Heavy rainfall three days ago melted the heaps of snow that had piled up against the boxwoods in front of the house. Once the clouds cleared, the sun appeared against a sky painted all lustrous, sheer blue—ice on the roof dripped in slow, languid trickles down the kitchen windows. The intervening days have been cold but sunny: they feel like spring, like I’m stepping outside into the words green and fresh.
I’ve been running in just a thick long-sleeved running top and no hat; breathing in deep gulps of this chilly morning air seems to make me faster and more energetic, like I’m shaking off the deep winter just as the world around me is.
The beginnings of each season thrill me so deeply—every time one comes around it feels like I’m re-discovering and re-remembering all the small moments specific to fall, or spring, or summer, and I’m delighted anew.
The cool, crisp dampness as winter recedes and spring edges closer seems to flip a switch, and I’m awash in images, like a movie is playing behind my eyes.
I picture buckets full of peonies and ranunculus, their petals tightly curled like closed fists, all shades of magenta and ballet slipper pink and the pale blushing orange of a ripe peach.
A lawn mower cutting neat swaths through thick emerald glass, the dewy blades clinging to my bare feet when I step outside, the fresh earthy smell hanging in the air.
A mason jar full of tulips, their stems fat and stiff, the blooms upright as if standing at attention.
Bowls of citrus. Raspberry pavlova: pillowy rounds of meringue—all spiky edges and rumpled curves—tinted a muted cerise with raspberry puree and piled high with drifts of whipped cream.
White linen and thick cotton quilted pillow shams printed in cerulean blue paisley. Lemon curd dripping thickly from a heavy silver spoon.
Speckled candy-colored shells of Cadbury eggs; the way their hard coating cracks delicately under my teeth, giving way to smooth milky chocolate that melts slowly on my tongue, the last disc of it warm and sweet. The misty fragrance of moss just after rain.
A fitted white t-shirt tucked into faded classic Levi’s. A lacquered tray on a bathroom counter with a bottle of tangerine-colored nail polish and a round glass vial of Acqua di Parma perfume, swirls of goldenrod yellow letters on its stamped label.
Swimming pools—each rectangle of turquoise glistening against the slate tiles. The jaunty green of a tennis court and the thwack of balls against racquets, white tennis skirts and the crisp collar of white polo shirts popping against the green green green of it all.
Lilacs blossoming, their scent heavy in the morning air. Honeysuckles unfurling their tender vines, climbing up the weathered planks of the fence by the cow pasture.
More greenery: the pale, eager stalks of asparagus. Tiny wild fiddlehead ferns, sauteed in butter and spooned over polenta. More fiddleheads, these ones piled on top of puffy focaccia dough and baked, their whorled forms pressed into the olive oil-soaked bread.
The lilting, tittering chatter of birdsong in the early mornings—the magnolia warblers, the yellow-throated vireos, the ruby-crowned kinglets, the Eastern phoebes—as noisy as an alarm clock as they call back and forth over the dogwood trees.
Spring is a riot of color in my mind: robin’s egg blue, gauzy cotton-white, lavender so delicate it’s nearly opaque, and herbal greens from basil to mint to a pale sage.
And pink of course: so luscious I want to wreathe myself in it—a silk skirt in poppy pink swishing against my skin, primrose-colored lipstick, an armful of bubblegum-pink dahlias, a tart grapefruit loaf cake—its crumb as close and delicate as pound cake—painted with a bright pink glaze.
Notes: Use the best-quality olive oil you can find for this recipe; you’ll taste the difference!
For the glaze, you have a couple options to make it naturally pink! I’ve used blood orange juice, but as that’s not always easy to come by, you can also add beet juice or raspberry puree (start with a few drops and work your way up until you get the color you want—add lots to get a bright fiuchsia color or just a little for a pale pink shade). If you don’t mind a more speckled appearance, you can mix in some powdered freeze-dried raspberries or strawberries. Depending on what you use, you may need to thin the glaze with some lukewarm water until it’s pourable but still thick.
Grapefruit Cardamom Olive Oil Cake with Pink Glaze
For the cake
1 1/2 cups (180g) all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon ground cardamom
3 eggs, at room temperature
1 cup (198g) + 1 tablespoon granulated sugar
1 tablespoon grated grapefruit zest
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup (100g) olive oil
1/4 cup (56g) milk
3/4 cup (170g) whole-milk Greek yogurt (or creme fraiche)
1/3 cup (75g) freshly squeezed grapefruit juice
For the glaze
2 cups confectioners’ sugar, sifted
2 to 3 tablespoons freshly squeezed blood orange juice (or see above for other options)
pinch of salt
Preheat the oven to 350°F. Grease an 8 1/2” by 4 1/4” loaf pan. Line the bottom with parchment paper. Grease and flour the pan.
Combine 1 cup of the sugar with the zest in a large bowl and rub the zest into the sugar with your fingertips until fragrant. Add the eggs, vanilla, olive oil, milk, and yogurt and whisk to combine.
Sift together the flour, baking powder, salt, and cardamom in a separate bowl.
Slowly whisk the dry ingredients into the wet ingredients until just combined.
Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake for about 50 minutes, or until a tester placed in the center of the loaf comes out clean. It may take closer to an hour but check at 50 minutes.
Right before the cake is ready, cook the 1/3 cup grapefruit juice and remaining 1 tablespoon sugar in a small saucepan or skillet over medium heat until the sugar dissolves and the mixture is clear. Set aside.
When the cake is done, allow it to cool in the pan for 10 minutes. Carefully place on a baking rack over a sheet pan. While the cake is still warm, poke tiny holes into the cake using a skewer or chopstick and pour the grapefruit-sugar mixture all over the cake and allow it to soak in. Cool the cake fully.
While the cake cools, make the glaze. Whisk together the confectioners’ sugar with the blood orange juice and salt, adding more juice as needed to make a pourable but thick glaze. Once the cake is fully cooled, pour the glaze over the top of the cake and let set.