Lazy Daisy Cake
Coconuts are a central ingredient in Kerala cooking. This is not surprising considering that you'll find coconut trees everywhere in the state, dotting the landscape, in cities and in villages. The word "Kerala" comes from the word "Kera" which means coconut tree in Malayalam, making Kerala the land of the coconut tree.
No part of the coconut is wasted. Grated coconut flesh is used liberally in practically every classic Kerala dish. You'll find layers of grated coconut in puttu - a breakfast dish traditionally made with rice flour pressed into a cylindrical mould. You’ll also find grated coconut in vegetable stir-fries, called thoran in Malayalam. Coconut milk makes its way into the Malayalee stew that is always served with soft, lacy appams. In fish curries, it is a gently sweet counterpoint in an otherwise fiery gravy. Grated jaggery and coconut is the centerpiece of so many Malayali sweets.
In Delhi, where I was raised, coconuts sold at a premium because they were imported from the Southern states. Their market value increased steadily as they made their way from Kerala to Delhi. My mother sourced all her South Indian supplies from “Kashmiri Store”, a hole in the wall in Gole Market. The proprietors were two brothers from Kashmir. They always wore white kurtas and big smiles. Interestingly, these migrants from the northern tip of India, serviced a predominately South Indian clientele who'd migrated to the capital from the other end of the country. I wonder if they sold any Kashmiri ingredients. It's hard for me to say because my mother never went in search of them. They stored all sorts of Malayalee staples. Kashmiri store was a treasure trove of coconuts, spices, curry leaves, appam mixes, and assorted ready-to-go spice mixes.
My other memory of coconuts is from annual school vacations that we spent at my grandparents’ house in Kerala. Every so often, when their coconut tree became heavy with fruit, they’d call a coconut climber, who’d scurry up to the top of the tree, sickle in hand. One by one, the coconuts would fall to the ground with a thud. We watched, bewitched, from a distance, having been pushed away from the action by the adults.
In Delhi, where I was raised, coconuts sold at a premium because they were imported from the Southern states. Their market value increased steadily as they made their way from Kerala to Delhi. My mother sourced all her South Indian supplies from “Kashmiri Store”, a hole in the wall in Gole Market. The proprietors were two brothers from Kashmir. They always wore white kurtas and big smiles. Interestingly, these migrants from the northern tip of India, serviced a predominately South Indian clientele who'd migrated to the capital from the other end of the country. I wonder if they sold any Kashmiri ingredients. It's hard for me to say because my mother never went in search of them. They stored all sorts of Malayalee staples. Kashmiri store was a treasure trove of coconuts, spices, curry leaves, appam mixes, and assorted ready-to-go spice mixes.
It was typically my dad’s job to break coconuts open. We had a large heavy knife reserved for this purpose. Holding the coconut with a steady hand over the sink, he’d bring the knife down on the center of the fruit, smashing it into two neat halves. A steel tumbler placed right below the coconut would catch the sweet coconut water that flowed from the fruit. At this point, I was usually called in, because I was, and remain, a lover of coconut water. The best coconuts yielded deliciously sweet, cool coconut water. Other times, when the coconut was beyond its prime, the coconut water would develop a sour undertone. I'd drink it anyway.
My other memory of coconuts is from annual school vacations that we spent at my grandparents’ house in Kerala. Every so often, when their coconut tree became heavy with fruit, they’d call a coconut climber, who’d scurry up to the top of the tree, sickle in hand. One by one, the coconuts would fall to the ground with a thud. We watched, bewitched, from a distance, having been pushed away from the action by the adults.
These days, I make do with frozen grated coconut, which is, of course, no match for the real stuff. Every now and then, I indulge, and treat myself to hideously overpriced, bottled coconut water, certified organic and kosher, sold in BPA free bottles, California style.
With all that childhood nostalgia associated with coconuts, when I came across a recipe for a Lazy Daisy cake, topped with sweet, broiled coconut, I couldn’t resist trying it out. We loved it. I’ve already made this cake a few times. When I looked online to find out where it got its colorful name, all I could find is that it predated boxed cake mixes, now ubiquitous in the States, and likely became popular in the 1930s or 1940s. Surprisingly easy to whip up, this truly is a cake for a lazy day.
With all that childhood nostalgia associated with coconuts, when I came across a recipe for a Lazy Daisy cake, topped with sweet, broiled coconut, I couldn’t resist trying it out. We loved it. I’ve already made this cake a few times. When I looked online to find out where it got its colorful name, all I could find is that it predated boxed cake mixes, now ubiquitous in the States, and likely became popular in the 1930s or 1940s. Surprisingly easy to whip up, this truly is a cake for a lazy day.
Even though this is a recipe that originated in the United States, I can imagine it being invented by a Daisykutty in Kerala who didn’t quite know what to do with all the grated coconut leftover from lunchtime, and came up with the idea on a lazy afternoon.
Here’s the recipe, which I sourced from this link. I hope you’ll try it. I made only a few tweaks -I added 1/2 tsp of vanilla to the batter, reduced the sugar in the batter by approximately 1 tbsp, and also reduced the sugar and butter in the topping by 2 tbsp each. Watch carefully when you broil the topping - it darkens very quickly.
Here’s the recipe, which I sourced from this link. I hope you’ll try it. I made only a few tweaks -I added 1/2 tsp of vanilla to the batter, reduced the sugar in the batter by approximately 1 tbsp, and also reduced the sugar and butter in the topping by 2 tbsp each. Watch carefully when you broil the topping - it darkens very quickly.
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