I can't remember if I was five or six when I first saw her standing on top of my neighbor's tv set, but I remember the feeling of not being able to look away. She was tiny-- no more than a few inches tall-- but her presence was large enough to pull my focus away from the action on the screen to her absolute stillness above it.
When I asked my friend's Joey’s mother why there was a statue of The Virgin Mary on top of their Sylvania, she corrected me in a tone which faintly suggested that her family were better Catholics than mine would ever be. "That’s not the Virgin Mary, it's St. Clare of Assisi-- the patron saint of television.” Her voice rose at the end of that sentence which made it sound as if she were asking the question, “And why hasn’t your mother taken the time to teach you about important Catholic saints and martyrs?”
Probably because she was tired from working. And because she grew up Lutheran.
I approached the plastic idol with what I hoped was a respectful pace in order to examine her more closely. She held one hand upward in a gesture of blessing and her face looked to the heavens as though she were keeping an eye on the tv antenna which was fastened to the roof directly above her head. It was hard to tell. I tried to pick her up to get a better look, but discovered that she wouldn't budge from her spot.
I'd heard of people having their eyes glued to their television sets, but never their feet. It was a day of firsts.
When I was called home for dinner, I took my usual place at the table-- the chair farthest from my mother but luckily the only seat with a clear view of the tv in the next room, which by some miracle was always on. And with a new saint in my life to watch over me, I felt it was my spiritual duty to tune out my family and tune in to network programming as I ate in silence, just like The Poor Clares do, the order of Franciscan nuns she founded in the year 1212.
I felt doubly protected by Saint Clare on the evenings mom was too exhausted to cook and resorted to the convenience of pre-packaged, frozen meals. Eating a Swanson's TV Dinner by the distant glow of our television set now seemed like a holy act, as I experienced the agony of eating re-heated peas and carrots without complaint so that I might move on to the ecstasy of dessert which nested between the mashed potato and vegetable compartments of the aluminum serving tray.
But such rapture was never to be found at the end of a tv dinner. The sweet portion of the meal was clearly an afterthought on the part of its creator. Frequently under baked and always insipid, it was consumed without joy.
I never thought to ask St. Clare to intercede on my behalf to the Swanson's Frozen Food Company because I wasn't certain that was her department, so I would pray to no one in particular that there was ice cream to be had in the freezer instead.
I saved my prayers to St. Clare for the really important stuff, like making sure The Muppet Show would never, ever be cancelled.
Roman (Catholic) Apple Cake
It's clear to me that St. Clare of Assisi wields true heavenly power, for there is no other explanation for three seasons of The Flying Nun.
In life, St. Clare of Assisi was an early follower of St. Francis, also of Assisi. She was a daughter of noble parents who shed her earthy riches to take a vow of extreme poverty, ultimately founding a religious order (The Poor Clares) who still follow her example.
St. Clare was given the job of watching over the world's television sets in 1958 by Pope Pius XII, who chose Clare base on the legend that when she was too ill to attend Mass in person, The Holy Spirit projected the proceedings onto her very own bedroom wall so that she might both see and hear it live, which gives weight to the idea that flat screen tvs are truly a godsend.
As for her divine help in creating a decent tv dinner dessert, that remains to be seen. I have what I once thought was a solid childhood memory of one of these so called "treats" being labeled "Roman apple cake", but I can find absolutely nothing to confirm this as fact. My friends don’t remember it. My sister doesn't remember it and she remembers everything except maybe seeing John Wayne’s balls but that is definitely a story for another time. The point is that no one seems to remember this damned dessert.
The name “Roman Apple Cake” didn't just appear out of the blue. Or maybe it did? I don’t know. If the dessert exists, it may just be in my imagination.
The following recipe is one I absolutely made up. However, I'm afraid to take sole credit for its creation because it may very well be the result of St. Clare's gentle, guiding hand coming to my aid after all these years. God's helpers move in mysterious ways.
Or so I’m told anyway.
I Googled “Roman Apple Cake” several minutes after popping a sleeping pill one night and ended up watching Alison Roman making apple cake, which was very entertaining— she’s pretty much the Jennifer Lawrence of cooking videos— but it wasn’t exactly what I was looking for.
Also I was on drugs.
Now…the question “What makes Roman Apple Cake Roman?” Absolutely nothing. But french fries aren’t French, Hawaiian pizza isn’t from Hawai’i, and Dutch babies are neither Dutch nor actual babies thank heavens, so I’m not going to worry about it too much.
