A Waft of Memories

A Waft of Memories

D. A. Ratliff

A waft of ginger greeted me as I entered my neighborhood bakery. A batch of freshly baked ginger cookies sat on the counter, waiting to be placed in the case. The spicy aroma lured me inside, and I ordered a dozen cookies before they left the baking tray. After making my purchases, I returned to my car and grabbed a cookie out of the bag.

One bite of the soft, warm cookie flavored with ginger, cinnamon, and a hint of molasses took me back to my childhood. Visiting my grandparents in Kentucky, there was always an abundance of food, but my favorite was my Granny Stella’s Gingerbread Stack Cake.

My Appalachian maternal grandmother stood four feet nine and weighed eighty-five pounds soaking wet, but she was formidable when it came to cooking. Once, when I was twelve, I accompanied her to the grocery store, where she headed straight for the meat department. The second the butchers spotted her, they lined up in a row, waiting for her orders.

Those men responded that way because of her kindness, personality, and tasty cooking, not because she was demanding. It was known in the community that if you were hungry, go to Aunt Stella’s, as everyone called her. There was always something on the stove—beef stew, soup beans, chicken, and dumplings—ready for company.

During the Depression, my grandfather was fortunate enough to have a job on the railroad, but many in the community did not and went hungry. Granny decided she could help, and although not much older than the students, she became a cook in the lunchroom at the only school. Often using her money for ingredients, she cooked more food than needed for lunch. As the kids came through for their noon meal, many brought pails that she filled up for that family’s dinner. Years later, when she would show up at a church supper or some other event, those same students, mostly grown men, would run to help Aunt Stella with whatever she brought, hoping for the first bite.

I had the pleasure of eating her food into my twenties, and there are so many dishes that qualify as one with personal significance that it was always difficult to choose my favorite. As I savored the cookie, I thought of Granny’s Gingerbread Stack Cake, and it triggered a comforting warmth and old childhood memories.

Kentucky Sorghum festivals took place in the fall. My father loaded up the car with relatives, and another carload would follow and take us to the festival in his hometown. On a hill overlooking the tiny community, we watched horses stomp on sugarcane to break up the stalks and then walk in circles, winding the presses that extracted the syrup to make molasses.

The syrup was boiled for hours and then placed in Mason jars, which were too hot to hold. The grownups kept my cousin and me away from the jars, fearing we would get burned. I remember the air filled with the sweet, rich scent of the sugar syrup as it thickened and darkened into a rich caramel color.

The newly purchased jars of the magical elixir were transported with care to Granny’s house, where we anticipated what was to come. It was Saturday night, and Granny would make a Gingerbread Stack Cake with fresh molasses for Sunday dinner.

Granny Stella possessed an enormous stoneware crock that felt like it weighed as much as she did. She would place it on the kitchen table and gather the ingredients. Using a tin cup, she scooped flour from an equally enormous tin container into the bowl. When done, she made a well in the flour’s center and added the liquid ingredients. First in, buttermilk, its tangy aroma filling the room. Granny broke the eggs into the well, added a bit of vanilla, and swirled those together with her fingers, never disturbing the flour.

Then, the magic began. Granny opened the Mason jar that held homemade molasses, and the aroma of the earthy caramel smell filled the warm kitchen. She poured the thick liquid into the flour well without measuring and swirled the mixture again with her fingers. Next, she added the spices and the sweet scents of ginger, cinnamon, and a hint of nutmeg, mixed with the aroma of molasses, which made our taste buds yearn for a bite.

Granny mixed and then kneaded the ingredients until she had a thick dough. She removed the large dough ball from the bowl and deftly cut the ball equally into the number of layers she needed, reserving a ball of dough. After greasing an iron skillet, she pressed the dough with her fingers into an even layer and into the coal stove oven, two iron skillets at a time. We didn’t have to wait long for the aroma of freshly baked gingerbread to fill the kitchen. Skillet after skillet filled with dough until there were ten thin cakes ready for the filling of homemade apple butter.

But my dad and I waited for the real treat—the leftover dough ball. Before stacking the cake, Granny took an old tin square baking pan, pressed the dough into it, and then cut it into square biscuits. When the gingerbread shortcakes, as Granny called them, were done, it was customary for her to hand my dad and me the first small cakes. Too hot to handle, we eagerly ate, savoring the spicy delight.

Once the layers were covered in apple butter, she wrapped the cake in waxed paper and plastic wrap and put it into the refrigerator, not to be eaten until Sunday dinner. It was a most challenging task to wait for all of us, but after church and dinner, the main event finally arrived—time for stack cake.

My grandmother sliced the cake, revealing the multiple layers of cake and apple butter to a chorus of oohs and aahs. That first piece of cake didn’t last long, and we held out our plates for a second helping.

A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I remembered the sweet apple butter and ginger. We take so many things for granted, but we should—we must—stop for a few moments and remember these moments of joy from our past.

I grabbed another ginger cookie and pulled out onto the street. My direction? The grocery store. It was time to make Granny Stella’s Gingerbread Stack Cake for my family. The tradition lives on.

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Granny Stella’s Gingerbread Stack Cake

Ingredients

16 cups all-purpose flour

½ cup buttermilk

½ cup molasses

3 eggs

1 tsp vanilla

½ cup white sugar

¾ cup brown sugar

1 tsp soda

1tsp baking powder

1 ¼ tsp salt

1 ¼ tsp cinnamon

1 ¼ tsp allspice

1 ¼ tsp ginger

⅛ tsp nutmeg

½ cup solid shortening or lard

Directions

• Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
• Measure flour into a large bowl or crock. Make a well in the center of the flour and pour liquid (buttermilk, molasses, eggs) into it. Mix in remaining ingredients well with your hands.
• Knead until mixture has the texture of biscuit dough. (If too dry, add a bit more buttermilk).
• Divide into 10 sections. Roll into balls. (Wrap unbaked dough in plastic wrap until ready to bake.
• Grease a 10” iron skillet with shortening (for each layer).
• Spread one dough ball into a cast iron skillet until the layer is smooth and thin.
• Bake each layer, one at a time, 375 degrees, until brown, 15 to 20 minutes. Do not overbake.
• Cool, and then spread apple butter between the layers and stack.

You may substitute dried apple compote or applesauce for the apple butter.

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Author’s note: Any leftover dough can be formed into a square about ¾ inches, cut into biscuits, and baked in a square pan. Bake time will vary depending on the thickness of the biscuits.

Recipes for Apple Butter can be found online, or jars are available in grocery stores, specialty shops, and online.