I am a transplant to the great north. I came here from the American southeast. Some people will argue with me that my home state of Virginia is more mid-Atlantic than south, but for anyone who was reared in the Virginia tidewater, it’s the south, through and through. My ties to the south reach west from Virginia into Tennessee, where my mom is from. Home for that side of my family is anywhere between the big city of Nashville to the hollers (that’s hollows for the rest of you) of Gainesboro, where maybe a few of my relatives in the 1920s ran moonshine and whiskey stills during Prohibition.

 Much of what has brought my family together throughout my life has been food. And food in the south is as much about breathing air as anything else. Every woman in my family, from my late grandmother, Charlotte, to my aunts, to my own mother, has taken the bounty of southern cuisine and put their own indelible stamp on it. It’s given me so much joy through the years—and not just the taste of the food itself, but the stories and traditions and memories that are rooted deep in my mind. They’re rooted in good times and sad times. They’ve marked the passings of anniversaries and holidays. They are rooted as deep as any potato and they are as brilliant as any vine of tomatoes in a southern woman’s garden. When I was young, I felt like I should run from those roots. Today, they are the great bounty of my best memories.

 There are recipes that make me feel warm inside in a different way than the satisfaction of making my own food well. My mom’s fried chicken. Her German potato salad. The deep southern roots of chocolate gravy over homemade biscuits. My grandmother’s pot roasts and her marble cake. And my mom’s apple cake. My mother has had this recipe for over 40 years and each time it made a return engagement during the holiday season, I knew it was going to be a good time for us. My mom doesn’t bake when she’s not happy. She loves to surprise people with delicious home-made cakes, cobblers, meringues, and cookies during this time of the year. Even when there have been times when my mom and I didn’t see eye-to-eye, I thought about her apple cake and the smells it heralded throughout the house: scents of spice, tart apples beckoning twinkling lights and gift wrap, the promise of familial peace, and the gastronomical reminder that we share history—good, difficult, wondrous, and binding. The ingredients are pure and simple. The emotions are delightfully sweet and complex. Food does that for us. As for me, I think this is the furthest north my family’s apple cake has been. Here’s to old traditions shared with new friends.

 Fresh Apple Cake

4 cups peeled, sliced Granny Smith apples
2 cups sugar
2 cups self-rising flour
2 teaspoons cinnamon
2 eggs
3/4 cup vegetable oil
2 teaspoons vanilla
1 cup chopped pecans

 Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In a large bowl stir together apples and sugar. Add dry ingredients; stir well. In a separate bowl, beat eggs oil and vanilla. Stir in egg mixture into apple mixture, blending until throughly moistened.  Stir in pecans. Pour into a greased 13x9x2 inch pan. Bake 50 minutes or until cake springs back when lightly pressed. Serve wth apple dessert sauce. 

 Apple Dessert Sauce

1 cup sugar
1/2 cup butter
1/2 cup of heavy cream
1 teaspoon vanilla 

 Place all ingredients in a saucepan; stir. Bring to boil over medium heat and cook 3 minutes. Pour over Apple Cake. Serve warm. (This Apple Dessert Sauce recipe may be cut in half).