The radiator was clicking again. That uneven clack it makes when the air’s too dry and I’ve forgotten to bleed the pipes. I wasn’t planning on baking—I swear. But the apples had started to soften, the ones Mae left in the fruit bowl before she went back to school. Mutsu, maybe. Or Granny. I don’t remember. They were tart. They felt cold in my hands. I touched the skin and thought of my grandmother’s bathroom drawer—powdery, full of old rouge and hard soaps that smelled like fruit but weren’t. That’s how this cake started. Not because I wanted dessert. Because I wanted something warm that stuck.
Her Highness’s Apple Honey Upside Down Cake showed up when I was digging through old recipe clippings. I didn’t even mean to stop on it. But there she was—flour-slick perfection, upside-down apples lacquered like furniture polish. A sugar crown with a golden halo. I sighed. Then I started peeling.
What the Original Looked Like
Martha’s version is precise. Always is. She has you make a deep amber caramel, swirling like you’re not already anxious about the smoke alarm. Then you layer the apples just so—like petals or parquet or whatever image she probably said in the magazine I lost in 2009. The batter’s plain on purpose: flour, honey, butter, milk. The kind of simple that only feels simple when someone else organizes your pantry.
It bakes into a glossy disk—apples on top, of course. She tells you to invert it warm. Like confidence is an ingredient we all have.
What I Did Differently
I didn’t have Diamond Crystal salt. Used whatever was stuck in the bottom of the grinder—probably more than a teaspoon. And I was short a tablespoon of honey, so I let the rest be sugar. Also—she says to swirl the caramel. I stirred. Sorry, Martha. I stirred.
Oh. And I used the Dutch oven lid to weigh down the apples before I poured in the batter. Don’t ask why. It was already out. That dent still talks back.
The Way It Happened in My Kitchen
The caramel scared me. Always does. You blink and it’s smoke. I let it go too long—thought I could empty the dishwasher while it cooked. I couldn’t. It smelled like my father’s hands when he tried to fix the fence with wood glue and a heat gun. Burnt sugar and wood and lemon juice, somehow. I scraped it into the pan anyway. It hissed. Mae would’ve laughed.
The apples went in next. I didn’t do the pretty arrangement. I laid them down like puzzle pieces that didn’t fit but were trying. That green Pyrex bowl from college held the batter—still smells like cornbread from last fall. I poured it fast. I didn’t spread it. It found its own way.
The whole thing puffed more than I expected. It cracked a little in the center. And when I flipped it—knife around the edge, a prayer in my throat—it thunked out like it had always meant to.
A Few Things I Learned
Caramel’s never the same twice. Sometimes it whispers. Sometimes it screams.
And apple cores make good metaphors. You can throw them out or plant something. I don’t know. The cake was good. That’s what I remember.
What I Did With the Extras
I left the last slice in the pan and forgot about it. Mae found it after school the next day, ate it cold while sitting on the counter, texting with one hand.
She said, “Is this the apple thing you made?”
I nodded.
She said, “It’s good. Weird. But good.”
And that was that.
Would I Make It Again?
Yes. For the smell. For the sugar stain on the stove. For the way it made the house feel like someone meant to come home.
That’s As Much As I Remember
The radiator stopped clicking halfway through.
The cake cooled faster than I thought it would.
I made tea.
Didn’t even finish the cup.
If you’re after something with the same sweet burn, I made a version of Her Highness’s peach tart last July that nearly set the porch on fire. Still worth it.
FAQs
Yeah. just keep it tart-ish. sweet ones get mushy and moody.
I mean… yes. it’s the whole point. but if you mess it up, call it rustic and carry on.
Yep. it holds up fine a day later. honestly, might be better cold. fridge makes the apples tighter.
Sweet, yeah—but not cloying. the honey gives it warmth. the apples cut the sugar. it’s balanced if you’re not eating it in a rage.
Check out More Recipes:
Martha Stewart Apple Honey Upside Down Cake
Description
Warm and quiet and a little burnt, like me that day.
Ingredients
Instructions
- Spray the pan: reached for the oil spray, it coughed once—barely enough. coated the 9-inch round like I was painting a fence I didn’t want to finish.
- Mix the dry things: flour, baking powder, salt—straight into the big green bowl. no sifting. just a quick whisk and a shrug.
- Whisk the wet: sugar, honey (or what was left of it), eggs, melted butter, milk—into the Pyrex. it looked wrong but smelled right.
- Combine the batter: poured the wet into the dry. folded with a spoon that still smells like last month’s banana bread. batter was thick. didn’t care.
- Make the caramel: sugar and water into the smallest pot i own. turned the heat too high. didn’t stir—just watched it change. deep amber. maybe too deep. added butter, fast—it hissed like it was mad at me.
- Pour the caramel: into the pan. didn’t spread it. didn’t need to.
- Arrange the apples: peeled and wedged them into awkward fans. not even. didn’t pretend they were. just made sure they touched the caramel.
- Add the batter: scraped it in with the back of a spoon. spread it gently. it didn’t want to go to the edges. coaxed it.
- Bake it: 350°F, middle rack. set the timer for 45 but checked at 40. smelled like a holiday i forgot to celebrate.
- Invert and hope: ran a knife around the edge. counted to five. flipped it onto the cracked plate with the blue rim. it thunked. it held. it shined.