Passover Memories in a Bite of Orange Cake

When my husband Bill and I planned our trip to Italy, we researched the top tourist sites, purchased advance tickets, and made a list of the best restaurants. It would be a trip filled with art, music and pasta.

The first inkling that Italy would also bring back memories of my Eastern European family was the sweet scent of jasmine that greeted us when we alighted from the cab in front of our hotel. It was dusk and the smell was heavenly. My Polish mom loved that aroma.

Although Sephardi Jews were expelled from southern Italy in 1541 , their reputation as citrus farmers lives on, especially at Ristorante Quinoa in Florence, Italy. 

Jasmine’s white blossoms climbed up walls in Rome and crawled over graffiti along the alleyways in Venice. The scent greeted us in Florence at the entrance to Ristorante Quinoa, a Mediterranean restaurant a short walk from the Piazza del Duomo. Inside, we felt like we had arrived at a private party. The waitstaff were our hosts, talking with several tables at once, encouraging us to socialize from our seats. Many languages were spoken, including pantomime, as newcomers asked what others were eating and praised their own selections, often with a smacking kiss on three fingers. 

When it was time for dessert, our waiter Illy recommended we share the Sephardi Cake “that tastes of oranges.” As the first bite melted in my mouth, I closed my eyes and was immediately a ten-year-old in my Aunt Bela’s tiny kitchen. It was Pesach and the space was abuzz with chatter and the clanging of dirty dishes. I slid into a vinyl chair at the two-seat Formica and aluminum table. Without a word, Aunt Bela set a piece of her orange Pesadika (kosher for Passover) cake in front of me. 

I didn’t notice the tears streaming down my cheeks until my husband’s voice brought me back to the present. “What’s wrong?” he asked. The waiter rushed to my side. “Is there a problem with the cake?”

How could I explain? That bite of the moist, dense cake took me back to my Baltimore childhood and a loving woman who always knew what I wanted without my asking—whether it was her cake, a slice of rye bread smeared with butter and sardines, or a story about how she had escaped the Nazis to find her fiancé. She spoke in Yiddish, a language I barely knew. But that didn’t matter. Yiddish was a language of comfort, and I always seemed to understand enough. 

All of these memories came to me in the instant it took to eat a bite of cake in Florence, Italy. When I was able to speak, I told the waiter that this tasted exactly like the one my Polish Aunt made. 

“The recipe died with her,” I said, “And I have mourned that loss ever since.” 

Then I asked for the recipe. 

Minutes later, Illy was back telling me to record his voice as he recited. It was a performance. He mimicked measuring, stirring, and what looked like a volcanic eruption but I think meant boiling. And he mentioned Jewish oranges. 

I interrupted. “Did you say Jewish oranges?” 

“Yes! Here in Italy we have two kinds of oranges. Use the Jewish orange, not the thick peel ones.” 

At the close of the demonstration, which sadly didn’t include sound effects, our waiter said, “Big kiss from Illy!” and went off to charm other diners.

Jewish oranges in Italy? I had never studied that in Sunday school. I searched online and learned that after the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE and the exile of the Jews from Jerusalem, Jewish citron growers left in search of the ideal climate for their precious etrog, an integral part of the Sukkot service. Etrog groves were planted in northern Africa and southern Europe including Calabria, Italy. 

During the Middle Ages, Arab merchants brought oranges from India to Italy, along with innovative agriculture and irrigation techniques. Sephardi etrog growers added oranges to their orchards and included the sweet fruit in recipes from cakes to meat, side dishes and salads. In the Encyclopedia of Jewish Food, Rabbi Gil Marks, historian and cookbook author, wrote, “It was by no coincidence that the centers of medieval citrus cultivation directly corresponded to the centers of Jewish population.” Although Sephardi Jews were expelled from southern Italy in 1541 and no longer own the orchards, their reputation as citrus farmers lives on, especially at Ristorante Quinoa in Florence, Italy. 

Equipped with my new knowledge, we returned the next day for dinner with Illy and more Sephardi cake. This time I didn’t opt to share.  

Once home, I began my quest for the perfect thin peel orange to replicate Aunt Bela’s cake. I didn’t know where to start. I bought different oranges, cut them open and checked for the thinnest skin. Except for the thick rind of the navel orange, it was hard to tell the difference.

Perhaps an online search would point to the perfect orange. I was surprised at how many Sephardi orange cake recipes I found. Almost all were inspired by cookbook author Claudia Roden’s “Orange and Almond Cake” recipe, but each offered a slight variation. One added cardamon, another lemon zest; another substituted orange blossom water for oranges.

