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All in the family

Finishing up my series on food, nostalgia and coziness… the ultimate — my mom’s chocolate cake recipe. Oh my word you guys, all the praise hands and heart eyes for this cake and frosting.

The story on this cake is that it’s literally an answer to prayer. Mom had been on the lookout for a good chocolate cake recipe, sending up periodic requests for the right one to come her way. Then at a family reunion she had a piece and KNEW she had found it. She traced the cake to her cousin and the rest is delicious, fluffy, chocolatey-euphoric history.


The women in my family have a thing for desserts. We come by it honestly. My brother-in-law tells a story that when he and my sister were dating, he came over one night to find my mom walking on the treadmill… eating a piece of homemade fudge. I was doomed from the start. HA. There was another time she had just finished baking the most beautiful Oreo cheesecake and dropped it. We grabbed forks and ate it right off the kitchen floor, giggling the entire time. My mom has always made so many amazing desserts and pies from scratch, that for our birthdays we actually requested boxed cakes – FOR SOMETHING SPECIAL. (face palm) Now we know better. My other sister regularly cuts the recipe in half for an 8×8 pan like I did tonight. Otherwise, danger. We know the damage we are capable of.

Thanks Mom, for so many sweet memories topped off with a “Shelley-sized portion” of tastiness.

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Mary’s Christmas pickles

Continuing this week’s focus on the coziness of nostalgia and food… As a fan of all-things-vintage, I loved my future mother-in-law’s idea of throwing me a bridal shower complete with teacups, antique family heirlooms and her closest friends. It was a special, sentimental day I cherish.

But my dearest moment of the day happened just as I walked through the door. Mary – a retired college professor and family friend – immediately came to greet me carrying a small box. She was in the middle stages of Alzheimer’s, at the cruel and bittersweet intersection of complete lucidity and constantly losing words. Between her nervous laughter, hanging sentences and my focused listening, I was able to piece together that she was giving me a gift they’d received for their wedding… a stack of pristinely pressed (and seemingly unused) cloth napkins. So dear.

It wasn’t long before the disease robbed her from us. At her funeral, each person received a handwritten recipe card for the pickles Mary had always made during Christmas. I’ve been obsessed with these pickles since our dating years when I shared my first holidays with Kyle’s family. They’re simple to make, deliciously crunchy, and dill but sweet — basically the best of all pickle worlds. I look forward to the batches my father-in-law now makes in her honor. So today I pass Mary’s recipe on to you, typos and all.