This Honey-Almond ‘Bee Sting’ Cake Took Me Five Tries — The Final One Is Dreamy

Nobody could mistake me for a person who moves quickly. I “run” at a treadmill speed that would never catch a thief, and barely these days, a preschooler on the loose. It took us 3.5 years, until two weeks ago, in fact, to finally put the kid’s toys away. We’ve been “redecorating” the living room for the better part of a year — we’ll probably put the pictures back up in a week or six; please, don’t rush us. Thus, it should surprise nobody that it’s taken me nearly four years to conquer the cake you see here, which sounds even worse if you consider that it was a special request from my own mother, as this was her favorite growing up.

At-a-glance

In my defense, in that period of time, I moved apartments, had a kid, wrote a book, and went on a 25-city book tour, all while (mostly) keeping up with this here website and spending a truly horrific amount of time staring slack-jawed social media ahem, maintaining occasional hobbies. But I know the truth, which is that I’ve been intimidated by making it because I felt like I was cooking blind. The Bee Sting Cake (Bienenstich) is a German specialty and while my mother’s parents came over in 1935 and 1936 respectively, the areas once known as German epicenters (the middle of Queens, where my mom was raised, and Yorkville, in the Upper East Side of Manhattan) have now mostly dispersed, and most of the accompanying stores have shuttered. Calls to German bakeries to see if they sold it were almost futile, until I found one in Ridgewood, Queens that sold us a whole one that was rather awful; let’s not speak of it at all. The only thing left to do was go it alone, researching obsessively along the way.

What everyone seemed to agree on was that the cake was a yeasted one, baked round or in a sheet pan, barely sweet, but topped with a crunchy almond-honey-butter caramel. It’s from this topping that the name, and a story (always a story with cakes, yes? forgive me, but the premise here seems awfully thin) emerged, something about a bee being drawn to the honey topping and stinging it/it not being an authentic bee sting cake unless it has been stung. Needless to say, this has not been stung. I’m okay with that.

The filling I understood to be classically made as a pastry cream, sometimes lightened with whipped cream, but you’ll find an equal number of versions that call for packaged pudding mix instead. I probably don’t need to tell you which way I went.

From there, the Great Week Of Bienenstich Experiments (GWoBE) — it was kind enough to coincide with us finding two one-pound bags of sliced almonds in the freezer. [Seriously; who loses track of this stuff? Wait, don’t answer.] During Round 1, I learned that — get this — yeast goes bad, especially 1.5 years after its expiration date. Who knew?! The cake was otherwise delicious, but the batter too wet to even consider doming, yeast issues aside, and the topping was sad and pale. It was too sweet and needed more salt. Round 2 produced a lovely cake, bronzed caramel lid, but a too-thin custard filling, the result of me attempting to make it while dictating a grocery list for that weekend’s Lasagna Bolognese to my husband, and omitting an ingredient in both, grr. Round 3 looked like the platonic ideal of a bee sting cake, but the filling was too soft and the cake too hard.

This is when I should have stopped.

I didn’t stop.

In Round 4, I decided that the wet batter might have been onto something, and that was, the most tender cake of any of the rounds. Having no German grandmother peering over my shoulder to tell me which turns would doom any claims of authenticity forever, I decided that doming was overrated, and a tender, soft crumb was the only thing that would ever make me happy. This was my favorite cake body, but I decided at the last minute to lighten the pastry cream with whipped cream and it … was so soft that it squeezed out the sides when you put the top half on, the way you always hope an overstuffed Oreo would but never does.

By Round 5, it was my mom’s birthday and I thought if I ever saw a bienenstich again, I might run in the other direction, but I made it anyway, because I guess I rather like my mom. For dinner, we had this soup, this salad and this lasagna, and for dessert, the finest bee sting cake I’ve yet to taste. Two weeks ago, pre-GWoBE, that wouldn’t have been much of a claim, but a lot can change in two weeks.

Bee Sting Cake

Cobbled together from other yeasted cakes I’ve known and loved, much trial-and-error, and with some helpful guidance from a version translated from a German cookbook, link forthcoming (Thanks, Luisa!)

