The years since my mother’s death have been ones of discovery. There were pictures I uncovered, wonderful memories that were shared. So many things. But one that has been quite remarkable is her recipes, which I thought had been buried with her. Momma’s Pound Cake was at the top of the list.
I’d made a pound cake that was passably good over the Christmas holiday, and commented to my youngest daughter, Taylor, that I wish I had Mimi’s — that’s what her grandchildren called my mom — Pound Cake. Told her I’d been looking for it for years.
Anne BralyTaylor’s surprise: “Momma, I have Mimi’s Pound Cake recipe. It’s in one of her old cookbooks that I have.”
I was dumbfounded. Speechless. Beyond excited.
When she got home to Atlanta, she took a picture of the recipe and texted it to me and, even through the miles, I could see the stains left on the paper from years of baking. I could almost picture Momma adding the sour cream to the batter and spilling just a bit on the page, wiping it off with the nearest kitchen towel, then wiping her hands on her apron.