Strawberry Cheesecake Dump Cake

May. Mother's Day. Miya's card this year: a hand-drawn newsletter header — "DASHI by Miya Callahan-Nakamura" — with a drawing of a bowl of soup and the text: "Issue #1: My Mom Makes the Best Soup. The End." The newsletter parody is the highest form of flattery and the most sophisticated literary criticism a nine-year-old has ever produced. She has made a newsletter about me. The newsletter about me is one issue. The issue is one sentence. The sentence is the review. The review is: the best soup. The end.

I called Barbara, who has now subscribed to the Dashi newsletter (Gerald helped her, the technical assistance of a retired man who has discovered email and is wielding it with the cautious enthusiasm of a convert). Barbara said, "I read the one about the bowl. I cried. I didn't know the bowl had a chip. I never noticed." The not-noticing is Barbara: she sees the big things (my career, my divorce, my publications) and misses the small things (the chip, the way the chip fits my lip, the way the chip is Fumiko). The newsletter is teaching Barbara the small things. The small things are the newsletter. The Dashi is the small things.

I made Fumiko's chirashizushi for Mother's Day — the annual celebration, the pink rice, the pretty toppings, the chipped bowl beside the blue bowl. Two bowls. Two generations. One table. One kitchen. One practice. The Mother's Day chirashizushi is the same every year and different every year, the same rice and different hands, the same fish and different hearts, the same celebration and different women celebrating it. The sameness is the tradition. The difference is the life. The tradition holds the life. The life fills the tradition. Both are the chirashizushi. Both are the Mother's Day. Both are the Dashi.

The chirashizushi was Fumiko’s — the rice pink with vinegar and care, the toppings arranged the way she always arranged them — and that part of the table belongs to her. But Mother’s Day is also Miya’s, and Miya wanted something sweet and pink and a little ridiculous, the way nine-year-olds always want things. So after the bowls were cleared and Barbara’s tea was poured, I made this dump cake: strawberry, cream cheese, no ceremony, all color. The small things are the newsletter, Miya says. The pink cake is the small thing. The small thing is the celebration.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 45 minutes | Total Time: 55 minutes | Servings: 12

Ingredients

1 (21 oz) can strawberry pie filling
1 (8 oz) block cream cheese, softened and cut into small cubes
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 (15.25 oz) box white or yellow cake mix
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, sliced thin
1/2 cup fresh or frozen strawberries, sliced (optional, for extra fruit layer)
Whipped cream or vanilla ice cream, for serving

Instructions

Preheat. Preheat your oven to 350°F (175°C). Lightly grease a 9x13-inch baking dish.
Layer the fruit. Spread the strawberry pie filling evenly across the bottom of the prepared baking dish. If using fresh or frozen strawberries, scatter them over the pie filling.
Add the cream cheese. Dot the softened cream cheese cubes evenly over the strawberry layer. Sprinkle the granulated sugar over the cream cheese.
Top with cake mix. Pour the dry cake mix evenly over the entire surface. Do not stir — spread it gently with a spoon to cover completely.
Add the butter. Lay the thin butter slices in a single layer across the top of the dry cake mix, covering as much of the surface as possible. The butter will melt during baking and hydrate the mix.
Bake. Bake uncovered for 40–45 minutes, until the top is golden and the edges are bubbling. If any dry patches remain on top, place a few extra butter slices on them and bake for 5 additional minutes.
Cool and serve. Let the cake rest for 10–15 minutes before serving. Scoop into bowls and top with whipped cream or a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

Nutrition (per serving)

Strawberry Cheesecake Dump Cake — The Sweet End to a Mother’s Day Table