We went to my favorite restaurant, Liana's Trattoria, for Mother's Day dinner. Liana sent me home with an extra piece of my favorite coconut cake so, in gratitude, I thought I'd share this essay I wrote about her cake. Happy Mother's Day, Liana!
Coconut Dreams
Okay, I’ll admit it. I dream about food. Not any food, mind you. But on occasion I have eaten something so unique, so ethereal, so perfect, it has lingered in my subconscious for days or even weeks, making delicious appearances on my dream menu.
The first food I ever dreamed about was the coconut cake at Liana’s Trattoria off of Tunxis Hill Road. I am a fan of coconut cake anyway, but Liana’s version is in a league of its own. The coconut is baked right into the golden cake batter, making it dense and moist, so moist that it needs no frosting. Liana simply dusts it with a little powdered sugar and drizzles it with a rich dark chocolate sauce. It is perfection.
The first time I had Liana’s coconut cake I dreamed about it for a week straight. For months, I told everyone I knew about it and I was repeatedly disappointed that people weren’t as excited about my discovery as I was. “Oh, that sounds good,” they would say rather unenthusiastically. “No, no, not just good. It’s amazing. It’s the best dessert I’ve ever had. I dream about this cake!”
“You dream about it?” they would say. “Wow.” And it was always clear that they did not mean, “Wow. That must be great cake,” but rather, “Wow. You’re kind of weird.”
Fortunately, my family was very tolerant about my new coconut cake obsession, and they were happy to go to Liana’s as frequently as I had cravings. My husband tried a couple of years in a row to make a reservation for my birthday before he finally caught on to the fact that the restaurant is always closed in January. I took this news badly. It was hard to accept that I would never have my favorite coconut cake on the one occasion each year that demanded that I eat cake.
It is representative of my husband’s devotion that he tried to find a way to right this wrong. He set out to find a recipe, aided by my sister-in-law, who thought she remembered Liana’s coconut cake being featured in a cooking magazine some years ago. Thanks to the miracle of the Internet they managed to find a recipe that was indeed attributed to Liana from the time that she was serving as the pastry chef at Paci in Southport. From all appearances it was the same cake. They had found the Holy Grail.
He kept his discovery a secret, intent on surprising me for my birthday. The night of my birthday dinner I was banned from the kitchen for what seemed like hours. Finally, I was escorted to the dining room, where I was treated to a lovely Thai dinner brought in from a nearby restaurant. I took this to mean that my exile and the banging around in the kitchen had just been an elaborate ruse. But after the meal, Peter and the girls went back into the kitchen and banged around some more before reappearing with their ultimate surprise – Liana’s coconut cake that they had made from scratch.
They put the cake down in front of me, sat down, and stared intently as I took my first bite. I was feeling a lot of pressure as I bit into the cake. I knew they were waiting to see that ecstatic expression that I got when I ate the cake made by Liana. I didn’t think it was an expression I could fake.
Their cake was good, very good. But, honestly, it was not like Liana’s. My husband realized this himself when he took his first taste. His look of disappointment was heartbreaking. He went back through the recipe in his mind. Did he do something wrong? Too much flour? Not enough coconut? Baked it too long? Not long enough? He couldn’t put his finger on where he had gone wrong, but this was not the coconut perfection he was shooting for. There would be no coconut dreams tonight.
You have to admire his perseverance. He tried two more years in a row to make the coconut cake for my birthday. Each time he was crestfallen to find that his cake did not live up to the Liana ideal. After the third failure, he finally gave up, but his failure continued to haunt him.
A couple of years ago, Liana came to greet us at our table midway through another delicious meal. She asked if we had room for dessert, which elicited a chuckle. “I always have room for dessert,” I assured her. “ Would you like to see a dessert menu?” she asked. “ She won’t need a menu,” Peter replied. “She’ll have the coconut cake. That’s what she’s been waiting for since she walked through your door. The entrée was just a formality.”
Liana came back after dessert to see if I had enjoyed my cake. “It was divine,” I told her with complete honesty. She smiled with satisfaction. That’s when Peter spoke up.
“Liana, I just have to ask you about something. A couple of years ago I found a coconut cake recipe in Gourmet that was attributed to you, but when I tried to make it, it was not the same. Don’t get me wrong, it was good - but it wasn’t this good. Is that your recipe or isn’t it?”
“Well, that’s a funny story,” Liana replied. “When the magazine called me and asked me for the recipe, I knew I had to give them something. But the recipe I use in the restaurant is my sister’s. She’d kill me if I gave it away. So that recipe you found in the magazine – that’s my recipe, it’s just not this recipe.”
For Peter, her revelation was vindication. He had not failed at making the cake. He was, in fact, extremely successful at making an inferior cake. And even though I can’t have Liana’s coconut cake for my birthday, it seems right and just to me that my perfect, one of a kind, dream cake is a carefully guarded family secret. Cake worth dreaming about is cake worth protecting.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take a nap.
