A long post with Cake at the end of it

"I'm Leaking, Mom. I'm LEAKING."

My Grandma Mo died when I was 21. She cooked almost every Easter Meal I have ever eaten, and this was the dessert at all of them. It was a good day if you lifted up the tupperware cake dome and found this standing there, a tube drenched in thin white icing and pressed with coconut. I had it two or three times a year, and when she died she took the recipe with her. I had a copy, but I can't find it and don't know if I ever will.

It became some sort of holy grail -- Grandma's Coconut Cake That Cured The Blind And Probably Would Help The Leper Situation Or Something, Too. "It didn't...it wasn't a white cake. It was dense."

"She smoked like four packs of cigarettes a day. Maybe you need some tobacco residue to make it work."

A few months ago, I made a cream cheese poundcake and realized that (though Grandma Mo's recipe had no cream cheese and fewer eggs, I'm sure) this was the cake. Dense and moist and better as it aged, with a fluffy crumb and light, vanilla flavor. It was the cake I had no idea I would ever make, let alone taste again. I'm not being hyperbolic or weepy, I'm straight up serious. When you stumble across a gift like this, something that was lost and you had no clear starting point, it takes you to your knees and makes you swear a little, a delicate "Fuck" escaping your lips. Your ladylike lips.

So I was seriously excited. Easter Dinner was the hallmark of Holiday Celebrations for my Dad's southern, Black, Catholic family. Easter was always full of long Masses, at the church I was baptised in up in Seattle, the birthplace, home and resting place for my Paternal Grandparents, and living Aunt and Uncle. Gospel masses, with a white female pastor and tiny black women (many of whom I was related to in one form or another -- related can mean blood or it can mean living on the same block) in hats and suits and pumps. Cousins I'd never seen before. Little girls with tiny purses. Bitchfights over ribs.

After church we'd ride home in Grandma and Grandpa Mo's Lincoln, which was taken out of the garage maybe three or four times a year. This was maroon and huge and my favorite story involving the Lincoln is one I can't share because of Catholic guilt, but it involves genetic stubborness, Cigarettes, Mother-Son dynamics, my sisters and I made to stand on the curb and a Gas Station.

Then the food would start.

My Grandma liked the kitchen to be off limits to everyone. There were no appetizers, no antipasto or plates of anything except the lead crystal candy dishes full of Clove and Peppermint flavored jelly beans that were there 364 days ago, too. Sometimes someone might come out with a handful of gingersnaps and there would be a rumble.

"I'm thirsty."

"Go have some bathroom water."

By the time Easter Dinner was served, it was dark and we would have changed out of our dresses and into pajamas. Sitting around the table, passing dishes of almost-tepid food, forking pieces of prime rib and ham and scoops of custardy baked Macaroni and Cheese, lumps of syrupy yams with marshmallow and those rolls. People would keep opening the door and we would see it wasn't really dark, not at all, and they would sit down and someone would Fix Them A Plate and they would eat the food I ate at least three times a year for 20 years, the food that has memorized me so that there is no escape, no forgetting.

This is why at every holiday meal I cook for, I try in vain to replicate and elevate the food that I cannot and do not want to free myself from. There are living people, many of them, who know what I am trying to do when I cook these dishes, who understand why when it is barely wrong it is worse than if it were inedible and when it is right, it is the biggest high in the world. I never got to cook with my Grandma -- one of my sisters made rolls with her once, but that was it. We were barred from the kitchen that holds so much of what we crave, and for me at least, that means a hunt that has no marked X.

So I was so grateful when this cake showed itself. Easter came, and alongside the ham glazed with molasses, orange zest, Coleman's English Mustard and brown sugar, the blanched asparagus and sliced tomatoes with lemon vinegrette and torn basil, the pecan rolls and orange rolls, the macaroni and cheese and the bacon, swiss and spinach strata, there was Coconut Cake.

