The author has trifled a bit with the classic tipsy cake
Yes, we've had a jolly good time. Let's keeps our resolutions tomorrow and, meanwhile, re-imagine the remains of desserts today. Surely there will be an invitation to watch the big game, hear vacation stories or head out for a long walk; each can provide the occasion for a sweet hurrah, bound by a single rule: no shopping for ingredients.
Such a dessert could be called a countertop-sweeper, but it's more formally known as a trifle: one of those Great British recipes with an evocative name, joining the ranks of the Eton mess, the fool and the stargazey pie.
Turns out, there's something similar on this side of the pond. Across America's South, there is tipsy cake. Like a trifle, it contains fruit or jam, booze, custard and some kind of cake. According to Stella Parks, author of the upcoming "BraveTart: Iconic American Desserts" (W.W. Norton, fall 2017): "Tipsy cakes are very casual. They are not even layered - just dump the cake in the bowl." But unlike trifles, she says, original tipsy cakes of the mid-1800s were always finished with blanched, slivered almonds.
A tipsy trifle - a mash-up of the two - was my goal. But which kind of cake to start with? This year, I had pound cake, but I gave serious consideration to using a plateful of pistachio snowball cookies. Any sponge cake, pound cake or panettone will do, even better when the cake's a little stale. It is cubed and then sprinkled - never soaked or doused - with a combination of brandy and sweet wine or sherry. If the wine is dry and not sweet, "just add a spoonful of sugar," Parks says.
Most recipes call for spreading the cake with jam before layering it in the bowl. I had an early surplus of blood oranges, so I coated thick rounds of them in deep, dark caramel to add bitter notes to the sweet dessert. If you don't have oranges on the counter or fresh fruit languishing in the refrigerator, use just the jam.
The custard can be rich or light. Parks's tipsy-cake research found 19th-century cookbooks that called for a custard made from "one to four eggs per cup of liquid." For children, cooks were encouraged to use "fewer eggs and yellow food coloring, and it will look as if it were made with the bounty of a dozen eggs." This, I think, gives us permission to make a custard based on the eggs and dairy in the house. We can skip the food coloring. To gild the lily, top the tipsy trifle with a cloud of whipped cream. You can substitute yogurt, sour cream or crème fraîche if all the cream was used in the custard.
Instead of crunchy almonds on top, I used peanut brittle, which accomplished a double mission of using leftovers and getting rid of a temptation in our post-resolution house.
There is no need to worry about finding the perfect serving vessel. There are, of course, footed glass trifle bowls designed to show off the dessert's layers. If there is one hanging around in your cupboard, you're set. Other options: I've used a large hurricane-style candle holder (shown in the accompanying photograph). A tall, wide glass vase or salad bowl will work. If you're feeling fancy, build individual trifles in parfait glasses. But whatever you do, remember: This is not a demanding dessert. It's made from what's on hand.
And what's on hand doesn't necessarily have to do with the holidays at all. The next time you bake something with a crumb that fails to come out of the pan fully intact, turn those chunks into an anytime tipsy-cake dessert. It has happened to me. There is no shame in failure - only opportunity.
• Cathy Barrow is a Washington D.C. area cookbook author.