a full-size gourmet cake from Vegan Treats in Bethlehem, PA.

It cost a lot and was an absurd amount of cake for two people—even two people who love dessert. Subsequent pandemic-era celebrations were marked with a candle in a dish of ice cream, or a single-serving treat bought at a bakery.

Finally, in February 2022 I returned to baking. Dan and I made a rainbow-sprinkle- laden nine-inch layer cake for my niece’s eighth birthday. Even my extended family is only eight people, and my sister had freezer cake for weeks.

When Dan turned 51 this summer, I wanted him to have a birthday cake. I needed to make up for what happened the previous year. His 50th birthday had been thoroughly ruined because, on that day, while out celebrating, I was abruptly laid off from my full-time corporate job. There was no cake. I wanted this year to be different.

I chose carrot cake and made a wonderful one—a nine-inch layer cake with tangy vanilla frosting for Dan, me, and his mom. But it was much too much. The small dent we made in the cake left me feeling sad. It seemed to underscore the fact that there was no big happy family or crowded friend group to gather together. We’ve both lost our fathers. Over the Covid years, we drifted apart from too many friends. The abundance of that cake reminded me of the people who weren’t there. It was classic glass-half-empty thinking.

I would rather focus on all the things I’m grateful for, especially during celebrations. Our family may be small but our love is big. About a week later, while wandering Fante’s kitchen shop in the Italian Market, I bought two six-inch cake pans on a whim. I thought, ‘Wouldn’t these have been perfect for Dan’s birthday cake?’ It would have been just the right size for our small family.

Soon I was baking every week, finding reasons to celebrate. Why not? A single-layer six-inch cake is barely bigger than some bakery muffins. You don’t need a stand mixer. I have baked most of these cakes in my toaster oven.

Soon I was baking every week, finding reasons to celebrate. Why not? A single-layer six-inch cake is barely bigger than some bakery muffins. It doesn’t feel excessive for just the two of us over a weekend. These small cakes come together quickly. You don’t need a stand mixer. I have baked most of them in my toaster oven.

And when we celebrated my brother- in-law’s birthday last month, I made a six-inch triple-layer chocolate cake. It was a tall, dramatic presentation. Still, it wasn’t a crazy quantity of cake for seven people.

Don’t be mad that I’ve buried the lede here, but since 2017, all the cakes I’ve baked and eaten have been vegan. And one of the many great things about vegan baking is that it’s easy to scale up and down. It’s hard to split an egg.

When I got busy adapting some favorite cakes to fit my new tiny pans, my first call was to Fran Costigan, a Philadelphia-based cookbook author and culinary instructor known as the queen of vegan baking. I’ve been peppering her with questions about best practices and scaling recipes down.

Here’s what she had to say:

• Use a scale. With baking, it’s always best to use weights but when you’re cutting recipes in half and working with small batches, it’s essential.
• Grind your sugar. The only vegan sugar is organic sugar, and the organic sugar grains are larger than in conventional white sugar. Before using it in baking, grind the sugar in a food processor. Don’t go so far that you get powdered sugar.
• Sift the dry ingredients. It removes any little lumps and makes the mixture easier to fully blend.
• Never fill your cake pan more than halfway. This is really important when you’re scaling down your favorite recipes. The cake needs room to rise.
• Baking times are a guideline. Always test for doneness with a toothpick or cake tester. And lightly touch the center— it should spring back.
• Use parchment, not Silpats. I use Silpats as much as possible, but they just won’t do for delicate vegan cakes. Dan found compostable six-inch parchment rounds at kanalifestyle.com.
• Any plant-based milk will work, but oat milk tends to brown better and it sidesteps soy allergies.