Lemon Meringue Cake

The last time I made something with lemon curd, I used store-bought curd. (My grandmother always said "boughten" instead of store-bought. Did anyone else grow up thinking that "boughten" was a word?) The boughten lemon curd was good, but there's no substitute for the real stuff, made with fresh eggs, butter, and lemons. Especially lemons.

The first time I made lemon curd, many years ago, I couldn't see how it would possibly work out. But it does. There are just those few breathtaking moments when you think you should take it off the heat because it's going to curdle any second, but you want it just a wee bit thicker. Non-bakers have no idea how thrilling this is.

After taking pictures of the lemon curd, my (usually) trusty photographer skipped town, leaving me, with my little point-and-shoot, to be the meringue photographer. Too bad for Real Photographer that he didn't get to taste any of this lemon meringue cake, because it was spectacular--one of my favorite cakes so far.

So much lemon! Grated lemon rind in the cake, along with egg yolks and sugar.

The egg-yolk part of the batter after it's been beaten for five minutes.

And then after the Wondra flour is laid to rest on top of the batter, waiting for the meringue mixture to be mixed in.
When you're baker and photographer both, you keep forgetting to take pictures. At least I do. The rest of you take amazing pictures all by yourselves. The good part of taking your own pictures is that you don't take shots of your own hands. "Jim!" I always say. "Don't take pictures of my gnarly hands!" He ignores me. I delete many, many photos of said hands each week. No age-spotted hands on display this week, however, as it is not easy to hold the camera with both hands and photograph those same hands.

No meringue photo, but here's one of the thick, rich batter as it's ready to be put into the baking pans.




And as the cakes come out of the oven.

More lemon--lemon juice for the syrup.

I tried sawing the crust off the top of the cake with a serrated bread knife, but I found that what worked best was just to roll it off the top.

And the lemon curd on top of the bottom layer. As Rose recommends, I saved a bit for myself to have on toast.

Then I forgot to take any pictures of the Italian meringue process, which was scary, but not hard. First, because of the warnings I've been receiving about the tricky nature of meringue, especially when made on a humid day in July. But, to my amazement, there were no problems at all. Beginners' luck, probably. Frosting the cake with meringue didn't work out so well, and no matter how I tried to even it out, it had a distinctly lopsided look.

Here it is before going into the 500-degree oven, which, frankly, I did not believe would work. This made me wonder about meringue. Meringue may (or may not) have been discovered by a Swiss chief named Gasparini in the town of Meringen. Before that, there was something called "snow," which was popular in Medieval Europe. There is no definitive answer about who first thought about putting a delicate meringue in a hot oven and browning it.
I've never been a huge fan of meringue, but Rose's Italian Meringue has changed all that. You probably already know it's "Italian" because it's made with a sugar syrup, which makes it more stable.

The browning worked perfectly and beautifully, and I'm now in love with Italian meringue, especially when it's made with lemon. More lemon! I had a lot of fun taking pictures of the meringue because it was so photogenic.

Now here's the sad part. As you can see from the pictures, I placed my cake on the bottom of a springform pan instead of the bottom of a tart pan. I figured that because it was bigger and taller, I'd be able to transfer the cake better, as I was taking it to a party and I wanted to move it to a cake carrier. What I didn't think of is that as soon as I started moving the cake carrier, the springform pan bottom would slide into the sides of the carrier and swoop-swoop! completely eradicate the nicely browned sides of the cake.
But when I showed the denuded cake to my friend Betty, who was hosting the party, she just cut it into slices, and soon you couldn't tell (much) that the sides of the meringue had been deposited on the sides of the cake carrier.
My TASTING PANEL consisted of all the neighbors who came to Betty's TGIF party. First, they reminded me that the TGIF rules forbid homemade treats and allow only things that come in a bag or a can. After scolding me, they started eating.  Then they started oohing and aahing about the cake. Some of the comments: "How did you get the cake so moist--it's not a mix, is it?" "The sweetness of the meringue is so perfect with the tartness of the filling." "This meringue has lemon in it! Usually meringue is so blah, but this is really good!" "I love the way that all the flavors just kind of explode in your mouth." "This is so much better than lemon meringue pie!"

If you want to be the star of your neighborhood, or any other gathering you go to, just take this cake, sit back, and wait for the accolades.