People ask me all the time if our apple cake is really my great-grandmother’s recipe, and I can resoundingly say—yes, it absolutely is. I’ll never share the recipe (that’s staying in the family vault), but I can tell you this: it’s been made with love, laughter, and just a touch of chaos across generations, and every bite feels like home.
Growing up, we didn’t have the means to buy Christmas gifts for friends, neighbors, or coworkers. Instead, my mom would spend days baking apple cakes to share. It was a true labor of love, and she often drafted us kids into service to peel, slice, or mix—though most of the “helping” turned into squabbles over who got to lick the bowl or the beater. Even when we were sent off to bed, I’d wake to the smell of cinnamon and apples and hear Mom quietly swapping cakes in the oven at 2 a.m. She had the sharpest internal alarm clock I’ve ever known. That smell—warm apples and cinnamon—would fill the whole house. To this day, it’s the kind of scent memory that pulls me right back to childhood.
So, when Dennis asked if I’d make Maw Maw’s Apple Cake for Dixie Farms, I hesitated. For me, apple cake wasn’t just dessert—it was Christmas. It was memories of my mom, standing in the kitchen with that smell filling the house. Food has a way of doing that—carrying us back to people and places we love. I worried that if I baked it too often, I might lose that magic, that it would become too common. But I said yes, and I’m glad I did.
About 300 cakes later, I still think of Mom every time one comes out of the oven. These days I make around six cakes a week (give or take, depending on events), and every time someone buys a slice, I imagine her smiling and saying, “Hooked another one.”
If you’ve never had it, let me warn you: this isn’t your average cake. It’s part bread pudding, part streusel, and all heart. The kind of cake you try once… and then regret, because you’ll never stop wanting more.
So go ahead—give it a try. Just know that Maw Maw’s got you hooked.
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