Arnold Palmer Cupcakes

Mother's Day. The table this year had a different character than any previous Mother's Day: Caleb sat in his high chair at the corner of the table and ate mashed banana and sweet potato with enormous enthusiasm and periodically threw banana at people seated nearby. CJ and Shanice brought flowers and a card that Shanice said Caleb helped choose by grabbing at it in the store. Destiny brought the beignets she has perfected. Travis brought a bottle of something good. Carolyn came. It was nine people and a nine-month-old who ate banana and it was exactly the right size for a Mother's Day.

CJ stood up and said a few things. He said that his mother kept a table that everyone found their way to eventually, that the table held grief and celebration simultaneously, that he understood now — holding his son at this table — what a thing it was to build something so solid it could hold everything you put on it. He looked at me when he said that and I looked back and that was the whole of it. What passes between a mother and a son over the years is too layered for a speech, but a look can hold all of it at once.

Shanice said something quietly, to me, after the meal while we were doing the dishes together. She said: I want to build the same thing in Huntsville that you have here. I said: you're already building it. She said: I want to do it consciously. I said: then you will. I said: start with the cast iron. She smiled. She handed me a clean bowl to dry. We stood at the sink with the window over it and the pine trees outside and we washed dishes together in silence that was the good kind.

Destiny brought the beignets that year, and they were perfect, but when I think about what I’d bring to a table like that one — a table big enough to hold grief and new babies and good wine and a mother’s whole heart — I think I’d bring these. Arnold Palmer Cupcakes are bright and a little unexpected, like the best kind of afternoon: lemon and tea together, sweet but not cloying, the kind of thing you’d make consciously, the way Shanice said she wanted to build something consciously. They’re a celebration in a small package, and that Mother’s Day was exactly that.

Prep Time: 25 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 45 min | Servings: 24

Ingredients

1 box (15.25 oz) lemon cake mix
3 eggs
1/3 cup vegetable oil
1 cup strongly brewed black tea, cooled
1 tablespoon fresh lemon zest
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
Lemon–Tea Frosting:
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
3 1/2 cups powdered sugar, sifted
3 tablespoons strongly brewed black tea, cooled
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon fresh lemon zest
Pinch of salt
Lemon slices or lemon zest curls for garnish (optional)

Instructions

Preheat and prep. Preheat oven to 350°F. Line two 12-cup muffin tins with paper liners and set aside.
Mix the batter. In a large bowl, combine the lemon cake mix, eggs, vegetable oil, cooled brewed tea, lemon zest, and lemon juice. Beat with a hand mixer on medium speed for 2 minutes until smooth and well combined.
Fill and bake. Divide batter evenly among the prepared liners, filling each about 2/3 full. Bake for 18–20 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.
Cool completely. Remove cupcakes from the pan and transfer to a wire rack. Allow to cool completely before frosting — at least 30 minutes.
Make the frosting. Beat softened butter on medium-high speed until pale and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add powdered sugar in two additions, mixing on low after each. Add the cooled tea, lemon juice, lemon zest, and salt. Beat on medium-high for 2 minutes until light and spreadable. Add an extra teaspoon of tea if the frosting is too thick.
Frost and garnish. Pipe or spread frosting onto cooled cupcakes. Garnish with a small lemon slice or a curl of lemon zest if desired. Serve at room temperature.

Nutrition (per serving)

Arnold Palmer Cupcakes — Something Sweet for the Table That Holds Everything