Chocolate Sauerkraut Cake Was a Childhood Joke—So Clearly, I Had to Try It

Still, there’s a good chance if you scoured community cookbooks before that era, you’d probably find the cake somewhere. As Sandor Katz, author of Fermentation Journeys told Atlas Obscura, “the idea of using vegetables in a cake to moisten it, to make it more nourishing, that’s not exactly alien,” citing carrot and zucchini cakes. Plus, “using a sour product of fermentation to aid in the rising of a cake isn’t so strange,” considering that creative bakers had to find shelf-stable sources of acid to leaven their desserts before baking powder was invented.

For my grandmother, the practical result—a moister, fluffier cake—was what compelled her to create it, though—like the cake’s origin story—that’s perhaps only half of the true story. And in both cases, I can only guess at the full answer.

When my son was born late this summer, I found myself wanting to text my grandmother, like I had when my daughter was born, both to check in and see what quirky home remedies she’d suggest for anything that troubled us (vitamin E oil for stretch marks and itchy skin; bran muffins for everything else). Instead, I found myself re-reading old emails and Facebook posts, searching for little glimmers that’d connect us again. And then I remembered that cake.

She was a firm believer that dessert—and a little lighthearted mischief—could cheer people up. (Exhibit C: The time she surprised my mom at dinner with every server at Cheddar’s singing happy birthday as they brandished a sparkler-candle-topped cake in her face…six months before her actual birthday.) Chocolate Sauerkraut Cake was the perfect cross-section of those worlds—and now, I had a recipe.

I settled on I Am Baker’s Chocolate Sauerkraut Cake as a base, topped with King Arthur Flour’s Chocolate Sour Cream Frosting to lean into the tangy notes.

The process itself was much like baking any other cake: cream butter and sugar, add the wet ingredients, slowly incorporate the dry—until the kraut was involved. It needed to be rinsed and drained, losing some of its pungent aroma and flavor. Then it was finely chopped and folded into the batter, and I could see the coconut flakes comparison; it made a perfect doppelganger.

Half an hour in the oven and a coat of frosting later, and the cake was ready to be devoured. Still, I hesitated on that first bite. Sauerkraut? Really? In chocolate cake?! The disbelief crept right back up. And then I dug in.

The cake was…fine. Not so decadently moist I needed to hold a press conference and tell the world we should never make cake another way, or petition Betty Crocker to start adding sauerkraut packs to their mixes. It was like adding mayo or pudding mix, offering a fluffy crumb and moist texture, but nothing over the top. And, blessedly, no hint of sour flavor, tang or crunch. It was like having the occasional bite of coconut flakes without any of the coconut flavor—much like my mom had been saying for years. (Sorry, Mom, for never listening.)

Dylan Hollis writes that this is because the flavors complement each other, rather than compete for your attention: “The unique sour and tart nature of sauerkraut manages to perfectly blend and complement the sweet and bitter notes of cocoa. The added moisture and unique crumb are only of additional benefit.”

But for me, the joy was finally being fully in on the joke. It was never about the cake. It was the chance to make the everyday unforgettable, using whatever you have on hand.