Every Christmas, my grandmother makes what she calls “Grinch cake.” Essentially, it’s a pistachio bundt cake with extra green food coloring, but to me, it’s much more than that.
The first Christmas that I was old enough to walk, I walked into the kitchen and saw the glorious Grinch cake, taunting me as it were, sitting next to the sink. I stood away from the counter, trying to judge its approximate distance from the edge because once I actually walked up to the counter, I was too short to see over it. I struggled and reached and grabbed what I could grab of the spongy confection, leaving crumbs in my wake and telltale claw marks in the cake. While everyone else was in the living room watching The Little Drummer Boy, I made frequent trips back to the kitchen, clutching handfuls of the cake each time. Eventually, my mother grew suspicious over why I was going to the kitchen and followed me. I was busted.
When it came time for dessert, my family split up what was left of the cake, about half of it as I was told. From that year on, my grandmother had to make two Grinch cakes, one for everyone to eat (which was kept above the fridge) and a cake left on the counter for me to pick at. Now, not only did I have the taste of the cake to enjoy, but it had also become a sort of ritualistic game and a family in-joke for sure. It has ever since been an important part of my Christmas experience, something that helps me “…to remember the warmth and laughter surrounding family gatherings…”. Even now at 24 years old, my grandma makes me a mini-Grinch cake to take home and eat.
I’ve had other pistachio cakes since then, but none of them compare to my grandma’s Grinch cake.
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