Bundt.
For so many reasons (all of which I shan’t explore here because it will expose me for the immature child that I am) I love making a bundt cake.
Its architecture is so whimsical.
Those charming curves, its precious pixie princess daintiness, it’s fiddly diva requirements, the absolutely unnecessary hole in the middle – I always think a bundt cake is like the cake equivalent of an elephant in the room. Despite the fact it is airy, featherlight, and an absolute delight to eat, it actual demands a lot of attention on a table. You can’t not be like ‘Oh, you made a bundt.’ A cake is a cake, but a bundt… someone will be asking questions.
Nobody, and I genuinely mean nobody, asks for a bundt cake.
I mean, come on now.
Who has ever said ‘You know what I want for my birthday? I’d love a bundt cake‘ or ‘You know what I fancy? Bundt.’
Because nobody ever thinks of wanting a bundt cake because it is, in fact, a regular cake, with a hole in it, and who wants to be messing with that? To borrow a dated term that not even my generation use any more – ‘Ain’t nobody got time for that.’
First of all, let it be a birthday, where are we putting the candles? Second of all, you’d be a horrendous person to request it, actually, because there is a sudden fear of cooking bundt cakes. Admittedly, I wouldn’t put bundt-baking up there with spiders and vertigo, but it’s there somewhere, and I’ve boiled it down to two core fears.
One, not owning a bundt pan to begin with. Or, if you do own one, not knowing how bloody deep it is because bundt pan recipes always work in litres and you probably only bought it because it was pretty or because Nigella Lawson said so (I am the second person).
And two, getting the damn cake out of the pan in one piece once it’s baked.
So let’s dispel them.
The pan? If you don’t have one, but one that’s 1-litre and only Google recipes that ask you to use one. If you already have a bundt pan and don’t know its capacity, just fill it with water, and pour the water in a big measuring jug. There. It’ll probably be 1-litre, and everything is fine.
If you don’t have a bundt tin, you could rationally, use what you’ve got. The recipe below translates perfectly to a 9-inch round tin or a regular loaf tin (and if you’re over 30 and survived COVID, I know you have one). In a round tin, the cake will be thicker so reduce the temperature to 160°C and bake for 40 minutes, checking for doneness around the 35 minute mark. With the loaf tin, it may take closer to 50 minutes so check around the 40 minute mark, but with all bakes, bunt, round, or loaf, just keep an eye on it. The crumb will be delightful in all forms.
Next fear?
Getting it out in one clean piece – I don’t know what to say other than to just grease the hell out of it.
People say to also dust the tin with flour? I don’t bother with that. It could work, I don’t know, do whatever one of your parents suggest with this one, but if you want my opinion and not theirs, I just either butter it beyond belief or oil it with a vegetable oil and a paper towel.
Quick disclaimer, if you have a bundt tin with ridges, you’re on your own. I say just grease it even more than you think you should and don’t scream at me if it still sticks. Try flour next time and pretend I told you to use flour the first time., or blame your parents.
For as much as I babbled on about how unnecessary a bundt cake is, I do think that once you taste this (and if you don’t have any trouble with it coming out clean in one piece) you will make it again and again and again and again. It’s so addictive. It’s so light and perfect for any time of the day, particularly when it’s soused with that sharp, sweet citrus drizzle,
People will be delighted by a bundt cake. It is worth the effort.
SIDE NOTE – it’s not effort.
Upon a reread of this recipe, I note with interest that I have made out as though a bundt cake is like an episode of bloody Challenge Anneka or something, and it’s really not. Use a 1-litre pan, grease it generously, and the rest of it is piss. I promise.
Yields 10 – 14 slices (kind of. Depends how big you cut them)
100g soft unsalted butter
150g granulated sugar
1 large egg
1 tsp vanilla extract
Zest from 2 oranges
120g Greek yogurt
150g plain flour
½ tsp baking powder
½ tsp bicarbonate of sofa
¼ tsp salt
For the glaze
100g icing sugar
Juice from 2 oranges
- Preheat the oven to 170°C, get all the ingredients to room temperature, and grease (see intro for Christ’s sake) a 1-litre (again, just see intro) bundt pan.
- In a bowl, cream together the butter and sugar until pale and fluffy, which takes about 3 minutes if you have good arms, and 5 minutes if you don’t, which is mine usually takes about 6 minutes. You want it really light and airy. While a bowl and spoon will be absolutely fine, I do this in a mixer.
- Add the egg, vanilla, and orange zest (reserving the oranges for their juice later) and beat until everything is combined. This is where a mixer sucks because you do have to stop now and then to scrape down the sides, which feels stupid because why bother with the mixer in the first place? Unless you have a fancy one, in which case, whatever.
- Pour in the Greek yogurt and mix until incorporated, and the above point about scraping still stands.
- In a separate bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, bicarb, and salt and mix together with a fork.
- Gradually fold the dry ingredients into the wet (if in a mixer, do it on a low speed) being careful not to overmix. The batter should be thicker than a regular batter, almost spreadable, but still light.
- Spoon the batter into the prepared bundt tin and then tap it gently but firmly on a countertop to get rid of any air bubbles. This will mean nothing because the surface will appear unchanged, but just do it.
- Slide the tin into the oven for 30-35 minutes or until a skewer comes out clean once inserted.
- Let the cake cool in the tin for about 15 – 20 minutes, and then invert it carefully on to a wire rack to cool. If you invert it and nothing comes out, just turn it back up and get a little spatula or reliable knife of some description and just very gently try and coax the sponge from the edges and try again. My main note here – no matter how this cake comes out of the tin – it will be delicious.
- For the drizzle, squeeze the juice of the oranges into a bowl (mind the pips) and then add half of the icing sugar, whisking together until combined. Now add the rest of the icing sugar a little at a time until you get a pourable, thick consistency. Depending how thick you like it, it could be a thicker style icing that coats the cake and sticks to it from top to bottom. I, personally, like it ever so slightly thinner so that it can be soaked up on the top when drizzled, but then it pools down the sides into glossy puddles so that it can soak from the bottom up too.
- Put the cake on a plate and then drizzle it how you see fit.
MIKEY AND THE KITCHEN. 