This is a tender, yeasted lightly sweetened cake with a honey-almond-caramel crunch topping. Needless to say, the topping is one of the best parts. This single-layer cake is split and filled with pastry cream; I used a thin amount (about 1 cup) but for a more traditional towering bienenstich (which are often 1:1:1 with halved cake layers and custard) you might want to double the filling. As for flavorings, I put some vanilla bean scrapings in the custard, but a 1/4 teaspoon of almond extract would be more fitting. Almond or vanilla extract or even a little lemon zest could be added to the cake layers, but I didn’t feel it was necessary.

How does this differ from other bee sting cakes out there? The cake itself has slightly more milk and slightly less flour than most recipes I saw; I preferred the more tender crumb. I opted for instant yeast (which doesn’t have to be proofed with warm liquids, hooray) to create a one-mixer-bowl cake, which means this is a breeze to put together. Many recipes use pudding mixes to create the filling, but I come from a family of custard junkies, and would never cut corners there. (But by all means feel free to if it’s all the same to you.) Finally, the cake is often baked in a square or rectangular pan (double it for a 9×13) and cut into squares.

Psst: I think this cake would be absolutely delicious as a lightly-sweet coffee/brunch/teatime cake without the pastry cream filling. The pastry cream just puts it over the top.

This cake is best the day it is made but if you absolutely must get a head start, you can make the pastry cream in advance and refrigerate it until needed, up to two days. You might need to whip it up slightly to make it smoothly spreadable again. You can also make the batter the night before, and let it do its final rise in the cake pan in the fridge overnight. Bring it back to room temperature before adding the almond topping and baking it.

Update on cornstarch versus flour in custard: A few people have mentioned a floury taste in the final pastry cream, so I am adding a suggestion that you might want to use cornstarch instead. I switch back and forth between the two in custards, but seeing as I find little difference in the result, originally suggested flour because more people have it around. If you’ve got both, opt for the cornstarch instead.

Cake

Honey-Almond-Crunch Topping

Pastry Cream Filling

Make the cake: Combine the cake ingredients in a medium mixing bowl and stir until cohesive, then stir for two minutes more. In a stand mixer, use the paddle on low-medium for 2–3 minutes (batter is thin). Scrape the bowl, cover with plastic wrap and let rise in a draft-free spot for 60 minutes until a little puffy (it will not fully double; that’s fine).

Butter a 9-inch round cake pan. Deflate the batter slightly with a few stirs, then scrape into the prepared pan and level it. Cover again (plastic not touching top) and set aside for another 30 minutes.

Make the topping: In a small or medium saucepan over medium heat, melt the butter with sugar, honey, cream and salt until butter is melted. Bring to a simmer and boil for 3–5 minutes until it deepens slightly in color (from yellowish to light beige), stirring frequently. Stir in the sliced almonds. The mixture will thicken — set it aside to cool a little.

Heat oven to 350°F.

Once the cake has finished the second rise (it won’t rise dramatically), spoon small amounts of the almond topping across the surface. It will feel firm and a little fussy to distribute but will smooth in the oven.

Bake the cake on a foil-lined tray to catch drips for 20–25 minutes, until the top is bronzed and a toothpick shows no raw batter (caramel on the pick is fine). Transfer to a rack and let sit in the pan for 10 minutes. Run a knife around the edge, invert the cake onto the rack, then invert back onto another rack to finish cooling; replace any fallen almonds on top — they will reattach as the caramel cools.

Make pastry cream: Warm the milk with vanilla bean seeds (or omit if using extract) in a medium saucepan. Pour the hot milk into a bowl with a spout. Rinse and cool the saucepan. Off heat, whisk yolks and sugar until pale and ribboned. Whisk in flour (or cornstarch) and salt to smooth. Add warmed milk gradually, whisking; once half is added, add the rest in a steady stream. Return to medium-high heat and cook until it bubbles, then simmer 1–2 minutes, whisking constantly. Off heat, whisk in the butter and any extracts. Cool completely before use (chill or ice bath to speed).

Assemble: After cake and pastry cream are fully cool, split the cake horizontally with a long serrated knife. Spread pastry cream on the bottom half (author used about 1 cup; double for a taller cake). Replace the top half and slice into wedges. Refrigerate leftovers.

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