Coconut Dreams
Okay, I’ll admit it. I dream about food. Not any food, mind you. But on occasion I have eaten something so unique, so ethereal, so perfect, it has lingered in my subconscious for days or even weeks, making delicious appearances on my dream menu.
The first food I ever dreamed about was the coconut cake at Liana’s Trattoria off of Tunxis Hill Road. I am a fan of coconut cake anyway, but Liana’s version is in a league of its own. The coconut is baked right into the golden cake batter, making it dense and moist, so moist that it needs no frosting. Liana simply dusts it with a little powdered sugar and drizzles it with a rich dark chocolate sauce. It is perfection.
The first time I had Liana’s coconut cake I dreamed about it for a week straight. For months, I told everyone I knew about it and I was repeatedly disappointed that people weren’t as excited about my discovery as I was. “Oh, that sounds good,” they would say rather unenthusiastically. “No, no, not just good. It’s amazing. It’s the best dessert I’ve ever had. I dream about this cake!”
“You dream about it?” they would say. “Wow.” And it was always clear that they did not mean, “Wow. That must be great cake,” but rather, “Wow. You’re kind of weird.”
Fortunately, my family was very tolerant about my new coconut cake obsession, and they were happy to go to Liana’s as frequently as I had cravings. My husband tried a couple of years in a row to make a reservation for my birthday before he finally caught on to the fact that the restaurant is always closed in January. I took this news badly. It was hard to accept that I would never have my favorite coconut cake on the one occasion each year that demanded that I eat cake.
It is representative of my husband’s devotion that he tried to find a way to right this wrong. He set out to find a recipe, aided by my sister-in-law, who thought she remembered Liana’s coconut cake being featured in a cooking magazine some years ago. Thanks to the miracle of the Internet they managed to find a recipe that was indeed attributed to Liana from the time that she was serving as the pastry chef at Paci in Southport. From all appearances it was the same cake. They had found the Holy Grail.
He kept his discovery a secret, intent on surprising me for my birthday. The night of my birthday dinner I was banned from the kitchen for what seemed like hours. Finally, I was escorted to the dining room, where I was treated to a lovely Thai dinner brought in from a nearby restaurant. I took this to mean that my exile and the banging around in the kitchen had just been an elaborate ruse. But after the meal, Peter and the girls went back into the kitchen and banged around some more before reappearing with their ultimate surprise – Liana’s coconut cake that they had made from scratch.
They put the cake down in front of me, sat down, and stared intently as I took my first bite. I was feeling a lot of pressure as I bit into the cake. I knew they were waiting to see that ecstatic expression that I got when I ate the cake made by Liana. I didn’t think it was an expression I could fake.
Their cake was good, very good. But, honestly, it was not like Liana’s. My husband realized this himself when he took his first taste. His look of disappointment was heartbreaking. He went back through the recipe in his mind. Did he do something wrong? Too much flour? Not enough coconut? Baked it too long? Not long enough? He couldn’t put his finger on where he had gone wrong, but this was not the coconut perfection he was shooting for. There would be no coconut dreams tonight.
You have to admire his perseverance. He tried two more years in a row to make the coconut cake for my birthday. Each time he was crestfallen to find that his cake did not live up to the Liana ideal. After the third failure, he finally gave up, but his failure continued to haunt him.
A couple of years ago, Liana came to greet us at our table midway through another delicious meal. She asked if we had room for dessert, which elicited a chuckle. “I always have room for dessert,” I assured her. “ Would you like to see a dessert menu?” she asked. “ She won’t need a menu,” Peter replied. “She’ll have the coconut cake. That’s what she’s been waiting for since she walked through your door. The entrée was just a formality.”
Liana came back after dessert to see if I had enjoyed my cake. “It was divine,” I told her with complete honesty. She smiled with satisfaction. That’s when Peter spoke up.
“Liana, I just have to ask you about something. A couple of years ago I found a coconut cake recipe in Gourmet that was attributed to you, but when I tried to make it, it was not the same. Don’t get me wrong, it was good - but it wasn’t this good. Is that your recipe or isn’t it?”
“Well, that’s a funny story,” Liana replied. “When the magazine called me and asked me for the recipe, I knew I had to give them something. But the recipe I use in the restaurant is my sister’s. She’d kill me if I gave it away. So that recipe you found in the magazine – that’s my recipe, it’s just not this recipe.”
For Peter, her revelation was vindication. He had not failed at making the cake. He was, in fact, extremely successful at making an inferior cake. And even though I can’t have Liana’s coconut cake for my birthday, it seems right and just to me that my perfect, one of a kind, dream cake is a carefully guarded family secret. Cake worth dreaming about is cake worth protecting.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take a nap.
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