Professor Butter Beard and Alma-Tadema’s “Flower market in Roman times”
“Anyone who thinks gardening begins in the spring and ends in the fall is missing the best part of the whole year; for gardening begins in January with a dream.” — Josephine Nuese, author of “The Country Garden”
There is a post-storm stillness in the frigid daybreak air. Nellie and I bundle up in our “A Christmas Story” Michelin Tire drag and take those bold first steps out into the tundra. She bounces like a jackrabbit, gobbling mouthfuls of snow like a vanilla bean snow cone. I do my best to stay upright as I am dragged (with all the power of nine reindeer) along the cleared icy paths towards the open field ahead of the tree line. But for a few seconds, as we crunch through the local train underpass, we both stop to listen to the NYC-bound train roar above. I wonder if we, in that moment, share the same January dream: How far could we go?
Upon our return, Nellie stops and shakes every inch of her bratwurst body and I lean down and break off a few small frozen branches of my rosemary plants. As I close the door behind us, I am already in Rome on a sultry morning, smelling the bread smoke of the bakeries while heading towards the open air market to fill my bags with citrus, olive oil, fresh herbs and gorgeous Italian smiles.
I feel that, somehow, Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema painted my dreams. I was introduced to the artist early in my Art History career. His 1868 painting of “Pheidias and the Frieze of the Parthenon” has been projected on the large screen since the first semester I began teaching Ancient Greek Art. But this week, the artist and I shared a sunny morning on the Roman cobblestone streets as we shopped for rosemary and thyme plants for our tiny apartment balconies.
Lawrence (christened as Lourens) Alma-Tadema was born in 1836, in Dronrijpf, Northern Holland. At the young age of 15, he suffered a mental breakdown causing him to abandon his training as a lawyer. During his recovery, he began teaching himself to draw and paint before taking on formal art training. After being rejected from various Dutch art schools, he was eventually accepted to study at the Royal Academy of Fine Art in Antwerp where he trained under Gustave Wappers.
Later, in 1855, he worked in the studio of Louis De Taeye as an assistant. De Taeye encouraged Alma-Tadema to explore classical subjects, stories and art. He fostered an appreciation of historical costuming within his student – it was this training that would become the most influential in Alma-Tadema's artistic career.
Later, with the outset of the Franco-Prussian War, Alma-Tadema moved to London, where he was introduced to the Pre-Raphaelite circle and began studying at the Royal Academy of Arts. There, he was able to enjoy moderate success within his lifetime, securing commissions from many influential patrons. The Alma-Tadema family was given a denizen status by Queen Victoria allowing them legal rights as Dutch settlers in England. He travelled across Italy in search of direct sources of inspiration, gathering photographs of the Pompeii ruins and faded mosaic floors along the way.
Art historian Isabel Booth-Downs writes, “He was a true academic painter – his classical subjects and his truthful yet beautiful treatment of forms went down well with the academy and critics alike. His works were able to ride the trend of Neoclassicism, with a fresh Romantic influence, and his combination of these two modes contributed to his success.”
In Alma-Tadema’s paintings, the weather is always bright, flowers bloom taller than figures, and classical sculptures and animal skins surround the figures who share knowing, and sometimes flirtatious, glances. Here, our stylish garden purveyor in his regal purple toga and crisp cotton undershirt, stands among his cacti (oddly American) and flowering hibiscus, rather oblivious to his potential customers, as his dark Italian eyes flirt with his female assistant as she lovingly repots a blooming red rose. I can smell the morning blooms and the rich soil as I wonder if I too can catch a flirt from those delicious dark chocolate eyes.
And then, with a blink, I am back in my New Jersey apartment kitchen filled with the aroma of a simmering chicken stock and a hopeful Nellie wondering if the bacon in the oven is all for her. But I carry the dream forward by baking my favorite winter cake – a rich Italian olive oil Bundt cake enhanced with the zest of winter oranges and the rosemary still growing outside my door. The olive oil is incorporated three times: first in the batter, second as a soak immediately after the bake, and lastly as a drizzle before the first bite. Pour yourself a steaming mug of dark coffee and enjoy a January dream still warm from the oven.
Olive Oil Cake with Clementines and Rosemary
One 10” Bundt Cake
6 large eggs, room temperature
1 ½ cup granulated sugar
The zest of 6 clementines (or 2 large oranges)
2 Tbsp finely chopped fresh rosemary needles
1 cup good olive oil (plus ½ cup to brush over the cake)
1 cup whole milk
2 tsp vanilla paste
3 cups all-purpose flour
¼ cup (4 Tbsp) hazelnut flour (I prefer Bob’s Red Mill)
1 Tbsp baking powder
1 tsp fine sea salt
Glaze:
2 cups confectioner’s sugar
2 Tbsp whole milk
1 tsp vanilla paste
Juice of the clementines (to desired thickness)
1) Let your eggs come to room temperature and prep your Bundt pan with “cooking spray with flour.”
2) In a standing mixer with the whisk attachment, whisk the sugar, clementine zest and chopped rosemary until the sugar looks damp. Add the eggs, one at a time, and whisk until the mixture starts to ribbon. With the mixer on low, slowly add the olive oil, milk and vanilla paste.
3) While the mixture ribbons, in a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, hazelnut flour, baking powder and salt. With the mixer on low, add the dry mix, one large spoonful at a time, just until no streaks of flour remain. Pour the batter into the prepared Bundt pan and bake on the center rack for 45-50 minutes, until a wooden skewer comes out clean.
4) Let the cake cool on a wire rack for 10-12 minutes. Invert the cake out of the pan and poke holes into the cake with the wooden skewer. Brush the additional ½ cup olive oil over the cake, letting it seep in.
5) Let the cake cool to room temperature. Then, in a medium bowl, whisk together the confectioner’s sugar, milk and vanilla paste. Add the clementine juice until you reach your desired thickness for the glaze. (I prefer mine thick). Spoon over the cooled cake and let the glaze run down the sides.
6) When serving, drizzle a little additional olive oil over each slice.
