The genius of the yogurt pot cake

I’m pretty easygoing when it comes to most aspects of cooking. I don’t think there’s much to be gained from being dogmatic or dictatorial. It’s just supper, at the end of the day. There are, as they say, many ways to skin a rabbit. And cooking is supposed to be about joy; it’s not an exam.

But the exception is measuring ingredients for baking. Oh boy, do I get on my high horse about this. I can be very boring indeed about the need to measure accurately. The American system of cups and tablespoons drives me mad. Cups are inexact and inaccurate, they rely on scooping and sweeping, they don’t account for the varying density of dry ingredients. Scales, I will declaim — with only the slightest impetus — are inexpensive and an essential piece of kitchen equipment. You simply cannot bake properly without them! You need weight not volume, for goodness’ sake! Baking might not be rocket science, but it is science.

My mind, however, has been changed by a single yogurt pot. Well, a yogurt pot and its associated cake. A yogurt pot cake is a simple cake, in appearance, flavor and conception. It relies on measuring each ingredient by the number of yogurt pots needed: one pot of yogurt, two pots of sugar, three of flour etc. This means that the exact size of the yogh

urt pot doesn’t matter because, once it is emptied and washed out, the ratio of the other ingredients remains the same. It’s a pleasingly efficient system and one that, despite the aforementioned variabilities of measuring, always seems to work perfectly. How do I reconcile this with my vehement rejection of volume measuring in baking? I don’t. I contain multitudes.

Seriously, though, this is an incredibly forgiving cake, and a lovely one too. The use of yogurt and oil keeps the crumb fantastically tender, and the sugar makes the crust crisp. This kind of cake is probably best known as the Italian ciambella, or as the French “Gâteaux de Mamie” — granny’s cake — a nod to the fact it is often baked together by grandmothers and grandchildren, because it is so easy to make. But it’s one of those cakes that pops up all over the place, is continually reinvented and rediscovered, thanks to its ease and ingenuity. It’s often called the “seven pot cake” or — my favorite — the more lyrical and somehow mysterious, “cake of the seven pots.”

Traditionally, the flavoring is just the zest of a lemon and a little vanilla, or a handful of chocolate chips. But the simplicity of the cake means that it is something of a blank canvas, endlessly customizable — scattering a clutch of fruit through the batter is very popular, or using light brown sugar in place of caster (superfine sugar) for a caramelly note. I love to replace the zested lemon with an orange and add a splash of orange blossom water. But I think, actually, the two classic versions are the best: the combination of the gentle perfume of lemon zest and the sweet hum of vanilla is subtle but elegant. And the chocolate chips — especially if you ignore my instructions to let the cake cool completely and catch them still warm and a little melty — turn the cake into something perfect for children. The Italians often serve this cake for breakfast (which I love — cake for breakfast always feels a little transgressive), while the French serve it as le goûter, an afternoon snack.

I always have an enormous tub of yohurt in my fridge, which means that, while I’m never far away from a yogurt cake, the pot measuring scheme doesn’t always work for me (unless I want to make a cake as big as my kitchen table). So, although it may seem against the spirit of the whole thing, I’m giving weight measurements alongside pot quantities. This cake works in a ring mold, which is how the Italians tend to make it, but it can also be baked in a large loaf tin, or a nine-inch round tin. Just adjust the baking times accordingly.

Serves 8

Takes 10 mins

Bakes 45-60 mins

• 5⅓ oz/1 individual pot natural yogurt
• 7 oz/2 pots caster sugar (superfine sugar)
• 3 large eggs
• 8¾ oz/3 pots plain flour
• 3½ oz vegetable oil
• 1 tsp baking powder
• 1 tsp vanilla paste
• ½ tsp salt
• 1 lemon, zested, or 3½ oz /1 pot chocolate chips
• Icing sugar, for dusting

1. Line the base and sides of a nine-inch round cake tin or a two-pound loaf tin, or grease and flour a nine-inch ring tin. Preheat the oven to 340°F
2. If you’re using a pot of yogurt, empty the yogurt into a bowl, and wash out and dry the pot
3. Whisk together the sugar, eggs and lemon zest (if using), until pale, thick and increased in volume
4. Place the oil, flour, baking powder, vanilla paste, and salt in a bowl with the yogurt, and stir together until incorporated. Fold through the egg and sugar mixture, followed by the chocolate chips (if using)
5. Spoon into your prepared tin and bake for 35-40 minutes for a round tin or a ring tin, or an hour for a loaf tin. The cake should be golden and risen, and should spring back when pressed gently with a finger. Allow to cool for ten minutes before removing it from the tin and leaving to cool completely, before dusting with icing sugar if you wish

This article was originally published in The Spectator’s UK magazine. Subscribe to the World edition here.