Let’s talk about frosting for a minute. While it’s not as controversial a hot-button topic as, say, the student debt crisis or universal health care, it does seem to elicit strong opinions. And look, I like frosting! A lot! I also attempt to maintain a modicum of restraint when faced with it, because unlike when you’re a kid, it turns out that it’s not entirely appropriate for a self-respecting adult to come to blows over the piece of cake with the most frosting. (I think this is in the “How to Comport Yourself Maturely and Act Your Age Handbook” which I cannot place for the life of me! I’m sure it’s on my bookshelf somewhere. Pretty sure. It must be.)
When you’re anywhere between the ages of—let’s say—five and 12, coveting the frosting is basically mandatory. It’s a real badge of honor to get the corner slice of a grocery store sheet cake with the buttercream rose, the golden crumb of the vanilla cake practically kneeling in submission beneath the sheer weight of the sugar+fat above.
Saying politely that you don’t really like the frosting anyway and could you just have a middle slice please would be tantamount to admitting that you think the Bonnie Bell Lip Smackers root beer float flavor is actually pretty disgusting or that you’d frankly really prefer a slice of your mom’s homemade thin-crust pizza to a pizza Lunchable. You’d risk being a social pariah: You might as well say you think R-rated movies are too scary, or that you actually quite like it when your dad listens to your Indigo Girls CD with you and knows most of the words, or that doing difficult math problems feels soothing and nice.
(As we get older we have the privilege of learning to care NOT A WHIT what anyone thinks and doing what we actually like, which means of course that we have to pay attention and listen to ourselves to separate out what we actually like from what we’ve always been told we’re supposed to like.)
For me, on the topic of frosting, my stance is quite firm. (Before I say this, I should clarify that I am the type of person who does not like cream cheese on my bagel, NO thank you, butter only…so if that kind of unpopular opinion throws you for a loop, please feel free to take a hard stop here.)
I like my cinnamon rolls unfrosted. I do not like buttercream, despite a lifelong sweet tooth so insatiable and unslakable that I was known to eat granulated sugar straight from the spoon on repeat. I most certainly do not like fondant (and really, who does? It’s nearly inedible) but I do like shiny chocolate ganache and any sort of whipped frosting that has a mousse-like texture. I love meringue frostings. I like the hard, crackly sheen of royal icing on a good sugar cookie. I love, love, love the duo of frostings on a good black and white cookie and I’d really prefer it if all cupcakes were tiny layer cakes, because the frosting-to-cake ratio is preposterous: IT SHOULD BE ONE-TO-ONE IF NOT TWO-TO-ONE, WHO’S WITH ME.
(I have thought, on more than a handful of occasions, about starting a tiny mail-order bakery wherein I sell mini layered cupcakes. Name is TBD but f.r.o.s.t is still in the running.)
When my sisters and I were growing up, our birthday cakes were always yellow cakes with seven-minute frosting—I consider this to be the ultimate of all frostings, and the fact that it gets a thin crust after a day in the fridge is a true pro not a con as people incorrectly assume. It’s something to be coveted, like the skin on pudding. (Oh wow, this is turning into a real confessional here and I’ve probably lost you all already.)
But these are my opinions, and the point of writing all of this is to note that as an adult, you have likely formed your own on this topic and that is A-OK! I’m here to give you options. Because the thing is—your likes and dislikes matter. In fact, they probably matter deeply to someone somewhere, even on this tiny and silly question of frostings and icings and ganaches.
Why? Well, for starters, I do hope that anyone reading this has had the set-your-nerves-tingling, make-your-heart-race experience of having a serious crush on someone. The kind that imbues ordinary life with sparkle, turning it from regular shades to technicolor, heightening every moment where you’re around the person or thinking about being around the person or even just thinking about the person. When you’re extremely into someone, you care about their everyday opinions and habits, like whether or not THEY like cream cheese on their bagels or whether they think the opera is glorious or so tediously dull they could crawl under their seat and nap or how they fold their shirts and what they keep in the console of their car and…you know, so on.
(In the grand scheme of things, you could argue that these small preferences are relatively inconsequential compared to the big stuff: how we love, do we use our minds for something useful, are we adding positivity to people’s lives around us, our knowledge and what we do with it, and so on.
