William Tell’s Never-Miss Apple Cake

Birmingham winter, baby. Damp instead of cold. The kind of weather that gets into the joints. Tuesday feeding was hard this week. We ran short on cornbread because I underestimated the crowd. I will not underestimate again. The crowd ate. Nobody left without a plate, baby.

Calvin preached Sunday on the loaves and fishes. The church said amen. I talked to Marcus this morning at the kitchen window with my coffee. I told him the kitchen was holding. He did not answer in words. He does not need to.

Sweet potato pie Friday. Bernice's recipe. The crust by hand. The filling by feel. The pie was the pie.

I talked to Mama at the stove. I told her the recipe was right. I told her the kitchen was holding. The cast iron skillet hummed. A new face at Bernice's Table this week. A young woman with a baby. I gave her two plates. She thanked me. I told her, baby, come every Tuesday.

The skillet is hanging on its hook. The hymn is in my head. Amen.

I have been thinking about heaven a lot lately. I do not know what I think. I know what Calvin preaches. I know what the AME doctrine says. I know what my Mama believed. I am at the age, sugar, where heaven is more than a Sunday school answer. I am working on it.

A new young wife joined the Saturday cooking class. Twenty-two years old. She does not know how to make rice. I will teach her. The chain extends.

My knees were bad this week. I sat between rounds at the stove. The volunteers tried to take the spoon. I would not let them. The spoon is not negotiable, sugar.

Doris called Thursday. Three times a week, the standard. We talked about Calvin's health. We talked about Harold's health. We talked about the family. We talked about what I was cooking.

I read for an hour Sunday night before bed. The Bible, then a book Doris sent me about the civil rights movement in Birmingham. The book made me think about Bernice in the church kitchen during the bombings.

I sat on the porch Saturday afternoon. The neighborhood was quiet. Mr. Henderson across the street waved. I waved back. The porches are the original social network, sugar. We have been at this since Eden.

Mr. Henderson across the street brought me a bag of pecans Friday from his tree. I made a pecan pie with them. I took half of it back to him. He said, Loretta, this is wrong, you took my pecans and gave me back a pie. I said, that is exactly right. That is how it works.

Bernice's Table Tuesday. The team was sharp. The food held. The room held.

The kitchen smelled like garlic and onion all afternoon Wednesday. Calvin came home from his Bible study and stood in the doorway and said, Loretta, what are we eating. I said, baby, you will see. He said, that is a yes from me. He has been saying that for fifty years.

The garden in the side yard, sugar. The tomatoes are coming on. The okra is up. The collards are getting big. I will be canning by August. I always say I am not going to can. I always end up canning.

Calvin and I watched the news Wednesday evening. He fell asleep in the recliner. I covered him with the afghan that Bernice crocheted before she died. The afghan is holding.

I stood at the kitchen window with my coffee Tuesday morning. Six o'clock. The light just coming. The yard quiet. Talking to Mama about the day ahead. The talking is its own prayer, sugar.

Mr. Henderson brought those pecans over with such good grace, and the pecan pie felt right for him — but it was the apple cake I kept thinking about all week, the kind of recipe that does not ask you to second-guess yourself, the kind that holds the same way the kitchen holds, the same way the room holds on a Tuesday. Bernice’s way was always by feel, and this cake bakes up the same: you mix it, you trust it, and it never misses. That is the whole lesson, sugar.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 55 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 15 minutes | Servings: 12

Ingredients

2 cups all-purpose flour
2 cups granulated sugar
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 large eggs, beaten
1/2 cup vegetable oil
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
4 cups peeled, cored, and diced apples (about 4 medium apples)
1 cup chopped pecans or walnuts (optional)

Instructions

Preheat the oven. Heat your oven to 350°F. Grease and lightly flour a 9x13-inch baking pan and set it aside.
Combine the dry ingredients. In a large mixing bowl, whisk together the flour, sugar, baking soda, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt until evenly blended.
Add the wet ingredients. Add the beaten eggs, vegetable oil, and vanilla extract directly to the dry mixture. Stir until just combined — the batter will be thick and dense, which is exactly right.
Fold in the apples. Add the diced apples and nuts if using, folding them in gently until evenly distributed throughout the batter.
Fill the pan and bake. Spread the batter evenly into the prepared pan. Bake for 50 to 55 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean and the top is deep golden brown.
Cool before slicing. Allow the cake to rest in the pan for at least 15 minutes before cutting. Serve warm or at room temperature, plain or with a dusting of powdered sugar.

Nutrition (per serving)

William Tell’s Never-Miss Apple Cake — When the Kitchen Is Holding, You Bake Something That Proves It