When I was a little girl, I used to hear story after story about my grandma’s apple cake. Not apple pie, mind you–my grandma was from the Bronx, not frickin Kansas–but apple cake. Everyone was always carrying on about how delicious and how light it was, and my grandma would smile and throw her hands in the air and say, “Someday, maybe I’ll make it again.”
Well, she didn’t. I never got to taste this mythical culinary delight. However, I often wondered if my grandma, who was a bright and feisty little thing, if she was tricking them into remembering it more fondly than they would have if she’d kept making it.
I’ve never been able to track down my grandma’s recipe, but I was able to find something comparable–and I gotta tell you, for cake, it’s amazingly low-fat. It’s also amazingly delicious.
So, have at ye, apple cake lovers! Make my grandma proud! (Eat, eat, you’re all skin and bones!)
Not Quite My Grandma’s Apple Cake
(serves 10)
Stuff That Goes In It
2 1/2 cups of chopped, cored apples
2/3 cups of packed brown sugar
1 cup of flour
1 cup of whole wheat flour Read More »






So a guy friend is hosting a barbecue this weekend on the terrace of his apartment building. In Manhattan. It’s not quite the same for me as a traditional backyard gathering, but these are the things we sacrifice to live in the city.
Just the thought of having to put on a bikini makes me want to move to someplace cold and dark. Maybe someplace like a cave? Instead of coming to terms with the fact that I can’t wear a parka all summer long, I stress out and start having intense cravings for cookies. I completely sabotage any hope for my summer body and instead ingest junk because I can’t bear the thought of a flabby ass. Does this make any sense? NO. IT. DOESN’T.
About a month ago, a bright and shiny new Pinkberry shop opened up on St. Mark’s, a Hipstered-out street that’s only a few blocks from where I work. The first time I tried the mystery confection, I wasn’t sold. It kinda tastes like cold yogurt, I thought. Cold yogurt…but not.