Moist Lemon Coconut Cake

The light at twenty hours. The midnight sun on the inlet silver. Three twelve-hour shifts this week. The body holding.

Lourdes is 75. She is slower. She still cooks. She still tells me to find a husband even though I have one. Angela came over Saturday with the kids. We cooked. We argued about pancit proportions — she uses more soy, I use more calamansi. We are both wrong, according to Lourdes.

I made ginataang manok Sunday. The coconut chicken. The coconut milk forgives almost any cooking mistake.

A reader wrote me a long email this week about her grandmother's adobo, which differed from mine in every measurement. The differences were the conversation. I wrote her back. The writing back is the work.

I read for forty minutes before sleep. The reading was the small surrender. The surrender was the rest.

I made tea late at night. The tea was the small comfort. The comfort was the marker.

Pete and I had a long phone conversation Tuesday. We talked about the family — his and mine. The talking was the keeping.

The therapy session this month was about pacing. Dr. Reeves said, "Grace. The pacing is the love for the future self." I am working on the pacing. The pacing is harder than the loving.

I had a long phone call with Dr. Reeves on Wednesday. We talked about pacing and rest and the way the body keeps a log of what it has carried. Dr. Reeves said, "Grace. The body remembers. The mind forgets. The cooking is the bridge." I wrote the line down. The line is now on a sticky note above the kitchen sink.

I drove home Tuesday evening and the sun set at three forty-five and the highway was already iced at the bridges and the radio was on a station I did not recognize and I did not change it.

A reader from New Jersey wrote in about her grandmother's adobo, which used pineapple. I had never heard of pineapple in adobo. I tried it. It was strange. It was also good. The strange and the good are not opposites.

The salmon in the freezer is from August. Joseph's catch. The bag is labeled in his handwriting — "for Grace." I will use it next week.

The light was good Saturday morning. I sat on the porch with a cup of coffee and watched the inlet for forty minutes. The watching was the small therapy. The therapy was free.

Angela texted me a photo of the kids. I texted back a heart. The exchange took thirty seconds. The thirty seconds was the keeping.

I took inventory of the freezer Sunday. The freezer had: twelve quarts of broth, eight pounds of adobo in vacuum bags, six pounds of sinigang base, fourteen lumpia trays at fifty rolls each, three pounds of marinated beef for caldereta, and a small bag of pandan leaves Tita Nening had sent me. The inventory was the proof of preparation. The preparation was the proof of love.

The Anchorage sky was the Anchorage sky. The mountains were the mountains. The inlet was the inlet. The geography was the geography.

Auntie Norma called Sunday afternoon. She is now seventy-nine. She wanted a recipe. I gave it to her. She wanted to know how my week was. I told her, briefly. She told me about her week. The exchange took eighteen minutes. The eighteen minutes was the keeping.

I cleaned the kitchen Sunday afternoon. I wiped the stove. I scrubbed the sink. I reorganized the spice cabinet. The cleaning was the small reset. The reset was the marker. The marker said: the week is over, the next week begins, the kitchen is ready.

I had already been thinking about coconut all week — the ginataang manok, the way coconut milk softens everything it touches, the way it makes the food more forgiving than you deserve. When Sunday came and the kitchen was clean and the week was marked as finished, I wanted to stay inside that feeling a little longer. This lemon coconut cake was the extension of that. The lemon cuts through. The coconut holds. That is usually how it goes.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 35 min | Total Time: 55 min | Servings: 12

Ingredients

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup unsalted butter, softened
1 3/4 cups granulated sugar
4 large eggs, room temperature
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
2 tablespoons fresh lemon zest (from about 2 large lemons)
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 cup full-fat coconut milk, well shaken
1 1/2 cups sweetened shredded coconut, divided
For the lemon glaze: 1 1/2 cups powdered sugar, sifted
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon coconut milk

Instructions

Prepare the oven and pan. Preheat oven to 350°F. Grease two 9-inch round cake pans and line the bottoms with parchment paper. Grease the parchment and dust with flour, tapping out the excess.
Mix the dry ingredients. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Set aside.
Cream the butter and sugar. In a large bowl, beat the softened butter and sugar together with a hand or stand mixer on medium-high speed for 3 to 4 minutes, until pale and fluffy. Scrape down the sides of the bowl as needed.
Add the eggs and flavorings. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Mix in the vanilla extract, lemon zest, and lemon juice until just combined.
Alternate the dry and wet ingredients. With the mixer on low, add the flour mixture in three additions, alternating with the coconut milk in two additions (flour, coconut milk, flour, coconut milk, flour). Mix only until each addition just disappears — do not overmix.
Fold in the coconut. Using a rubber spatula, fold in 1 cup of the shredded coconut until evenly distributed.
Bake. Divide the batter evenly between the prepared pans and smooth the tops. Bake for 32 to 36 minutes, until the tops are golden and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Let the cakes cool in the pans for 10 minutes, then turn out onto a wire rack to cool completely.
Toast the remaining coconut. While the cakes cool, spread the remaining 1/2 cup of shredded coconut on a small baking sheet and toast at 350°F for 5 to 7 minutes, stirring once, until lightly golden. Watch carefully — it burns fast. Set aside to cool.
Make the lemon glaze. Whisk together the powdered sugar, lemon juice, and coconut milk in a small bowl until smooth. The glaze should be thick but pourable; add lemon juice a teaspoon at a time to adjust consistency.
Assemble and finish. Place one cake layer on a serving plate and spread about 1/3 of the glaze over the top. Set the second layer on top and pour the remaining glaze over, letting it drip naturally down the sides. Scatter the toasted coconut over the top while the glaze is still wet.

Nutrition (per serving)

Moist Lemon Coconut Cake — The Coconut That Forgives