Thanksgiving. My first as a divorced father. It is my year with the kids for Thanksgiving (we alternate: even years Brianna, odd years me — 2020 is even, but we agreed to make an exception this first year because the kids wanted to be at my apartment for "Dada's food").
I cooked Thanksgiving dinner. Let me say that again, slowly: I, DeShawn Carter, who five years ago could not make spaghetti without a jar, cooked Thanksgiving dinner. Not a contribution. Not a side dish. The whole thing.
The menu: roast turkey (brined for twenty-four hours in salt water, herbs, and citrus, roasted at 325 for four hours, basted every forty-five minutes). Cornbread dressing (Mama's recipe, cooked separately in a pan, sage and onion and celery). Mac and cheese (four cheeses, golden, my recipe). Collard greens (slow-cooked four hours, smoked turkey neck, vinegar). Candied yams (sweet potatoes, butter, brown sugar, cinnamon, marshmallows on top). Cranberry sauce (from a can — some traditions are non-negotiable). Cornbread (cast-iron skillet, Mama's recipe). And banana pudding.
It took two days. I started the dressing prep on Tuesday. The turkey brined Wednesday through Thursday morning. Thursday was a twelve-hour cooking marathon that began at five AM and ended when I sat down at the table at four PM with Aiden and Zaria and looked at the food — my food, all of it, covering every inch of the table — and felt something I have not felt since the smothered pork chops lesson with Mama: the feeling of having arrived.
Mama came for dinner. She was not going to — she planned to eat at the duplex with Dad and Keisha — but I called her and said, "Mama, come eat my food." She came. She walked in and saw the table and she did not speak. She walked from dish to dish, looking, smelling. She sat down. She served herself. She ate.
She ate everything. The turkey: "The brine worked." The dressing: "You got the sage right." The mac and cheese: "This is your recipe now." The greens: "Four hours. I can taste the four hours." The cornbread: "Right." The banana pudding: "Right."
Then she said, quietly, looking at me across the table: "I am proud of you, DeShawn. Not because of the food. Because you did not give up. When Brianna left. When the pandemic hit. When the apartment was empty. You did not give up. You cooked. And the cooking saved you. And now look at this table."
I looked at the table. My table. My food. My children eating the food I made. My mother eating the food I made. A Thanksgiving dinner for the history books, made by a man who was eating cereal at this same table six months ago.
I cried at Thanksgiving. At the table. In front of my mother and my children. Aiden said, "Daddy, why are you crying?" I said, "Because I'm happy, buddy." He said, "Happy crying is okay." He is five. He is wiser than me.
Banana pudding closed that Thanksgiving table, and Mama said “Right” — and I will carry that word for the rest of my life. But the recipe I keep making now, the one I pull out when I need to remember that I can do this, is this Chocolate Chip Pound Cake: dense, golden, made from scratch, the kind of thing that fills a kitchen with a smell that tells everyone something good is happening. It is not a quick recipe. It asks something of you. That is exactly why I love it. After everything that year taught me — that showing up, being patient, and putting in the hours is the whole job — a pound cake feels like the right thing to bake.
Chocolate Chip Pound Cake
Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 70 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 30 minutes | Servings: 12
Ingredients
- 3 cups all-purpose flour
- 1/2 tsp baking soda
- 1/2 tsp salt
- 1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
- 3 cups granulated sugar
- 6 large eggs, room temperature
- 1 cup full-fat sour cream
- 2 tsp pure vanilla extract
- 2 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips, divided
- Powdered sugar for dusting (optional)
Instructions
- Preheat and prepare. Heat oven to 325°F. Grease and flour a 10-inch Bundt pan thoroughly, making sure to coat all the ridges. Tap out any excess flour.
- Combine dry ingredients. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, and salt. Set aside.
- Cream butter and sugar. In a large bowl using a hand mixer or stand mixer on medium speed, beat the softened butter and granulated sugar together for 4 to 5 minutes until the mixture is pale, light, and fluffy. Do not rush this step — the air you build here is what gives the cake its texture.
- Add eggs one at a time. Add the eggs to the butter mixture one at a time, beating well after each addition and scraping down the sides of the bowl. Beat in the vanilla extract.
- Alternate flour and sour cream. With the mixer on low, add the flour mixture in three additions, alternating with the sour cream in two additions (flour, sour cream, flour, sour cream, flour). Begin and end with the flour. Mix only until just combined after each addition — do not overmix.
- Fold in chocolate chips. Reserve about 1/4 cup of the chocolate chips, then gently fold the remaining chips into the batter using a rubber spatula until evenly distributed.
- Fill the pan. Pour the batter into the prepared Bundt pan and spread evenly. Scatter the reserved chocolate chips over the top of the batter.
- Bake. Bake at 325°F for 65 to 75 minutes, until a wooden skewer inserted into the thickest part of the cake comes out with only a few moist crumbs (not wet batter). If the top begins to brown too quickly after 50 minutes, tent loosely with foil.
- Cool before unmolding. Let the cake cool in the pan on a wire rack for exactly 15 minutes — no less. Run a thin knife around the edges, then invert onto the rack. Allow to cool completely, at least 1 hour, before slicing.
- Finish and serve. Dust with powdered sugar if desired. Slice with a serrated knife and serve at room temperature. Stores tightly wrapped at room temperature for up to 4 days, or refrigerated for up to 1 week.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 545 | Protein: 7g | Fat: 25g | Carbs: 76g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 195mg
About the cook who shared this
DeShawn Carter
Week 230 of DeShawn’s 30-year story
· Detroit, Michigan
DeShawn is a thirty-six-year-old single dad, auto plant worker, and a man who didn't learn to cook until his wife left and his five-year-old asked, "Daddy, can you cook something?" He called his mama, who came over with two bags of groceries and spent six months teaching him the basics. Now he's the dad at the cookout who brings the ribs, the guy at the plant whose leftover gumbo starts fights, and living proof that it's never too late to learn.