The Battle of Two Cakes: A Cautionary Tale
Confessions of a MAHA Mom
In my family, I am the prima MAHA—long before the term was fashionable. Ever since we moved back from Hong Kong in the late 90s, I became deeply conscious of healthy eating and food safety. In Hong Kong, CC1 never drank a drop of local tap water. The water supply came from across the border, and reports of pollution or food contamination surfaced often enough to make us cautious. As a result, CC1 grew up on imported bottled water and a healthy dose of parental vigilance.
Back in the U.S., my resolve only intensified. Refined flour, refined grains, and sugar became controlled substances. CC1 and CC2 grew up on brown rice and whole wheat pasta (much to their dismay). White rice was a treat.
As we all get older and fatter, my cooking became even healthier. Which brings me to this year’s cautionary tale.
The Battle of Two Cakes
Every year, CC2 receives a birthday cake of maximal extravagance—the “queen’s treatment.” This year, however, I casually mentioned I’d been “experimenting with less sugar.” CC2 immediately responded, “Mom, if you reduce sugar any further, it’s a breakfast bar.” Her concern was well-founded. At Thanksgiving, our once-decadent triple-chocolate pecan pie had been declared “utterly unsatisfying as a dessert.”
So when she begged me to promise a fully sugared birthday cake, I assured her I would never deprive her on such a sacred occasion.
She requested carrot cake. Easy, I thought—I’ve made it countless times. I pulled out a trusted Cook’s Illustrated recipe, followed every step, used all white flour, sugar, butter, no substitutions, no shortcuts.
The cake emerged…
Firm. Dense. Earnest.
At the table, CC2 took a bite and wrinkled her nose.
“This isn’t very sweet.”
CC1 followed up:
“Mom… did you add sugar?”
Accusations were implied.
I defended myself vigorously—until a chilling realization set in. I checked the recipe. There it was. The truth. I had added only ½ cup of brown sugar. And that was it. No white sugar (one full cup called for in recipe). None. Even when I try to make a normal cake, my muscle memory betrays me.
We all burst out laughing.
Determined to redeem myself, I baked a second cake—this time aggressively sugared, with no restraint. And yet, the cake refused to rise. Like a quiet protest.
So next year, CC2, I promise redemption. A cake with lift. With sugar. No healthy modifications. But please understand: your mother is MAHA to her bones. I will make exceptions for birthday cakes—unless my instincts intervene first.