It’s a simple dessert, but one which requires a smidgen of straightforward, honest labor, which the Poor Clares tend to look upon favorably. It isn’t very hard to prepare, but I like to think the act of making it with your own, precious hands instead of pulling it out of a cardboard box might very well bring you an inch or two closer to God.
Ok, not really. But it’s still pretty good.
Serves: Enough. You should be thankful you're getting any dessert at all.
Ingredients:
For the batter:
• 1 1/2 cups of all-purpose flour
• 2/3 cup white sugar
• 1/3 cup light brown sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon of salt
• 1/4 teaspoon of baking powder
• 1 teaspoon of baking soda
• 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1/4 teaspoon of ground clove
• a few scrapes of freshly grated nutmeg
• 1/2 cup of milk
• 1 cup of vegetable oil
• 1 teaspoon of vanilla extract
• 1 egg
• another 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon (optional)
• 2 cups of thinly sliced (peeled and cored) apples. I like Pink Ladies or Granny Smiths. You use whatever apple variety you like, just don’t use a really sweet one.
For the Frangipane:
• 3 ounces of almond paste
• 3 tablespoons of room temperature butter
• 1 1/2 teaspoons of sugar
• 2 tablespoons of flour
• 1 egg
For the Crumble Topping:
• 1 cup all-purpose flour
• 1/2 cup white sugar
• 1/2 cup light brown sugar
• 1 cup slivered almonds
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1 teaspoon almond extract
• 8 tablespoons of butter, melted but cooled
• 1/2 teaspoon of salt
Preparation:
1. Make the crumble topping first by thoroughly mixing all of its ingredients together with your very clean hands. Place the topping in the refrigerator to chill.
2. Heat your oven to 350°F. Butter the inside of an 8x8-inch baking dish and set aside.
3. To make the frangipane, combine all of its ingredients together and mix until they are in complete harmony. Set that aside, too. Peel, core, and slice the apples. Keep them in lightly acidulated water until ready to use.
4. To make the cake batter, combine all of the dry ingredients together and stir. Then combine the oil, egg, milk, and vanilla extract and beat until unified. Add these wet ingredients gradually to the dry and mix until thoroughly one. There should be no apples in the batter at this point.
5. Spread about 1/3 of batter into your baking dish to form a good foundation for the cake. Next, generously dot the surface of this layer with frangipane. You may have some of frangipane left over which you may then give to the poor, thus gaining Clare's good favor and ensuring that your cake will be a success.
6. Remove the apple slices from the water and dry them in a clean kitchen towel. I sometimes like to toss them in another 1/2 teaspoon of cinnamon, but I do think this isn’t entirely necessary. I just like cinnamon. Now add the sliced apples to the remaining batter, thoroughly coating them. Pour all of it over your frangipane dots and gently smooth out the top to a more-or-less even layer. Place a generous coating of crumble topping where it belongs— on top— and lightly press the crumble into the batter. But only a tiny bit. Don’t submerge it or anything, you just want it to stick the cake.
7. Bake on the center rack of your oven for about 50 minutes to 1 hour and pray that it rises, but don’t expect anything miraculous because it’s not supposed to rise that much. Should you find yourself cursed with uncertainty, check it every so often and poke at its center with your finger like a doubting St. Thomas until your faith is restored.
8. Ideally, the crumble topping will be a lovely golden brown and the center of the cake will spring back lightly to the touch of your finger. It might feel a little soft in the center and a toothpick may not come out squeaky clean when testing for doneness, but that’s very likely just the apple layer messing with your head. Remove from the oven and let both your passions and this dessert cool completely before consuming. In fact, wait even longer if you can-- this cake is even better on the second day.
Serve it on its own, with ice cream, whipped cream, coffee, altar wine, whatever you’re in to. Serve to your loved ones as you watch your favorite (family-friendly) television program. Serve it to the poor. Serve it up to God, if that’s your thing. Just please do something with it.
And, as you're serving it, should any of this gooey and delicious cake fall onto your new silk tie, your lovely table linen, or even your nun's habit, you can keep on praying to St. Clare—she just so happens to double as the patron saint of laundry.
Wait a minute. . .John Wayne's balls? I look forward to reading that piece.
Fun fact: The stained glass window of St Clare in the Mission Dolores was modified to include a tv antenna. Also, The Poor Clares is a great band name.