By Mother's Day. The children came — all of them, all four grandchildren, David and Jennifer, Rebecca with Thomas. The house was full and loud and I stood in the kitchen doorway and listened and thought: this is what I am retiring for. Not from. For. I am retiring for this — for the noise, for the grandchildren, for the mornings when I can drive to White Plains and hold Hannah and teach Ethan to braid challah and watch Sophie grow and chase Noah through the backyard. I am retiring for the kitchen and the writing and the family and the days that are not divided between school and home but are fully, completely, home.
Rebecca gave me a journal — leather-bound, beautiful, with a note tucked inside: "For the book. Start here." I opened it and the pages were blank and the blankness was both terrifying and thrilling — the same blankness I face every time I stare at a fresh Haggadah page, every time I open a new box of chalk, every time I begin. The blank page is the beginning. The beginning is the scariest part. But I have been beginning things for sixty-five years and I have not yet failed to fill the page, and I will not fail now.
I made Sylvia's noodle kugel — the Mother's Day kugel, the annual tribute, the sweet noodle pudding that is my mother in edible form. I ate it and tasted Sylvia and thought: I am the mother now. I am the one they come to on Mother's Day. I am the kugel. The chain has moved, and I am at the front of it now, which means there is no one ahead of me, no one to call, no one to bring the kugel to. I make the kugel. I am the kugel. The kitchen is mine. The day is mine. The missing is mine. Happy Mother's Day.
Sylvia’s noodle kugel is not a recipe I can hand you — it lives in my hands, in the muscle memory of sixty-five years of watching and doing, and no amount of writing it down quite captures it. But the spirit of it — that sweet, unpretentious, “everyone at the table” generosity — that I can give you. This fruit cocktail cake is cut from the same cloth: a Depression-era pantry cake that asks nothing of you except that you show up, mix it together, and feed the people you love. On a day when the house was full and loud and I stood in that doorway thinking this is what I am retiring for, this is exactly the kind of cake that belongs on the counter.
Fruit Cocktail Cake
Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 40 minutes | Total Time: 50 minutes | Servings: 12
Ingredients
- 2 cups all-purpose flour
- 2 cups granulated sugar
- 2 teaspoons baking soda
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 2 large eggs
- 1 can (15 oz) fruit cocktail in juice or syrup, undrained
- 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
- 1/2 cup packed brown sugar
- 1/2 cup chopped walnuts or pecans (optional)
- For the glaze: 1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
- 3/4 cup granulated sugar (for glaze)
- 1/2 cup evaporated milk
- 1 teaspoon vanilla extract (for glaze)
Instructions
- Preheat the oven. Heat oven to 350°F. Grease a 9x13-inch baking pan.
- Mix the batter. In a large bowl, whisk together flour, granulated sugar, baking soda, and salt. Add the eggs, the entire can of fruit cocktail (juice included), and vanilla extract. Stir until just combined — a few lumps are fine.
- Add the topping. Pour batter into the prepared pan. Sprinkle the brown sugar and nuts evenly over the top.
- Bake. Bake for 35–40 minutes, until the top is golden and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.
- Make the glaze. About 5 minutes before the cake comes out of the oven, combine the butter, 3/4 cup sugar, and evaporated milk in a small saucepan over medium heat. Bring to a boil, stirring constantly, and boil for 2 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in vanilla.
- Glaze the cake. As soon as the cake comes out of the oven, pour the hot glaze slowly and evenly over the top, letting it soak in. Allow the cake to cool at least 15 minutes before cutting.
- Serve. Serve warm or at room temperature, directly from the pan. Keeps well covered at room temperature for up to 3 days.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 390 | Protein: 4g | Fat: 12g | Carbs: 67g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 280mg