Carrot Cake with Cream Cheese Icing, or: Adult Cake

As I mentioned in my last post, I had to make two cakes for C’s first birthday party.  A “baby cake” that was healthy and delicious, and an adult cake that was just plain delicious.  This was my first carrot cake from scratch, and it was a big success.  In fact, Pete (who is often a tough customer) loved it so much that he told me that I wasn’t allowed to send any leftovers home with anyone, because he was going to finish it all.  I think that qualifies as a hit.

Here it is:

  • 3 cups grated carrots
  • 4 eggs
  • 1 1/4 cups vegetable oil
  • 1 cup white sugar
  • 1 cup brown sugar
  • 3 teaspoons vanilla extract
  • 2 cups all-purpose flour
  • 2 teaspoons baking soda
  • 2 teaspoons baking powder
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt
  • 1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
  • 3 teaspoons ground cinnamon
  • 1/2 cup chopped pecans


  • 1/2 cup butter, softened
  • 8 ounces cream cheese, softened
  • 3 1/2 cups icing sugar
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

  1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.  Grease a 9×13 inch baking pan.
  2. In a large bowl, beat together eggs, oil, white sugar, brown sugar and vanilla. Mix in flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, nutmeg and cinnamon. Stir in carrots and pecans.  Pour into pan.
  3. Bake 40 to 50 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center of the cake comes out clean. Let cool in pan for 10 minutes, then turn out onto a wire rack and cool completely.
  4. Icing:  In a medium bowl, combine butter, cream cheese, icing sugar and vanilla. Beat until the mixture is smooth and creamy. Frost the cooled cake.

2 thoughts on “Carrot Cake with Cream Cheese Icing, or: Adult Cake

  1. That is a food porn photo if I ever saw one! I was said sister who insisted on an adult cake, which was amazing. The baby cake was surprisingly amazing too. I’m very impressed with all your home cooking and baking. It makes me think, though, about the pressures that we put on ourselves as women. Just a few generations ago women worked unbelievably hard to do physically demanding, never ending cleaning and cooking…and child care and clothes making and farm work and volunteer work and care for elders and church duties and some piece work or other work to bring in extra income. As soon as modern equipment made that work a little easier, the cult of domesticity took hold and expectations soared, so the work load, and the guilt just shifted. Then women took on work outside the home, which is fantastic in many ways, but then the “double shift” started. Convenience foods became more common, not surprisingly. But of course, whenever things get a little easier, the expectations increase again. I am finding that many of my women friends are feeling the pressure to add even more time and effort to their daily work schedule to make home cooked everything. It doesn’t matter if this is added to a work day outside the home or a work day at home with kids (and quite frankly I find it easier in many ways now that I’m at paid employment during the day rather than home every day). I feel some guilt and embarrassment when I rely on convenience foods (not fast food but pre-made lasagnas and the like). I’m very much in favour of better, home cooked food. It’s appalling how many chemicals and salt and sugar are used in commercially prepared foods. Still, it’s frustrating that each time things get a little easier for women, somehow the expectations on us increase and our work is just as time consuming and our “failures” just as guilt inducing. Who places these expectations on us? How can we get out from under these expectations and feelings of responsibility? Both my husband and I work full time. I know he doesn’t feel any sort of guilt or shame when our house is messy and has not even considered that home cooked is better let alone felt the pressure to work even harder to ensure we eat home cooked. So, be it resolved that we should eat home cooked and let something else slide, like perfectly decorated and perfectly tidy houses. We should definitely give up the appearance that all of this is effortless.

    I know this isn’t my blog, but it’s my birthday and this is my rant.

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