Grandma’s Beloved Baked Lemon Pudding Cake: A Timeless Recipe for Comfort and Nostalgia

There are conversations that resonate deeply, triggering unexpected waves of emotion and memory. Last night, such a conversation unfolded between a friend and me, centered on the most influential figures of our childhoods: our grandmothers. My friend spoke of her grandma Ruby, now in a home in Drumheller, experiencing the cruel fading of memory, even of her beloved granddaughter. My own thoughts drifted to my Grandma Woodall, Madelon, a woman whose hands, once adept at baking, were stilled by a stroke a decade ago, leaving behind a profound void.

Standing amidst the quiet hum of a work-related party, a sudden, powerful pang of missing her washed over me. The realization of my mom’s decade-long grief, and my friend’s current, unfolding sadness, was almost overwhelming. I clenched my jaw, focusing intently on the clink of glasses and the muted chatter, determined not to let the well of tears spill into my wine.

Since I can no longer pick up the phone to hear her voice or drive to Riverside Drive in Windsor, Ontario, to visit her home across from Detroit, I sought connection in the most tangible way I knew: through her legacy of food. I retrieved one of her handwritten recipes, a well-loved, splattered card for lemon pudding cake. It was one of her more celebrated creations, yet for reasons I can’t quite recall, I hadn’t tasted it in perhaps two decades. This simple act of choosing her recipe felt like reaching across time, a whisper of connection.

A Culinary Journey Through Memory: Grandma’s Lemon Pudding Cake

Each drip, each crumb on that faded recipe card tells a story, prompting questions that echo in my mind. What was happening the day she wrote this? Who was she cooking for? Was she standing at her kitchen counter, hand-held beaters whirring, gazing out over the water of the Detroit River? Perhaps she was wearing one of her crisply ironed, striped tennis dresses, the alligator emblem a familiar sight on her chest.

Pudding cake, in its essence, is pure comfort food – what some might call “nursery food.” Not in the sense of being exclusively for invalids or toddlers, but rather in that deeply satisfying way that makes you wish someone, preferably a grandmother, would make it just for you. As I embarked on this baking project, I confess my modern culinary brain tried to second-guess her method. Had this recipe come from an anonymous source, I might have approached it differently, perhaps streamlining a step or two. But this wasn’t just any recipe; it was a conduit, an attempt to connect with her, to stir up a potent wave of nostalgia. So, I followed her instructions faithfully, trusting her wisdom. And, of course, it worked perfectly, just as she had written it.

I did allow myself a couple of minor, instinctive adjustments, subtle nods to my own baking style while honoring her original intent. Instead of just softened butter, I melted it, finding it easier to incorporate into the egg yolk, lemon juice, and milk mixture. And rather than meticulously measuring two teaspoons of lemon zest, I grated the zest of an entire, vibrant lemon. My philosophy has always been, the more lemon, the better. That bright, aromatic burst of citrus is simply unparalleled.

The Timeless Allure of Lemon: A Flavor for All Seasons

It’s curious how lemon has become so strongly associated with spring. Its bright, sunny disposition certainly evokes images of fresh growth and renewal. Yet, citrus fruits are inherently winter produce, reaching their peak sweetness and juiciness precisely when berries and peaches have long vanished from the market. This makes lemon an incredibly versatile flavor, capable of brightening even the darkest days of winter, or offering a refreshing counterpoint to the richness of holiday meals.

In fact, this very thought led me to a delicious contemplation: why not serve this lemon pudding cake for Thanksgiving dessert? It would be a wonderful way to extend Grandma’s presence at our family table, a sweet echo of her love. I know, I know – pumpkin pie is the quintessential, almost obligatory, Thanksgiving dessert. I truly envy those who adore it. As a child, I frankly detested it; it tasted to me like spiced squash mush, a sad excuse for a pie. While I’ve matured enough not to actively dislike it now, and can even enjoy a forkful (provided the ratio of whipped cream to pie is at least 2:1), I still don’t truly love it. And while the culinary world offers myriad other seasonal pumpkin recipes, the idea of a dense wedge of pumpkin cake after a substantial turkey dinner doesn’t quite appeal. Having never been a fan of the pie, I’m not so attached to pumpkin itself that I feel compelled to create a new dessert vehicle for it. Given the choice, I’d choose lemon over pumpkin any day of the week, especially for a festive occasion when a palate-cleansing brightness is much appreciated.

Before diving into the specifics of this delightful recipe, a quick, useful tip I learned from the late, great James Barber: when squeezing lemon juice, cup your hand and let the juice stream through your fingers. They’ll perfectly catch all those pesky pips, saving you the hassle of fishing them out later.

Grandma Madelon’s Baked Lemon Pudding Cake: The Recipe

This pudding-cake is remarkably simple yet yields an incredibly satisfying result, a testament to Grandma Madelon’s intuitive baking prowess. It bakes into two distinct layers: a light, airy sponge cake on top, and a luscious, tangy lemon pudding underneath, all created from a single batter.