You could argue that, I said. But you wouldn’t win that argument. Because really, as my mom likes to say, it’s the little things.)
Knowing how the average person looks when they stand stretching before a run, or whether they like burgers with or without ketchup, doesn’t matter at all to me. But let’s say you’ve had a crush on them for months and finally touched fingers when they handed you a vodka soda across the bar at a work happy hour or you’ve just just gone on a date with them last weekend for the first time and sat with your knees barely touching under the table but both pretending not to notice, or kissed them for the first time two days before and haven’t been able to concentrate on anything except that the percussive reminder of it happened / it happened / that actually happened—well, suddenly you could happily read an entire novel about the things they like. Do you know that feeling?
You’d want to know if they like cream cheese frosting on carrot cake, and do they prefer chocolate to vanilla when it comes to the icing inside a sandwich cookie, and what is the cake-to-frosting combination they asked for when they were little. You’d want to know if they eat the cake first, saving the frosting bites for last, or if they slowly scrape it from the top onto their spoon.
Whatever they like, whatever you like, whatever I like—there’s something for everyone. You can frost BASICALLY ANYTHING, EVEN TOAST. But, for ideas beyond cakes: cinnamon rolls (duh, I guess, if you’re not me), doughnuts, extra pie crust, graham crackers, choux pastry, and so on.
My recommendations are as follows, but first, an important note for anyone baking from scratch:
Frosting and icing should taste good, like more than the sum of sugar or butter. It should complement the flavor of the baked good itself.
You do not (I repeat DO NOT) have to be constrained by basic flavors here! You can easily add spices to almost any frosting recipe. You can add tahini. Peanut butter (works best if it’s the powdered kind). Cacao nibs. Some brown butter. You get the idea. You can also pair frostings! Swipe a thin layer of milk chocolate frosting on underneath seven-minute frosting. Or do a coat of mint frosting under chocolate ganache. Etc.
I much prefer this to buttercream since the texture is airier; you could most certainly add a bit of espresso powder/instant coffee and it would be very good on cinnamon rolls or coffeecake for breakfast. Live a little, man.
Thick and rich; not too fluffy; ood for brownies, chocolate cakes, vanilla cakes, mocha cakes,
Almond Coconut Cream Cheese Frosting
I see no reason why carrot cake (or coconut cake or spice cakes) should have plain cream cheese frosting, really.
Decadent and intense and should be used sparingly for very dark chocolate cakes; also good to make an almond cake (this Chez Panisse one is extremely sexy) even sexier.
BE STILL MY HEART. Silky. Smooth. I would bathe in this. Maybe I will one day. It’s probably really good for your skin. Good for LITERALLY EVERYTHING, especially delicate cakes like angel food cake or chiffon cake.
Gingered Brown Butter Cream Cheese Frosting
See cream cheese frosting above. Put this on a piece of brioche. Put this on a croissant. Put this on a spoon and put it in your mouth.
Quite sweet! Pair with less-sweet cakes like vanilla butter cakes or chiffon cakes.
Marshmallow Birthday Cake Icing
Firmer than most frostings and best for filling sandwich cookies or as a thin layer within an ice cream sandwich even?
I like to pair this with a thin layer of chocolate ganache for a Thin Mint vibe; it’s awesome on ice cream cakes.
Uses fresh fruit and is shockingly pink, if that’s your thing or you’re an 8-year-old.
Very light and airy and whipped; I love this on ice cream OKAY DON’T JUDGE ME.
An essential for pound cakes and sweet rolls. Adds a pretty finish to baked goods. You can easily flavor it in lots of ways: Citrus zest is really nice.
Ugh, this one is so good it should be illegal. You basically mix a vanilla custard/pastry cream into frosting. The end.
If you like malt balls, this is BALLIN. Sorry I had to. Ideal for fancier cakes because it’s fun to top with actual malt balls as I did!
Peanut Butter Marshmallow Frosting
Thicker and firmer, this is a good one for filling sandwich cookies or topping something sturdier like a brownie.
Also known as boiled-milk frosting, you cook milk with flour and sugar to make a paste before continuing; the frosting is silky and smooth and almost whipped; not too sweet and good for sweeter cakes.