Chewy Chocolate-Cherry Bars

Easter triduum at St. Patrick's. Lourdes did the whole thing. I did most of it. Two trauma cases stayed with me through the weekend. I cooked through them.

Lourdes is 76. She is slower. She still cooks. She still tells me to find a husband even though I have one.

I made cassava cake Saturday. The grated cassava, the coconut milk, the slow bake. The cake that holds Iloilo in it.

I wrote the blog post Friday night at the kitchen table while Reyna napped on the couch. The post was short. The post was honest.

The week was ordinary. The ordinary is the point now. The ordinary is the keeping.

The light was good Saturday morning. I sat on the porch with a cup of coffee and watched the inlet for forty minutes. The watching was the small therapy. The therapy was free.

The salmon in the freezer is from August. Joseph's catch. The bag is labeled in his handwriting — "for Grace." I will use it next week.

I read three chapters of the novel Saturday night before sleep. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The nurse was being undone by her work. I knew the unraveling. I had lived the unraveling. I read on. The reading was the witnessing.

I read a chapter of a novel before bed each night this week. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The novel was good. The novel was, in some way, my own life adjacent.

I drove the Glenn Highway out to Eklutna on Saturday. The mountains were the mountains. The lake was the lake. The body needed the open road. The open road did its work.

The therapy session this month was about pacing. Dr. Reeves said, "Grace. The pacing is the love for the future self." I am working on the pacing. The pacing is harder than the loving.

I cleaned the kitchen Sunday afternoon. I wiped the stove. I scrubbed the sink. I reorganized the spice cabinet. The cleaning was the small reset. The reset was the marker. The marker said: the week is over, the next week begins, the kitchen is ready.

The break room had cake Tuesday. Someone's birthday. We ate the cake. We did not ask whose birthday. The cake was the cake.

A blog reader sent me a photograph of her grandmother's wooden mortar and pestle, used since 1962. The photograph was holy. I wrote her back. The writing back is the work.

The Anchorage sky was the Anchorage sky. The mountains were the mountains. The inlet was the inlet. The geography was the geography.

The grocery store had no calamansi. I substituted lime. The substitution was acceptable. The acceptable is the working version of perfect.

Auntie Norma called Sunday to ask if I had a recipe for a particular merienda from Iloilo. I did not. I said I would ask Lourdes. I asked Lourdes. Lourdes had it. The chain.

Pete and I had a long phone conversation Tuesday. We talked about the family — his and mine. The talking was the keeping.

I drove home Tuesday evening and the sun set at three forty-five and the highway was already iced at the bridges and the radio was on a station I did not recognize and I did not change it.

I made tea late at night. The tea was the small comfort. The comfort was the marker.

The neighbors invited us over for a small dinner Thursday. They are an Iñupiaq family — Aana and her grandson Joe. We ate caribou stew and rice. I brought lumpia. The kitchens of Anchorage have always been the small UN. The food is the proof.

The cassava cake was Saturday’s work — Lourdes’s recipe, really, even if my hands made it. But the week asked for something else too, something I could pull together without ceremony on a quiet evening, something chewy and a little dark and forgiving of substitutions. These chocolate-cherry bars are that recipe. The grocery store had no calamansi, but it had cherries, and the acceptable is the working version of perfect. I made these the same way I kept the week: one step at a time, in a kitchen that was ready.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 28 minutes | Total Time: 43 minutes | Servings: 24 bars

Ingredients

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, melted and slightly cooled
2 cups granulated sugar
4 large eggs, room temperature
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
1 cup all-purpose flour
2/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt
1 cup dried tart cherries (or maraschino cherries, well drained and patted dry)
1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
Flaky salt, for finishing (optional)

Instructions

Preheat and prepare. Heat oven to 350°F. Grease a 9x13-inch baking pan and line with parchment, leaving an overhang on the long sides for easy lifting.
Combine wet ingredients. In a large bowl, whisk together the melted butter and sugar until smooth. Add the eggs one at a time, whisking well after each addition. Stir in the vanilla.
Add dry ingredients. Sift the flour, cocoa powder, and salt directly into the bowl. Fold gently with a spatula until just combined — do not overmix.
Fold in the mix-ins. Fold in the cherries and chocolate chips, distributing them evenly through the batter.
Spread and bake. Pour the batter into the prepared pan and spread into an even layer. Scatter flaky salt over the top if using. Bake 26–30 minutes, until the center is just set and a toothpick comes out with moist crumbs (not wet batter).
Cool completely before cutting. Set the pan on a wire rack and let cool fully, at least 1 hour. Lift out using the parchment overhang and cut into 24 bars. The chew improves as they cool — patience is worth it.

Nutrition (per serving)

Chewy Chocolate-Cherry Bars — The Baking That Carries You Through