I still remember the first time I made red velvet anything — the kitchen smelled faintly like warm cocoa and… confusion. I’d accidentally grabbed the vinegar bottle I’d left uncapped next to some chopped onions (don’t roll your eyes at me; you’ve done worse), and that poor cake had a weird, shy hint of onion underneath all its efforts to be charming. Ever since then, every time I whisk cocoa into buttermilk, I pause and give the bowl a suspicious sniff, like I’m interrogating a witness. But today — beautifully, mercifully — everything smelled right. Warm, soft cocoa. Buttermilk tang. A whisper of vanilla. And when the red food coloring hit the batter… it looked like silky paint. There’s something hypnotic about that deep crimson swirl, the way it glides off a spatula like melted velvet. Meanwhile, the mixer hums in that low, stubborn way, like a grumpy old man who secretly likes being useful but refuses to smile about it.
Quick Look (so you know what emotional commitment you’re signing up for):
Prep: 30 minutes
Bake: 25–30 minutes
Total: Around 1 hour (cooling time not included — time is a myth anyway)
Feeds: 10–12 people, or 3 people who “just want a tiny slice”
Level: Medium-chaos, fully achievable
Why You’ll Love This
- The crumb is plush, soft, almost mattress-like — the good hotel mattress, not the loud springy one from childhood sleepovers.
- The buttercream is stabilized (thank you, cornstarch), meaning it won’t melt into a dramatic puddle when someone leaves the fridge open for “just a second.”
- Red velvet nostalgia, but elevated — none of that dry, flavorless, crumbly disappointment pretending to be cake.
- The process feels like baking therapy with color therapy sprinkled in.
Grab These
For the cake:
- 2 ½ cups all-purpose flour (King Arthur behaves itself every time)
- 2 tbsp unsweetened cocoa powder (just enough to hum in the background)
- 1 tsp baking soda
- 1 tsp fine salt
- 1 ½ cups sugar
- 1 cup neutral oil (vegetable or canola — olive oil is too dramatic for this recipe)
- 2 eggs (room temp; roll them around in your hands if you’re impatient)
- 1 cup buttermilk (shake the bottle like it owes you money)
- 2 tsp vanilla extract
- 1–2 tbsp red gel food coloring (liquid coloring tastes like sadness)
- 1 tsp white vinegar
For the stabilized Swiss meringue buttercream:
- 4 large egg whites
- 1 cup granulated sugar
- 1 cup unsalted butter, softened but not shiny
- ½ tsp vanilla extract
- 1 tsp cornstarch (the secret firmness booster)
Let’s Make It
First, preheat the oven to 350°F. There’s something about flipping that switch that makes me feel like I’m already succeeding before doing anything meaningful. Line two 8-inch round pans with parchment circles. If you’re like me and tend to cut circles that look more like ovals, don’t worry — the cake doesn’t care. Give the pans a good grease. Butter, spray, whatever makes you feel safe.
Grab two bowls. In the first, whisk together flour, cocoa, baking soda, and salt. The cocoa always gives a little puff of dust that looks like it’s trying to escape. In the second bowl — the dramatic bowl — mix sugar and oil. It should look glossy and a little too smooth, like something you’d warn a toddler not to touch. Add in the eggs, one at a time, then the buttermilk, vanilla, and the red coloring. Stir until the mixture looks like something out of a fairy-tale cauldron. If it’s not quite red enough for your spirit, add another bead of gel. Don’t pour the whole bottle. It’s food coloring, not courage.
Combine the dry mixture with the wet, gently. Red velvet is not a “beat aggressively” cake. Fold like you’re tucking in a baby. Add vinegar at the end — it will react with the baking soda and give the batter a subtle lift. Divide into pans and bake until the tops spring back when gently pressed. They should feel buoyant, like confident little trampolines.
While they cool, start the buttercream. This is where people panic, so breathe. In a heatproof bowl, whisk egg whites and sugar over simmering water until the sugar dissolves. Keep whisking — if you stop, the sugar will crust and you’ll cry later. Transfer to your mixer and beat until the meringue is glossy and stiff. Add the butter, a little at a time. It may curdle. It may look like it’s having an identity crisis. Keep going. It always — always — comes back. Add vanilla and cornstarch, and suddenly you have cloud frosting with backbone.
Once the cakes are cool, frost generously. Or minimally. I won’t judge your frosting politics.
Nutritional Facts (per slice, approximately)
| Item | Amount | Notes |
|---|---|---|
| Calories | ~480 | Higher if you lick the bowl (which you will) |
| Carbs | ~52g | Cake is carbs; embrace it |
| Fat | ~28g | Buttercream is unapologetic |
| Protein | ~4g | A whisper of virtue |
Variations & Add-Ins
- Add 1 tsp espresso powder to deepen the cocoa note — it’s subtle but mood-enhancing.
- Replace vanilla with almond extract for a nostalgic bakery vibe.
- Fold in mini chocolate chips if you like surprise texture moments.
Serving Ideas
There are two kinds of people: the chilled-slice people and the warm-slice people. Chilled slices give you a clean cut and firm buttercream — the kind that photographs beautifully if you’re into that. Warmed slightly, the buttercream softens and the cake feels almost molten. Serve with berries for brightness, or black coffee if you want contrast and adulthood.
Once, I served this at a brunch and someone said, “This tastes like a hug from someone who overthinks things.” Which… mood.
Storage & Reheating
Fridge: 4–5 days, tightly covered. This cake absorbs smells like gossip, so don’t put it next to leftover garlic stew.
Freezer: 2 months. Wrap slices individually like tiny cake gifts.
Reheat: 8–10 seconds in the microwave. More than that and the buttercream becomes buttery lava.
My Two Cents
Do not — do not — skip the vinegar. It’s tiny, invisible, unglamorous, but it gives the cake its signature texture. Think of it as the supporting character who steals the entire movie.
You Asked, I’m Answering
Why gel food coloring?
Better color, no weird aftertaste, and you use less of it. Liquid coloring is basically dyed water.
Can I swap the buttercream for cream cheese frosting?
Of course. I’ll silently raise an eyebrow, but lovingly.
Why did my buttercream curdle?
Temperature drama. Keep beating. It almost always resolves itself like a telenovela plot twist.