I was excited for people to taste it, especially my Dad. I never played sports, so I hoped I could buy some of that layaway love. And when coffee was brewed and smaller plates brought down, I cut a giant slice for him, huge, like half a cake. The size of a toddler's arm.

And that was when he told me he hated Grandma's Coconut Cake.

So I hope you enjoy it.

Coconut Cake
In pure homage to Grandma Mo and adapted from allrecipes.com

1 8-oz package Philadelphia Cream Cheese, room temperature
6 large eggs, room temperature
1 1/2 cups butter (three sticks), softened
3 cups all purpose flour
3 cups granulated vanilla sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 teaspoon coconut extract
1/8 teaspoon almond extract

Glaze
1 cup powdered sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon coconut extract
2-3 tablespoons water, milk or heavy cream
Flaked sweetened coconut

One day before you plan to serve the cake:

Preheat oven to 325° F.

Butter and flour two loaf pans, and one smaller pan of your choice -- this is for the leftover batter that you will no doubt have. Or, use a tube or bundt pan for all the batter, though I've never used one for this cake.

Cream together the butter and cream cheese until silky, smooth and a little voluminous. Don't overbeat, but what you want is a luxurious, pale-yellow mixture. Slowly add the sugar in one long stream, mixing the entire time. Once sugar is incorporated, add extracts and mix until combined. Now add eggs, two at a time, mixing well after each addition -- the mixture should be butter yellow and it is fine if it is slightly grainy.

Add the flour in two parts, mixing just until combined after each part. Now, don't overmix. Use a spatula if you have to, to fold in the last few streaks. Your batter will be gorgeous though. You will want to eat it.

You will want to dip each arm into it, up to the elbow, and wear your new "gloves" all over town.

Divide batter evenly between your two prepped loaf pans, scraping the leftovers into your third pan (I use a on-the-smaller-side-of-medium Pyrex glass loaf pan for this), or pour all your batter into your chosen larger pan.

Bake for 30-45 minutes, testing after 30. The cakes should be golden brown on top, with a beautiful, lifted crackled top and a skewer or toothpick should come out clean. As soon as it does, remove cakes and cool in pans for ten minutes, then remove and finish cooling completely on a cooling rack.

Wrap cakes tightly in aluminum foil and allow to "ripen" overnight and up to three days.

The day you plan to serve the cakes, unwrap and make the glaze.

In a medium bowl, sift powdered sugar and add extracts. Stir, and add water to taste -- I go for a thinner glaze, and use water because this is what my family does, along with South Dakota accents and the Electric Slide. Pour glaze over the top of the loaves, distributing evenly and smoothing with the back of a spoon if needed.

While glaze is still damp, gently press or scatter flaked coconut over the top. Allow glaze to set, and serve. Wrap leftovers in saran wrap.

Comments

[Eviedee]

Utterly awesome post. I never thought that I would crave something "the size of a toddler's arm".

[Stacey]

I love your writing style! Your recipes rock as well. Thanks for putting yourself out there.

Love your blog.

[Anuhea]

This is the cutest (but saddest) story. I love your writings! The cake you made looks so good, I'll have to try it sometime. If you like my blog enough *crosses fingers*, I'm hoping you'll link to me.

[Mercedes]

This is great! Well, except that part about your dad, how disappointing.
My grandmother also smoked a pack a day and wouldn't let anyone into her kitchen. I had to sit in the adjacent room and shell peas, evil task that it is.
My mother adores coconut cake, I will have to make this for her.

[Miss T]

Beautiful story, very vividly told! I know what you mean about the importance of a recipe like this--I made my great-aunt's poundcake for Easter this year, the cake I always begged her for whenever I went to visit. Of course, I didn't think mine was anywhere near as good, but my mother did. I'll definitely try your grandmother's cake.

[debbie]

did you wump dad on the side of the head with the cake plate? all kidding aside, your cake looks absolutley delicious; thanks for sharing the recipe and the story!