Don't let the cake ruin Christmas

A recipe for the best ever chocolate cake

I’ve never been much of a fan of Christmas cake, however jolly it’s made to look.

As far as I’m concerned, the only justification for it is the glass of sherry or ginger wine that, with any luck, you’re offered with it to help flush it down. At the first rasping swallow, Christmas cake slumps into the stomach like wet sand tipped from a child’s seaside bucket and sits there until the last of the twelve days of Christmas is over, even if the cake itself has long been consumed. 

And it isn’t even confined to Christmas. Anyone who attends weddings and christenings - in the UK, at least - is expected to munch their way to the couples’ or parents’ happiness through a musty slice of the same weighty, wintery, fruit cake, the only lightness of touch the flirty dresses and feathered headgear of some of the guests.

Another complaint: the stupendous and long-drawn out effort involved in the baking of a Christmas cake, with its sousing of fruit, and fine chopping of nuts and tasteless coloured rinds. You are supposed to construct the cake weeks in advance while autumn leaves are still colourful bunting clinging valiantly to trees, when the last thing you want to think about is weather cold and wet or the shopping for inventive presents for people whose own presents to you won’t be half as imaginative. Next, the cake must be regularly fed with as much whisky or brandy as it can absorb to mitigate the tedium of its personality - whisky or brandy it would be far more advantageous to feed directly to yourself. Apparently, this all helps it mature. Why would a cake need to mature? Not many people do.

Inhabitants of the north of England moderately improve the eating challenge by serving a chunk of hearty Cheddar or other imposing cheese alongside, to balance the sweetness of the dense cake. 

The only thing in its favour is that it isn’t Christmas pudding. After overindulging to the point of semi-consciousness in turkey, roast spuds, mash (yes, potatoes TWO ways. Why?), sprouts and other random veg all drenched in shiny gravy, who in their right mind would want to tuck into a compacted ball of steamed dough that needs to be set on fire to become edible?

Once upon a time, every new bride was taught that in order to offer Yuletide guests the best possible Christmas cake, her first married Christmas she was obliged to make seven of them. Then every Christmas thereafter to bake one more which would go to the back of the queue in the pantry while the cake at the front was the one that was sliced for Christmas visitors. By year seven, every cake thereafter, throughout her marriage, would be the optimum seven years old - thoroughly mature.

While winter solstice festivities had long honoured pagan gods of agriculture and light, not until the 19th century did Christmas Day become a popular celebration. Before that, it was a religious holiday far more muted than the serious feasting that took place on Twelfth Night or Epiphany. In the 1640s, Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protector of England, and his Puritan cohorts decided there was far too much decadence going on, so banned Twelfth Night merrymaking. Since limited frivolity was still permitted on Christmas Day, people simply made the cake for that date instead.

Here is a cake that is a real showstopper. And because it is frosted with a white icing, you can decorate it with Father Christmas and all the elves and reindeer that your heart desires. It’s a celebration at any time of year, quite the best chocolate cake I know. It is intensely rich, so a little will go a long way - probably for the whole of the Christmas festival. It needs to rest overnight before being assembled, lasts in the fridge for at least a week (if you haven’t been tempted to eat it all at one sitting), and freezes perfectly well. So it can be made ahead of Christmas long before you begin to panic over how you will ever manage to get everything onto the festive table in time. The other thing in its favour is that it uses no flour, so is gluten free. What's not to like - or at least give an “OK, if I must, I'll just have a small slice” sigh? Happy Christmas.

Photo Klaus Einwanger: The Bruno Cookbook, Martin Walker & Julia Watson

Serves 10-12

600g/1lb 3oz 70% chocolate, chopped
600g/1lb 3 oz salted butter, cubed
12 large eggs, separated
600g/1lb 3 oz caster sugar

For the icing:

300g/10½ oz salted butter, softened
450g/15oz icing sugar
500g/1 lb mascarpone, room temperature
Handful of strawberries or raspberries or Christmas figures (optional)

Preheat oven to 140C/285F.

Remove any shelves above the middle shelf from the oven as the cakes will rise high. Butter 2x24cm/9½ins springform cake tins then line with greaseproof paper.

Break the chocolate into small pieces and put with the butter into a bowl over simmering water, its bottom not touching it, and melt both, stirring occasionally. 

Beat egg whites on low speed until they begin to froth then, increasing the speed, add half the sugar, a spoonful at a time, till glossy and forming stiff peaks. 

In a separate bowl, beat together the yolks and remaining sugar till pale and creamy, then fold in the egg whites then the melted chocolate. Divide between the tins and bake 1 hour till firm. Leave the cakes in the tins to cool, then refrigerate overnight. They will slump.

To make the icing, beat the butter until pale and fluffy. Sift in half icing sugar and beat till smooth. Beat in the mascarpone. Don’t overbeat or the icing will curdle.

Release the cakes from their tins. Spread one with just under half the icing, sandwich together and spread the top and sides with the remaining mixture and decorate with strawberries, raspberries, or Christmas figurines.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year’s cooking to one and all!

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