Nigella Lawson substituted five or six clementines for the two oranges in Roden’s recipe. She calls her adaptation “Clementine Cake” and writes that “it tastes like one of those sponges you drench, while cooling, with syrup, only you don’t have to.” 

In 2022, The Guardian printed Roden’s top 20 recipes, which included Orange and Almond Cake. In the foreword to the recipe, she wrote, “The recipe for this Sephardi Passover cake was given to me in 1960 by a woman of my parents’ age who had moved from Aleppo to Egypt, but the cake is neither Syrian nor Egyptian. I have traced its passage from Andalusia through Portugal and Livorno in Italy to Aleppo, where families of Iberian origin were seen as “grandees” (signorim) in the Jewish community.” 

The weekend I learned about Roden’s orange cake was rainy and grey, perfect weather to stay indoors and bake. I tried both recipes. Claudia Roden’s orange with almond cake is rich, dense and almost pudding-like in its consistency. I prefer Restaurant Quinoa’s, which is also very moist and bursting with orange flavor. You can decide for yourself which one you prefer. Either way, you won’t be disappointed, especially if you stick with “Jewish” oranges. 

Ristorante Quinoa Sephardi Cake

INGREDIENTS

3 “Jewish oranges”—small to medium oranges with a thin rind (I used blood oranges but any thin skinned oranges will do)
4 eggs
3 1/3 cups of almond meal  (See note below)
220 grams of brown sugar, 1 1/3 cups packed
1 teaspoon baking powder (for Passover, use kosher for Passover baking powder)
Butter and almond flour for the cake pan
4 oz finely chopped semi-sweet or dark chocolate
1/2 cups heavy cream

Note:  If you can’t find almond meal, ground whole unsalted almonds (not blanched). Like almond meal, you’ll have a coarser consistency than almond flour. Measure after it’s ground.

DIRECTIONS

For cake:

Boil the washed, unpeeled oranges in 4 cups of water for three to five hours. Add water as needed to keep the fruit submerged. Strain, discard the juice and cool the oranges before refrigerating overnight.
The next day, cut open the softened oranges, remove the seeds and turn into a pulp in a food processor.
Spread almond meal on a baking sheet. Bake at 170 degrees for 20 minutes, stirring halfway through. Cool. This can be prepared the day before .
Heat oven to 350 degrees. Butter or oil an 8-inch springform pan. Coat the pan with almond flour and tap out the excess. Illy recommends using a larger pan for a thin cake. “It’s crispy and deliziosa at breakfast with a cappuccino.”
Beat the eggs. Mix in orange pulp, almond meal, baking powder and brown sugar. Pour the batter into the pan. Bake for 45-60 minutes until the top is browned or a toothpick comes out clean.
Flip halfway for Illy’s thin version. Cool on a wire rack.

For chocolate glaze: 

Place chopped semi-sweet or dark chocolate in a medium bowl.
Microwave heavy cream in 20-second intervals in the microwave until it is very hot and lightly steaming.
Pour the cream over the chocolate and allow the mixture to sit for a minute.
Gently whisk together until smooth and shiny. You can double the recipe if you want a thick topping.
Spread the glaze over the top of the cake, pushing it gently over the sides to drip.
The cake tastes even better the next day.

 

Claudia Roden’s Orange and Almond Cake

Originally published in A Book of Middle Eastern Food, 1986

INGREDIENTS:

2 oranges
6 large eggs
1½ cups ground almonds
1 cup sugar 
1 teaspoon baking powder (for Passover, use kosher for Passover baking powder)
Butter and almond flour for the cake pan

DIRECTIONS:

Wash and boil the unpeeled oranges in water for nearly two hours until they are very soft. Let them cool, then cut them open and remove the pips (seeds). Turn the oranges into a puree in a food processor or by rubbing through a strainer.

Beat the eggs in a large bowl. Add all the other ingredients, mix thoroughly and pour into a buttered and floured cake tin, preferably with a removable base. Bake in a preheated 375-degree oven for about 1 hour. If it is still very wet, leave it in the oven for a little longer. Cool in the tin before turning out. This is a very moist cake that tastes even better the next day.

Pauline Steinhorn is an award winning filmmaker and writer. She’s the author of the forthcoming book Dreaming of the River and can be reached at psteinhorn@gmail.com.

 

Explore More Passover Recipes in Moment’s Passover Guide