Gloomy castles, ghosts, and things that go bump in the night—the gothic novel would seem to be all about the otherworldly. But for the 18th century women who propelled the genre to the apex of popular literature, it was all about forbidden pleasures. “Devoured with indiscriminate and insatiable avidity” by ladies who retired to private chambers to feast on “scenes of pleasure and passion altogether improper to behold,” gothics were painted by the watchdogs of female decorum as the forbidden fruit itself. Novels such as the 1796 classic The Monk, Thomas Gisborne warns in his An Enquiry Into the Duties of the Female Sex (1797), dangerously “inflamed the female appetite”—causing it to become “too keen to be denied.” On this Gisborne may have a point, because as far as I’m concerned, nothing makes a spine-chilling novel more sinfully delicious than a late-night slice of cake!

Which is why, for this celebration of gothic appetites, I wanted to create a cake worthy of the great villain, temptress, and witch of The Monk: the insatiable Matilda. Considered more wicked than the most wicked of men, she brazenly declares her dangerous desire “to make delicious.” “I will enjoy unrestrained the gratification of  my senses: Every passion shall be  indulged, even to satiety; I bid my servants invent new pleasures, to revive and stimulate my glutted appetites!”

Such licentiousness, even imagined vicariously, was beyond the pale. No wonder young ladies were advised such literature should be shunned “as you would do the most fatal poison.” Young ladies did not listen. By 1817, Jane Austen’s heroine in the novel Northanger Abbey is still “craving to be frightened” as she shuts herself up in her room to read novels such as The Monk “over and over again.”

I wanted to create a cake true to the ones that real-life ladies might have consumed while avidly reading The Monk, but obviously for Matilda, the villain of this novel, no ordinary cake would do. Indeed, such a cake would have to be “excessively sensational” as per the food found within gothic pages. In a 1797 issue of Monthly Magazine literary critics examining food depicted on gothic tables described them as overloaded with sweets and unnatural fruits, with dishes “too highly garnished,” “too rich” or “intensely flavored.” Such foods, it was agreed, not only violated standards of culinary decorum, they “over excited the imagination,” “overheated the blood,” and encouraged “gluttony and greed.” Qualities all suitable to Matilda.

Poring through 18th century recipes and cookbooks searching for a suitably unnatural and garish cake candidate, I discovered several mentions of the unsettlingly vivid “Red Mystery Cake,” as it was called in the Victorian era. The inclusion of cocoa, baking soda, and a tablespoon of vinegar worked chemical magic that yielded a deep crimson-colored cake so smooth and sultry in texture, it became known the red velvet cake.

Poring through 18th century recipes and cookbooks searching for a suitably unnatural and garish cake candidate, I discovered several mentions of the unsettlingly vivid “Red Mystery Cake,” as it was called in the Victorian era. The inclusion of cocoa, baking soda, and a tablespoon of vinegar worked chemical magic that yielded a deep crimson-colored cake so smooth and sultry in texture, it became known the red velvet cake.

Today red food coloring is commonly used to boost its dramatic presentation. While I debated going the all-natural route, I ultimately settled for a store-bought all-natural coloring. A cake for Matilda should be a little sinfully over the top. And to this end, I added a swirl of white cake batter to the red for a marbled effect and poured a lurid dark cherry glaze over the finished cake. I garnished the scene with strange fruits such as gooseberry, miniature pears, and dogwood berries.

I think it is appropriate to the food traditions of gothic literature. Whether we’re talking the frighteningly large cherries in The Mysteries of Udolpho or Miss Havisham’s grotesque “great cake” in Great Expectations or the “sandwiches of an unknown nature” spread in service of a ghost in Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca, food in the gothic is “not quite right.”

Today the modern culinary gothic continues to celebrate food within the gothic form, but author Martine Bailey tells us it no longer needs to be grotesque or terrifying. In An Appetite for Violets, her heroine collects recipes “scribbled down like beacons against the coming darkness … passing on moments of pleasure by otherwise voiceless women.” These recipes are “messages from the dead, saying ‘Taste me.’”

So in this spirit, I honor the 18th century women whose insatiable appetite for the gothic novel endures today. As does their recipe for red velvet mystery cake. Here is my attempt to create a cake that could have been consumed by ladies as they voyaged into the realm of the gothic and into the pages of history—a cake just strange enough that it might also be found on the gothic feasting tables of the insatiable witch Matilda. A dangerous cake (like the gothic novel itself) made all the more delicious because its pleasures are forbidden.

Matilda’s Red Velvet Mystery Cake

Ingredients
3 cups sifted all-purpose flour
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
2½ cups granulated sugar
6 large eggs room temperature
1½ cups full fat yogurt or sour cream
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 teaspoon of powdered nutmeg or cinnamon
2 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon vinegar
⅓ cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 teaspoon red food coloring

Directions

Preheat oven to 350ºF. Prepare a 12-cup Bundt pan with cooking spray and dust with flour.

Sift the flour with the baking powder and set aside. In a stand mixer or large mixing bowl, cream together softened butter and granulated sugar. Add the vanilla extract, nutmeg, and the eggs, one at a time. Combine well. Add the yogurt or sour cream and combine. Slowly add the sifted flour, salt, and baking powder.

Mix well. As the batter is thick, remember to scrape down the bottom and sides of the bowl.

Place half the cake batter into another bowl. Mix together vinegar and baking soda and add the unsweetened cocoa powder and red food coloring. Blend thoroughly.

Scoop half the dark batter into the prepared baking pan, and give it a few taps on the counter to settle the contents. Add the remaining white batter on top, then cover this layer with the last of the dark batter and tap the cake pan a few times again. Taking care not to touch sides or bottom of the pan, use a butter knife to swirl the two cake batters together.

Bake on middle rack for about 50 to 55 minutes or until a toothpick when inserted comes out clean. Take out of the pan and cool on a baking rack.

Lurid Cherry Sauce

Ingredients
3½ cups pitted cherries, fresh or frozen
6 tablespoons sugar
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon cornstarch
¼ cup water
2 tablespoons dark rum (optional but recommended)

Directions
In a small bowl, mix together the cornstarch and water.

Set aside.

Heat a large pot over medium-high heat. Add the cherries, sugar, lemon juice, and cornstarch. Bring to a boil and keep stirring to avoid burning. Once the sauce thickens, add rum and mix well. Lower heat and cook for another minute or two.

Once it reaches a thick, pourable consistency, remove from heat. Remember the sauce will thicken more after it cools. If your cherry sauce is too thick, add water 1 teaspoon at a time until it reaches the right consistency. If too thin, put it back on the burner to burble for a few minutes.

Wait for the sauce to cool, then strain the cherries from the sauce and set aside. Pour three-quarters of the cherry sauce over your cake. Warm the rest when you are ready to serve, adding back in the reserved cherries. Dollop an additional couple of tablespoons of sauce and cherries over each cut portion.

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Article from the Winter Gothic Issue #61
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Gather Victoria (gathervictoria.com) is devoted to reviving ancestral food wisdom. We connect with the earth’s most ancient plants, the plants that have been nourishing, healing and enchanting us since, well, the very beginning. Here you’ll find recipes, articles and videos on the arts of magical cookery, the nature-based celebrations of our ancestors, and the herbs, wild plants, backyard weeds, blossoms, roots and berries at the heart of our oldest and most sacred traditions.