Ultimate Apple Cake

There are few things in life which we are not, as some point or another, trying to improve. We resolve to get in better shape, to be a better friend, to turn off the TV. We vow to improve our productivity, our relationships, our finances. Become better cooks, better lovers, better thinkers, better sleepers. We’re going to eat more vegetables, buy nicer homes, update our wardrobes. Better! We could always be better.

But I have good news, my friends. This apple cake right here? Can’t be improved. Not even a little bit. I photographed these babies with little pats of butter, but to to be honest, that was a bit obscene on my part. This cake in no way necessitates butter. I mean, it’s cake. That’s the funny thing, though — judging only by appearances, this could totally pass for a bread. It looks innocent enough. It’s got fruit in it.

Which may explain why, when my grandmother baked this around Christmastime last year, my boyfriend and I kept referring to it that way. This apple bread, we would say. Amazing! We gobbled it down for breakfast by the thick, rich slice, not even bothering with a fork. We’d cut little slivers throughout the day, because everyone knows it doesn’t count when you eat something in small pieces. And then right around midnight, after everyone else was fast asleep, we’d sneak down to the kitchen to eat some more. Man, that apple bread was good stuff.

And then, one night, as we sat feasting quietly away in the kitchen, the lights dim, we struck upon an epiphany. Wait a second, my boyfriend said, scooping up a plump piece of apple that had escaped from its spiced, buttery nook. This isn’t bread — this is CAKE!

Alas, there was no denying it. This was indeed a cake, masquerading as an innocent, fruit-filled bread. We had been deceived — or had we been deceiving ourselves? Sure, it looked sort of like a bread. But the taste was undeniably cake. Pleasantly dense, but still tender. Smelling of warm cinnamon and a hint of nutmeg. The outside craggy and a little crisp, the inside rich and moist with chunks of pillowy soft apples, bursts of sweet dates, and hunks of crunchy walnuts.

The recipe is one of my grandmother’s tried and true, one that was given to her decades ago by her friend Margie. When it comes down to it, what you call it is beside the point. This bread/cake/sweet mess of deliciousness is utterly perfect no matter the name.