Apple Topped Cake

A thunderstorm Tuesday afternoon. The garden grateful. The power held. Tuesday feeding ran clean. Sister Beulah was there at three. The chicken was dredged by four. We served from six until eight. Sister Beulah shooed me out at nine-thirty.

Calvin preached Sunday on the loaves and fishes. The church said amen. Destiny came for Sunday dinner. She talked about her work. The work is hard. She is good at hard work.

Banana pudding Saturday. Nilla wafers layered like sedimentary rock. The custard from scratch — yes, baby, from scratch, none of that boxed nonsense.

Calvin in the recliner. Me at the stove. The week held.

Calvin and I watched the news Wednesday evening. He fell asleep in the recliner. I covered him with the afghan that Bernice crocheted before she died. The afghan is holding.

The kitchen smelled like garlic and onion all afternoon Wednesday. Calvin came home from his Bible study and stood in the doorway and said, Loretta, what are we eating. I said, baby, you will see. He said, that is a yes from me. He has been saying that for fifty years.

I made coffee at five Tuesday morning. Strong, with cream, no sugar (the diabetes). I stood at the kitchen window. The yard was still in dark. The day ahead was the day ahead. I went into it.

I drove to the grocery Saturday morning. Greens, three pounds. Onions, two big ones. Buttermilk, half gallon. Cornmeal, the good kind. Salt, because I always run out of salt.

A new young wife joined the Saturday cooking class. Twenty-two years old. She does not know how to make rice. I will teach her. The chain extends.

The garden in the side yard, sugar. The tomatoes are coming on. The okra is up. The collards are getting big. I will be canning by August. I always say I am not going to can. I always end up canning.

I sat on the porch Saturday afternoon. The neighborhood was quiet. Mr. Henderson across the street waved. I waved back. The porches are the original social network, sugar. We have been at this since Eden.

I have been thinking about heaven a lot lately. I do not know what I think. I know what Calvin preaches. I know what the AME doctrine says. I know what my Mama believed. I am at the age, sugar, where heaven is more than a Sunday school answer. I am working on it.

Mr. Henderson across the street brought me a bag of pecans Friday from his tree. I made a pecan pie with them. I took half of it back to him. He said, Loretta, this is wrong, you took my pecans and gave me back a pie. I said, that is exactly right. That is how it works.

I had a small cry Wednesday morning at the kitchen window. No reason in particular. The grief comes when it comes. I made coffee. I went on. That is how this works.

Sister Patrice's husband had heart surgery this week. I drove a meal over Tuesday — chicken and rice, cornbread, peach cobbler. She cried at the door. I told her, baby, eat the food. The food was the saying.

Bernice's Table Tuesday. The team was sharp. The food held. The room held.

Doris called Thursday. Three times a week, the standard. We talked about Calvin's health. We talked about Harold's health. We talked about the family. We talked about what I was cooking.

I stood at the kitchen window with my coffee Tuesday morning. Six o'clock. The light just coming. The yard quiet. Talking to Mama about the day ahead. The talking is its own prayer, sugar.

I said banana pudding Saturday, and I meant it — Nilla wafers and custard from scratch, no boxed nonsense, not in this kitchen. But the truth is, sugar, the whole week had apples on my mind, the way autumn starts whispering before it arrives, the way Mr. Henderson’s pecans reminded me that what comes off the tree belongs back to the neighbor in a better form. This apple topped cake is that same spirit — simple ingredients, humble layers, made from scratch because that is the only way I know how to say I was here, and I cared. Calvin ate two slices and did not say a word, just nodded from the recliner, and that, baby, is the highest praise a man can give.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 45 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 5 minutes | Servings: 12

Ingredients

2 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp ground nutmeg
1/2 tsp salt
2 large eggs, room temperature
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 tsp pure vanilla extract
3 cups peeled and diced apples (about 3 medium apples, such as Honeycrisp or Granny Smith)
1/2 cup chopped pecans or walnuts (optional)
For the topping:
3 tbsp light brown sugar, packed
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
2 tbsp unsalted butter, melted
1 medium apple, cored and thinly sliced

Instructions

Preheat and prepare. Preheat your oven to 350°F. Grease a 9x13-inch baking pan with butter or non-stick spray and set aside.
Mix the dry ingredients. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, granulated sugar, baking soda, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt until evenly combined.
Add the wet ingredients. Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients. Add the eggs, vegetable oil, and vanilla extract. Stir with a wooden spoon or spatula until just combined — the batter will be thick.
Fold in the apples. Gently fold in the diced apples and pecans or walnuts if using. The batter will seem dense; the apples release moisture as they bake and that is what you want.
Spread and top. Spread the batter evenly into the prepared pan. Fan the thinly sliced apple pieces across the top of the batter in rows or a simple overlapping pattern. Mix the brown sugar and cinnamon together, then sprinkle evenly over the apple slices. Drizzle the melted butter over everything.
Bake. Bake for 40 to 45 minutes, until the top is golden and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. The apples on top should be tender and slightly caramelized at the edges.
Cool and serve. Allow the cake to cool in the pan for at least 15 minutes before slicing. Serve warm or at room temperature. This cake holds well covered at room temperature for up to 3 days — if it lasts that long.

Nutrition (per serving)

Apple Topped Cake — The Week Held, and So Did This Kitchen