Food often gets me thinking about literature, or history, and vice versa. This happened one afternoon recently as I trotted happily back to my office with a slice of sunny citrus-spiked loaf cake from the staff café at the Met Museum. I found myself humming the nursery song “Oranges and Lemons” and wondering what it was all about.

I spent the rest of my lunch hour investigating. Is St. Clement the patron saint of citrus growers? No; he’s the patron saint of blacksmiths and metalworkers. The rhyme probably refers to Saint Clement Eastcheap, a parish church in the City of London that was close to the wharves where imported fruit was unloaded and carried to the nearby produce markets of Cheapside. The banter of the church bells alludes to activities and trades that were plied in their environs:

Oranges and lemons,
Say the bells of St. Clement’s.
You owe me five farthings,
Say the bells of St. Martin’s.
When will you pay me?
Say the bells of Old Bailey.
When I grow rich,
Say the bells of Shoreditch.
When will that be?
Say the bells of Stepney.
I do not know,
Says the great bell of Bow.

Here comes a candle to light you to bed,
Here comes a chopper to chop off you head!

Moneylenders lived near the church of St. Martin Orgar, Old Bailey was close to the debtors’ prison at Newgate, and Shoreditch was a notoriously poor area. The bizarre final couplet may be an allusion to weddings and/or executions, referring figuratively to the loss of one’s maidenhead or, more literally, to the loss of one’s actual head. Chris Roberts, an English librarian and nursery rhyme historian suggests in Heavy Words Lightly Thrown: The Reason Behind the Rhyme that this last bit may simply be about the “randomness of fortune, referring to a fate that could bring you good things (light, bed) or bad things (the chopper).” Just a bit of cheerful, child-friendly fun from seventeenth-century England.

But getting back to the cake. A Saint Clement’s cake, I discovered, is any one into which you put both orange and lemon flavors. I experimented with a few recipes and settled one which yields a dense, buttery, golden brown disc with intense citrusy zing. This is also a very sturdy, English sort of cake that you can cut into wedges and dunk into a cup of tea or coffee. You could dress it up with a drizzle of royal icing, but that isn’t necessary. Its beauty is in its simplicity.

Roberts’ book, which promises “the seamy and quirky stories behind favorite nursery rhymes,” is a fast and entertaining read, especially if you share my dark sense of humor. It’s out of print, but used copies are available online for a few dollars. Polish it off in an afternoon or two, preferably with cake.

Saint Clement’s Cake
1 cup (2 sticks) butter, softened
1 cup granulated sugar
3 large eggs
Zest of 1 orange, plus the juice of half an orange
Zest of 1 lemon, plus the juice of half a lemon
1 cup all-purpose flour, sifted (sift before measuring)

Preheat the oven to 325°. Butter an 8-inch round cake pan and line the bottom with a round of baking parchment. Butter the parchment, then dust the bottom and sides of the pan with flour, tapping out excess.

Using an electric hand mixer or stand mixer, cream the butter and sugar together until light and fluffy. Add the eggs, zest, and juices, and mix well, scraping down the sides of the bowl if necessary. Add the flour and mix until well incorporated.

Pour the batter into the prepared pan. You can rap the pan lightly on your counter to distribute the batter evenly, or smooth it out to the edges with a rubber spatula. Bake about 50 minutes to 1 hour, or until a tester comes out clean. Edges of cake will be browned and will have pulled away from the sides of the pan. The center area will look quite homely.

Cool the cake in its pan for 10 minutes, then invert onto a rack to cool completely.