DEEDEE CAKE
"She made this cake sparingly. Eventually she made it by request only. We requested it a lot."
When I was growing up in the suburbs of Pittsburgh, my family frequently visited my grandmother Deedee and my grandfather Papa at their house. He would cook dinner, and she would make dessert. Her most revered dessert was Deedee Cake. It was a German chocolate cake with holes poked in it. She drizzled caramel sauce and sweetened condensed milk into the holes and left the cake to soak, then topped it with whipped cream and crushed toffee. Deedee made this cake sparingly to make sure it stayed special. Eventually she made it by request only. We requested it a lot.
I was planning to ask for a Deedee Cake when I finished Marine Corps boot camp. Deedee had been at my father’s and my older brother’s boot-camp graduations, and I was next in line. But early in September 2019, a week before boot camp even started, Deedee was taken to the hospital because of a problem with her heart. Later that day she was flown via LifeFlight to a larger hospital in Pittsburgh.
It was unusual for Deedee to be the one in need of care. As a nurse, she’d chosen a career caring for others. She fed the songbirds that came to her yard and watched our pets when we were away. Her family felt her care the most, though. She had four kids and ten—no, eleven grandkids; she was always adamant that my stillborn sister be counted. On our birthdays she took us grandkids out individually; she’d pick us up and take us to eat at whatever restaurant we chose, and then to a store to buy a present. She often had a glass of water with her when she drove; it shocked me to think she’d willingly break the law by drinking and driving.
Deedee was the first to be called if there was a problem and my parents weren't able to be on the scene. About a year before she got sick, I accidentally swallowed a plastic water-bottle cap, and it got stuck in my esophagus. I could breathe, but I didn't have a way to get to the emergency room, so I called Deedee. She could tell I was scared. As we drove she just casually talked about her day to calm me down.
My mother and I visited Deedee in the hospital on the fifth of September. Papa was there, too. We all thought she was getting better. She was in good spirits and had every intention of going home as soon as possible. I sat beside her on her hospital bed while she rested her hand on my back. We talked about all the people who’d come to see her and how good that made her feel.
“Maybe we can have lunch tomorrow,” she said as we were leaving. I told her I’d be there. I knew she wanted every chance to see me before my ship date. But the next day, my father and I didn’t make it to the hospital until early evening. When we got there, her room was empty. A staff member told us she had been moved. Later we learned she’d gone into cardiac arrest. Had we come for lunch like I promised her, I would have been able to see her again.
My shipment to Parris Island was delayed so I could attend her funeral. A few days later, everyone gathered at Papa’s house, and I brought Deedee Cake, the first one I ever made. Since then, I’ve made countless more, including one for my girlfriend early in our relationship. (Knowing its importance to me, she has baked one for me too.) But that first one is when I discovered that the recipe was taken off the back of a box of Betty Crocker cake mix; Deedee had cut it off and kept it in her recipe collection. It was officially called Better-than-Almost-Anything Cake. That’s how I’d describe Deedee too.
—Carson Landolina
A Marine Corps veteran, Carson Landolina lives in San Antonio, TX, and is studying education at San Antonio College.
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I love when a special food or recipe evokes such great memories of family members. Deedee surely jumps off the page in this great story and her photo shows such lovely spirit. This 4th of July I made blueberry muffins from the original Jordan Marsh recipe (which was featured in the New York Times recently). I jumped on it immediately with memories of shopping trips as a child with my mother and grandmother that were capped off by a box of blueberry muffins from the Jordan Marsh bakery (which we ate before we got home!).
So many old favorites came from recipes on the side of a boxed cake or ingredient. But the love that was put into them and the person creating them is what made them special. Thanks for a great story.