The other evening I started writing a list of things I miss lately—but upon returning to it, I’ve decided on a different approach. Rather than talk about them wistfully, as if they’re too far gone, I’m going to talk about how much I like them. I’m going to catalog them as beautiful, shimmering, bright moments to look forward to, because they are all small things that I’ll happily encounter soon enough.
I’m guessing this holds true for you as well: the best-loved parts of life aren’t the grand gestures. The trips to Italy or the very fancy college graduation gift or your first roller coaster ride. It’s the taste of salty, butter-slicked pasta flecked with aged Parmesan on that Italy trip, or the way your boyfriend smiled both eagerly and tenderly when you unwrapped that gift, or the feeling of hot sun on your skin, sticky with cotton candy, when you stumbled dizzily off the ride.
Jack Gilbert has this beautiful poem (Highlights and Insterstices) where he writes, “We think of lifetimes as mostly the exceptional and sorrows. Marriage we remember as the children, vacations, and emergencies. The uncommon parts. But the best is often when nothing is happening//Our lives happen between the memorable.”
The trick—I think—lies in breaking apart that word: memorable. We’d do well to remember the non-memorable parts. To celebrate them. To broadcast them.
So here’s my list (forgive me for so many lists lately, but they’re the simplest way to marshal my thoughts onto the page these days give the little one in my arms (and occupying most of my mind).
I’m thinking about summer and how much I like warm fragrant nights, the air humid and heavy with the promise of rain.
I like the smell of freshly cut grass. I like the way dew glistens wetly on each bright green blade in the cool hours of the early morning, reminding me of beads of perspiration collecting on the outside of a cocktail glass that sweats slightly in your hand in a hot, humid, crowded bar in July on West 12th Street. I like being in a bar just like that, just at that time, clustered amongst people spilling out onto the sidewalk as dusk falls, the energy around you as palpable as the low, thrumming beat of music from the restaurant next door.
I like standing in line outside my favorite ice cream shop in Princeton, New Jersey—the line snaking out of the door long enough to study the handwritten flavors posted on colored signs. I like the closeness of people in the tiny shop, and sampling a few flavors before I choose: lavender mascarpone and passionfruit cassis and dark chocolate cardamom orange. I like that the strawberry ice cream tastes like real strawberries, and I like getting a scoop of dark chocolate sorbet and a scoop of coconut sorbet and eating a bit of both in each tiny bite.
I like slipping underneath crisp, clean cotton sheets at home on the farm knowing that my sisters are sleeping next door and already awaiting the buzz and clamor of the morning: tiny feet on the stairs, a dog barking at the screen door, pans clattering on the stove for scrambled eggs, and so on.
I like eating raspberries that have been sitting in the sun getting warm and squishy. I like the way the kitchen smells at home when there’s chocolate biscotti in the oven. I like the taste of raw Jersey cow’s milk: creamier and more complex and slightly wilder than pasteurized store-bought milk.
Before I dive into all of things again (some sooner than later), we can at least make a cake to celebrate some of them: fresh berries and that creamy, rich milk flavor and…well…pleasure in general.
This is a celebration cake in big and small ways: it’s exceptionally pretty, so it would make a nice birthday cake or party cake. But it's easy to make and doesn’t have any assembly—unlike a layer cake or frosted cake—so I consider it more of an everyday cake. A “elevate-the-ordinary” kind of cake.
You start by making a simple cake batter. I use yogurt here, but sour cream or buttermilk would work as well—all of these ingredients will create a tender, close, moist crumb. I add lots of vanilla, but another good option would be a lemon version; to do that, just use 1 teaspoon of vanilla and rub the zest of two lemons into the sugar before you cream it with the butter.
The cake is wonderfully good on its own, in a humble, satisfying way, much like a very good pound cake.
But of course, you’re here for the fresh berry glaze. We all are! It’s pink! It’s gorgeous! It makes me think of luscious wedges of tropical fruit and bouquets of flowers and painted toes and bright lipsticks lined up at a makeup counter. It makes me think of words I love: peony, poppy, geranium, punch, fuchsia, coral, bubblegum.
I based the method off of one from the lovely Erin McDowell from her book, The Fearless Baker. I use raspberries, but any berry will work: strawberries for pink, or try blueberries or blackberries for a pretty purple-ish shade.
If you find the color isn’t bright enough, there’s a little trick you can try: pulverize some freeze-dried berries into a powder (use a blender or food processor) and whisk that into the confectioner’s sugar before adding it.
You might want to try this if you want a brighter color than you’re getting—it’s better than trying to add more fruit puree, which will make the glaze too loose to drip and set properly.
Berry Glazed Bundt Cake
Makes one large Bundt cake
For the cake
1 cup (198g) granulated sugar
1/3 cup (75g) butter, softened
3 eggs, at room temperature
2 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups (340g) full-fat yogurt (plain or Greek) or sour cream
2 1/2 cups (300g) all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
3/4 teaspoon salt
For the glaze
2 cups (240g) fresh berries
3 tablespoons granulated sugar
1 1/2 to 2 cups confectioners’ sugar
3 tablespoons heavy cream, as needed
To make the cake: Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Grease a 10-cup Bundt pan very well. I always use Everbake pan spray—you want every crevasse well-greased. Sprinkle some granulated sugar into the pan and turn it over, tapping to release any excess sugar. The sugar helps prevent the cake from sticking.
In the bowl of a stand mixer, beat together the sugar and butter until pale and fluffy, about 3-5 minutes on medium-high speed.
Add the eggs, one at a time, and beat well between each.
Beat in the vanilla, then the yogurt (or sour cream).
Add the flour, baking powder, and salt and mix until the batter comes together and no streaks of flour remain, but don’t overmix.
Scrape the batter into your prepared pan and bake for 55 to 70 minutes (I find baking times for Bundt cakes to be very hard to pin down, so start checking around 55 minutes but know it could take considerably longer. It’s ready when a knife or tester inserted into the center comes out clean with no wet batter clinging to it.)
Remove from the oven and let cool for about 15 minutes before turning it out of the pan. Don’t do this sooner and don’t wait much longer!
Let the cake cool fully on a wire rack before adding the glaze.
To make the glaze: Cook the berries with the granulated sugar in a saucepan set over medium-low heat. Cook for about 10 minutes until the berries release their juices—it helps to mash them a bit as they cook to encourage them along.
Press the berry mixture through a sieve to remove all the seeds and skin. Whisk the remaining puree with the confectioners’ sugar—start with the smaller amount and add more until you get to the desired consistency. Add a bit of heavy cream too if needed—you are trying to get a consistency that will slowly drip off a spoon but should be thick and viscous, not loose and liquidy.
Pour the glaze slowly over the cake and let it set before slicing.