Spice Cake — The Taste of Being Someone’s Child

Mother's Day. The holiday that has always been complicated for me — more complicated than Christmas, more complicated than my birthday, more complicated than any other day on the calendar. Because I have two mothers. Because one raised me and one gave me away. Because the holiday demands a singular celebration and my story is plural. Because I used to feel guilty buying one card and not the other, and now I buy two cards and feel guilty about different things.

I drove to Bellevue on Saturday with flowers and a framed photo of Karen and me at my wedding — the one where she's fixing my veil and we're both laughing. Karen looked at the photo for a long time. She said, "I look good in that photo." I said, "You look beautiful." She said, "I look like a mother." She set it on the mantel next to the one of me as a baby at the airport. I had not seen those two photos side by side before — Karen in 1993, young, holding a baby; Karen in 2022, old, fixing a bride's veil. The same hands. Twenty-nine years between the photos. The hands shake now. They didn't then. They still hold.

I FaceTimed Jisoo on Sunday morning, which was Sunday evening in Busan. I had sent her a card — my first Mother's Day card to Jisoo, written in Korean (imperfect, corrected by James, who corrected it with the help of a translation app because his Korean is even worse than mine). Jisoo held up the card to the camera. She was crying. She said, "I have received Mother's Day cards from Jihoon and Eunji for twenty years. This is the first one from you. It is the most important one." I said, "Umma." She said, "Dahee." We sat there. Two women on a screen. A mother and a daughter, thirty years late to the party, catching up.

James made me breakfast — eggs benedict, his version, with Taiwanese sausage instead of Canadian bacon, which is an abomination against tradition and also the most delicious eggs benedict I have ever eaten. He said, "Happy future Mother's Day." I said, "It's not Mother's Day for me yet." He said, "It will be." The confidence in his voice was so steady that I almost believed it wouldn't take any more months of tracking and waiting and trying. Almost.

Kevin called. He said, "Happy Mother's Day to Karen." He does not call Jisoo on Mother's Day. He does not call anyone "Mom" except Karen. His adoption story is his adoption story. I asked how he was. He said, "Lisa and I went to brunch. I had a Reuben. It was good." Kevin communicates love through sandwiches. I communicate love through stew. We were raised by the same woman and express ourselves through entirely different foods. Karen made us both. Differently, but both.

The recipe this week is not Korean. It is not Taiwanese. It is Karen's strawberry shortcake, which she made every Mother's Day for as long as I can remember. Biscuit dough — flour, butter, sugar, baking powder, cream — cut into rounds and baked until golden. Split while warm. Topped with macerated strawberries (sliced, sugared, left to sit for one hour until they weep their red juice) and a cloud of fresh whipped cream. Eat with a fork. Eat with your mother. Eat with whichever mother is closest, and call the other one while you eat, and let the shortcake be the thing that connects the table you're sitting at to the table you wish you were sitting at. Strawberry shortcake. The taste of being someone's child. The taste of May.

Karen’s strawberry shortcake belongs to May, to her hands, to the specific irreplaceable version of it she made for us — and I’m not ready to try to replicate it yet, because some recipes need to stay in the original kitchen a little longer. But this spice cake comes close to that same feeling: warm, unhurried, made with things you already have, tasting like a house that loves you. I made it on Sunday evening after the FaceTime with Jisoo ended and James had gone to sleep, and I ate a slice standing at the counter, and it tasted, the way good desserts sometimes do, like being held.

Spice Cake

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 35 min | Total Time: 50 min | Servings: 12

Ingredients

• 2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
• 3/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
• 1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
• 1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened
• 3 large eggs
• 1 cup buttermilk
• 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
• Cream cheese frosting or powdered sugar, for serving

Instructions

1. Preheat and prepare. Preheat oven to 350°F. Grease and flour a 9x13-inch baking pan, or two 9-inch round cake pans.
2. Whisk dry ingredients. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, sugar, baking soda, baking powder, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and ginger until evenly combined.
3. Mix in butter. Add the softened butter to the dry ingredients and mix with a hand mixer or stand mixer on medium speed until the mixture resembles coarse sand, about 2 minutes.
4. Add wet ingredients. In a small bowl, whisk together the eggs, buttermilk, and vanilla. Pour into the flour mixture and beat on medium speed until smooth and fully combined, about 2 minutes. Do not overmix.
5. Bake. Pour batter into the prepared pan(s) and spread evenly. Bake for 30–35 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean and the top springs back when lightly touched.
6. Cool completely. Let the cake cool in the pan for 10 minutes, then turn out onto a wire rack and cool completely before frosting or dusting with powdered sugar.
7. Serve. Frost with cream cheese frosting if desired, or serve plain with a dusting of powdered sugar. Eat with whichever mother is closest.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 285 | Protein: 4g | Fat: 9g | Carbs: 46g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 220mg