Ingredients:

1 cup granulated sugar, divided
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
3 large eggs, separated
1/4 cup unsalted butter, melted
Zest of 2 large lemons (or one very large lemon, grated generously)
1/2 cup fresh lemon juice (from 2-3 lemons, approximately)
1 cup whole milk
Confectioners’ sugar, for dusting (optional)
Whipped cream or fresh berries, for serving (optional)

Instructions:

Preheat and Prepare: Preheat your oven to 350°F (175°C). Grease a 9×9 inch (23×23 cm) square casserole dish or similar baking dish. For a truly authentic touch, as Grandma might have done, use a square of waxed paper swiped through softened butter to thoroughly grease the dish, ensuring every corner is coated.
Make the Batter Base: In a large mixing bowl, combine 3/4 cup of the granulated sugar, the all-purpose flour, baking powder, and salt. Whisk these dry ingredients together thoroughly.
Combine Wet Ingredients (Part 1): In a separate medium bowl, whisk together the egg yolks, melted butter, lemon zest, fresh lemon juice, and milk until well combined and smooth.
Combine Wet and Dry: Pour the wet egg yolk mixture into the dry ingredients. Stir gently until just combined. Be careful not to overmix; a few lumps are fine. The batter will be relatively thin.
Whip Egg Whites: In a clean, dry bowl, using an electric mixer, beat the egg whites on medium-high speed until soft peaks form. Gradually add the remaining 1/4 cup of granulated sugar, continuing to beat until stiff, glossy peaks form. The meringue should hold its shape.
Fold in Egg Whites: Gently fold about one-third of the beaten egg whites into the lemon batter to lighten it. Then, carefully fold in the remaining egg whites until no streaks of white remain, but be careful not to deflate the mixture. The goal is to keep it light and airy.
Prepare for Water Bath: Pour the batter into your prepared casserole dish. As Grandma specified, the dish needs to be set in a water bath to bake. If, like me, you’ve lent out your roasting pan, a large round Le Creuset braiser or any oven-safe dish that is larger than your casserole dish will work perfectly. Place the casserole dish into the larger dish.
Add Water: Carefully pour hot water into the larger dish, around the casserole dish, until it comes about halfway up the sides of the inner dish. This water bath creates a moist, gentle baking environment, ensuring the pudding layer sets beautifully and the cake remains tender.
Bake: Carefully transfer the entire water bath setup to the preheated oven. Bake for 45-55 minutes, or until the top is golden brown and a skewer inserted into the cake layer comes out clean. The pudding layer underneath will still be moist and jiggly.
Cool and Serve: Carefully remove the dish from the water bath (the water will be hot!) and let it cool on a wire rack for at least 30 minutes before serving. The pudding layer will thicken as it cools.

The result of this careful baking process is a true marvel: a wonderfully spongy, golden cake layer resting atop a rich, luscious layer of lemon pudding. It’s a dessert that offers two delightful textures and an invigorating burst of lemon in every spoonful.

The Joy of Sharing: An Impromptu Gathering and a Book Announcement

We enjoyed this beautiful pudding cake from what remains of her shallow china bowls, using her delicate silver spoons – though, to be perfectly honest, most of it was enjoyed directly from the baking dish. It was an impromptu gathering, a spontaneous moment of warmth and connection, all inspired by the enduring memory of my Grandma. The simple act of sharing this dessert, born from her hands and heart, brought a quiet comfort that transcended the years.

Speaking of gatherings (and what a perfect segue!), you might have noticed my friend Jan and I have been collaborating on a series of “Gatherings” posts this year – and this very piece about Grandma’s lemon pudding cake is indeed one of them. We are absolutely thrilled to announce that this concept, born from a shared love of bringing people together around food, is evolving into something even more exciting: a book, set to be released in the fall of 2014!

To borrow Jan’s eloquent words – “What will essentially be a printed extension of this series, Gatherings is a collection of recipes, ideas, and how-tos designed to inspire and encourage a return to simple home entertaining. The book is divided into 20 different occasions; each packed with carefully curated menus, delectable recipes, creative drink ideas, easy serving suggestions, and inspiring décor and presentation possibilities. Our heartfelt hope is that it will appeal to anyone interested in socializing and hosting more casual home parties, but who aren’t quite sure where to begin. It’s crafted to benefit those who might feel they ‘can’t cook,’ have limited kitchen space, don’t know how to mix drinks, or are simply intimidated by the myriad organizational demands that a truly good party can sometimes require. Sounds like fun, right? The book is scheduled to publish in the fall of 2014, and with our manuscript due in a little less than four months, it’s a thrilling race against time – yikes!”

I genuinely couldn’t have articulated the vision for “Gatherings” any better myself. It’s a project born from passion, designed to demystify entertaining and bring more joy and connection into our homes through shared meals and moments.

In the end, whether it’s a time-honored recipe passed down through generations or a carefully planned gathering with friends, the true essence lies in the connection. It’s about the memories we create, the stories we share, and the simple, profound comfort that comes from homemade goodness. Grandma Madelon’s lemon pudding cake isn’t just a dessert; it’s a testament to a life lived, a love remembered, and a legacy that continues to sweeten our lives.