Plum Upside-Down Cake — The Fruit That Holds Its Shape

The lake was doing what the lake does this week: changing color hourly, sometimes by the minute, the way grief does. Iron gray at dawn. Steel blue by ten. Almost green by noon when the sun broke through. Pewter again by four. Black by six. I walked the lakefront with Sven on Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday and Saturday, and the lake was different every time, and the lake was the same every time, and both things are how it works. Jakob (Anna's middle, recently graduated) has a job. He hates the job. He is figuring it out. He called me Tuesday for advice. I told him: that is what your twenties are for. The first job is supposed to be unsatisfying. The first job teaches you what you do not want. He said, "Grandma, that is not super helpful." I said, "It is the truth. Helpful is not always the same as comforting." He laughed. He hung up. He kept the job for now. He will figure it out. Lena (Anna's youngest, college freshman) is in college now. She calls me sometimes. The calls are about boys, mostly. I listen. I do not give advice. I am eighteen-year-old's grandmother. My credibility on boys is suspect at best. I tell her the kinds of things a grandmother is supposed to tell her: be careful, be brave, trust your gut, do not date the one who reminds you of someone you do not like. She thinks I am wise. I am, in fact, just old. The two get confused sometimes in the right direction. I cooked Rhubarb crumble this week. Rhubarb from the garden, butter-and-oat crumble topping, baked until the rhubarb is jammy. Served warm with vanilla ice cream. Damiano Thursday: soup. The crowd was the usual size — about a hundred and twenty plates served between five and seven. Gerald and I worked side by side without talking. The not-talking was the friendship. The work has its own rhythm: ladle, hand, smile, ladle, hand, smile. The rhythm carries us through. I sat in the kitchen at 11 PM with a glass of wine and Paul's photograph. I did not cry. I just sat. The not-crying is its own form of being with him. We did not need to talk all the time when he was alive. We do not need to talk all the time now. The companionable silence has carried over. It is enough. It has to be. And on a morning like this, with the lake doing what the lake does and the dog at my feet and the bread on the counter and the kitchen warm enough to live in, it is. Paul used to say that the difference between a place and a home was that a home was a place where you knew, from any room, what was happening in any other room. I knew, from the kitchen, when he was reading in the living room. I knew, from the bedroom, when he was getting coffee in the kitchen. The Kenwood house is still that kind of home. From the kitchen I know that Sven is asleep on his bed in the dining room (the small specific snore). From the kitchen I know what time the radio in the living room is set to come on. The home is the body of knowledge of itself. I still live inside that body of knowledge, even though Paul is not the one creating most of the data anymore. I keep a small notebook on the kitchen counter — green spiral-bound, from the drugstore. I write in it most days. The notebook holds the things I do not want to forget — Erik's stories about Pappa, Karin's notes about Mormor, Sophie's first words about her babies, the recipes I have changed slightly and want to remember in their changed form. The notebook is a small museum. The museum will go to Anna eventually, and then to Sophie, and then to Sophie's daughter Ingrid, and then onward. It is enough.

The rhubarb from the garden went into a crumble early in the week, but by Thursday I found myself wanting something a little sturdier — something with more structure to it, a cake that holds its shape when you turn it out. Plums have been sitting on the counter since the farmers’ market, deep red and almost too ripe, and an upside-down cake felt exactly right: fruit on the bottom, batter poured over, the whole thing flipped at the end into something that looks more deliberate than it was. That is sometimes what cooking does for me in a week like this one — it gives the impression of intention even when you are mostly just moving through the hours.

Plum Upside-Down Cake

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 40 min | Total Time: 1 hr | Servings: 8

Ingredients

• 5–6 medium red or black plums, pitted and sliced 1/4 inch thick
• 4 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided
• 3/4 cup packed brown sugar, divided
• 1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
• 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
• 1/4 teaspoon fine salt
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1/2 cup granulated sugar
• 2 large eggs, room temperature
• 1/2 cup whole milk
• 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Instructions

1. Heat the oven. Preheat your oven to 350°F (175°C). Have a 9-inch round cake pan or cast-iron skillet ready.
2. Make the plum layer. Melt 2 tablespoons of the butter in a small saucepan over medium heat. Stir in 1/2 cup of the brown sugar and the lemon juice. Cook, stirring, for about 2 minutes until the sugar dissolves and the mixture is glossy. Pour into the bottom of the cake pan and tilt to coat evenly. Arrange the plum slices over the caramel in a single overlapping layer.
3. Mix the dry ingredients. Whisk together the flour, baking powder, salt, and cinnamon in a medium bowl. Set aside.
4. Cream butter and sugars. Beat the remaining 2 tablespoons butter with the granulated sugar and remaining 1/4 cup brown sugar in a large bowl until light, about 2 minutes. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each. Stir in the vanilla.
5. Combine the batter. Add the flour mixture to the butter mixture in two additions, alternating with the milk, beginning and ending with flour. Stir just until no dry streaks remain — do not overmix.
6. Pour and bake. Spoon the batter evenly over the plum layer, spreading gently to the edges. Bake for 38–42 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into the center of the cake (not the fruit layer) comes out clean and the top is deep golden.
7. Rest and invert. Let the cake cool in the pan on a wire rack for exactly 10 minutes — no longer, or the caramel will set and stick. Run a thin knife around the edge, place a serving plate over the pan, and invert in one confident motion. Leave the pan in place for 30 seconds, then lift it away. If any plum slices stick, simply press them back into place.
8. Serve. Serve warm or at room temperature. Good with vanilla ice cream, a spoonful of creme fraiche, or nothing at all.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 310 | Protein: 4g | Fat: 9g | Carbs: 54g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 135mg