Sticky Toffee Pudding

Marcus moves to Tuscaloosa for his MSW. He wants to work with adolescent boys in foster care — a choice that makes Tamika's counselor heart sing. In Tuscaloosa, he meets a nursing student named Keisha Palmer.

Pastor preached about the prodigal son again. He preaches about that boy at least three times a year. The text is the text but every preaching is different. I cried in the second service this time. Don't ask me why.

Sunday service at New Birth this morning. The choir sang. I sang soprano in the second alto row. Pastor preached about Naomi and Ruth. The congregation said amen. I said amen.

I made a casserole for the church potluck. The pan came back empty. That is the only review I trust.

Wednesday Bible study at the church. We read through Proverbs. The women in my row argued about whether wisdom is built or born. I said both. They agreed, sort of.

The neighbors had a Friday cookout this week. I brought my mac and cheese. They have come to expect this. I have come to expect this. The block is the block.

Thursday I made cornbread for a sister at church whose husband had surgery. I dropped it off at the hospital. She cried at the door. I told her, eat the cornbread, baby. The food is the saying.

I had a hard counseling case at school this week. A seventh-grade girl whose mama lost her job. We talked. I gave her my number. I told her she could call.

The kids were home for the weekend. The house was loud the way it should be.

The blood pressure check was Wednesday. The numbers were borderline. The doctor wants me to walk more. I am walking more.

Derek and I had date night Friday. Same restaurant, same booth, same enchiladas for me and carne asada for him.

Saturday morning I had Set the Table at the Cascade Heights center. Twelve young women. We did baked chicken. One of them — Imani, sixteen — was so afraid of seasoning that she barely shook the salt. I stood next to her and put my hand over hers and said, baby, you cannot be afraid of food. We seasoned the chicken. The chicken came out right. She glowed.

Tuesday evening I sat at the kitchen table with my composition notebook and worked on the cookbook. From Brenda's Kitchen — that's the working title. I cannot write the introduction without crying yet.

Miss Ernestine called Tuesday. She's ninety-something and sharp as ever. She told me my potato salad still needs more mustard.

Darnell sent a photo from Clarksville. The garden is producing. He grew tomatoes the size of softballs. I sent him back a photo of my sweet potato casserole. We are competitive about food now in our middle age.

I went to the cemetery Saturday morning. Brenda's grave is on the hill at South-View. Curtis still goes most Sundays. I left a small bouquet of magnolias.

Andre called from LA. He told the Kevin Hart story again. Twenty-some years and that boy is still telling that story. Everyone in this family is going to hear about Kevin Hart at our funerals.

I drove to the Walmart on Camp Creek Saturday morning. The kind of grocery run that takes two hours because you run into three people you know. Sister Patrice caught me in the produce. We talked about her grandbaby for fifteen minutes.

I read for an hour Sunday night before bed. Some novel about a Black woman in 1960s Alabama. Mama would have liked it.

Daddy sat in his chair after dinner watching the news. He fell asleep before the third quarter. Standard.

After a week of cooking for the block cookout, dropping cornbread at the hospital, and standing beside Imani at Set the Table while she learned not to be afraid of her own hands — I wanted to end on something sweet, something that feels like a reward for all that loving labor. Sticky Toffee Pudding might not be Brenda’s recipe, and it might not live in the composition notebook yet, but there is something about warm caramel soaking into soft cake that says exactly what I could not put into words this week: you showed up, baby, and that matters. I made this on Sunday night after I closed my book, and I did not share it with anybody.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 35 min | Total Time: 55 min | Servings: 9

Ingredients

1 cup pitted Medjool dates, chopped
1 cup boiling water
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon fine salt
6 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
3/4 cup packed dark brown sugar
2 large eggs, room temperature
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
Toffee Sauce:
1/2 cup unsalted butter
1 cup packed dark brown sugar
3/4 cup heavy cream
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
Pinch of fine salt

Instructions

Soften the dates. Place chopped dates in a heat-safe bowl. Pour boiling water over them, stir in baking soda, and let soak for 15 minutes until softened. Do not drain — you’ll use the liquid too.
Preheat and prep. Heat oven to 350°F. Grease an 8x8-inch baking dish with butter and lightly flour it, or line with parchment paper.
Cream the butter and sugar. In a large bowl, beat softened butter and brown sugar together until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Stir in vanilla extract.
Combine wet and dry. Whisk flour, baking powder, and salt together in a separate bowl. Add the flour mixture to the butter mixture in two additions, alternating with the date mixture (liquid and all), stirring gently until just combined. Do not overmix.
Bake the cake. Pour batter into the prepared baking dish and spread evenly. Bake 30–35 minutes, until the top is set and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.
Make the toffee sauce. While the cake bakes, melt butter in a small saucepan over medium heat. Add brown sugar and stir until dissolved, about 2 minutes. Pour in heavy cream and stir continuously until the sauce thickens slightly, 3–4 minutes. Remove from heat, stir in vanilla and salt, and set aside.
Soak and serve. Use a skewer or fork to poke holes all over the warm cake. Pour half the toffee sauce over the cake and let it soak in for 5 minutes. Cut into squares and serve warm with the remaining sauce spooned over each portion.

Nutrition (per serving)

Sticky Toffee Pudding — The Sweetness You Carry When the Week Has Been Full