The vanilla was the thing that did it.
Cracked open that tiny brown bottle and the whole kitchen sighed. Not loud—just a kind of hush, like the house remembered too. That scent… it was the one from the Christmas before the divorce. Back when Mae still wore reindeer pajamas and believed the tree could hear her. Back when we still had a tree.
Didn’t mean to make frosting.
Didn’t have a cake. Just… wanted to stir something that wouldn’t fight back.
What the Original Looked Like
Her Highness’s version is so clean it’s almost smug. Cream cheese. Butter. Sugar. Vanilla. Room temp everything, softened gently. Like she assumes you live in a house with radiators that hum instead of clank. You beat it all until it’s “smooth and well blended.” She doesn’t say what to do if you start crying halfway through. Or if your butter’s still cold because you forgot you were making it until the moment you started.
It’s a short recipe.
But it carries weight. The kind that sneaks in.
What I Did Differently
Didn’t sift the sugar.
Didn’t wait for the butter.
Didn’t want to wait for anything that day.
I used the handheld mixer that smells faintly like toast. Didn’t ask why. The vanilla wasn’t measured. Just poured until the smell made my throat tighten. I think that’s enough.
The Way It Happened in My Kitchen
Mae was yelling about something in the other room. Socks maybe. Or politics. I wasn’t listening. I was digging through the fridge, found the cream cheese I’d meant to use for bagels and forgot. The butter was from the back. Not soft, not hard—just… resigned.
Mixed it in the green Pyrex bowl I’ve had since college. The one with the chip. The one that’s seen more sugar than soup.
The beaters made that clicky sound I always forget about until they’re in my hands. Like they’re reminding me I still know how to mix things. Some things.
The sugar went everywhere. I didn’t care.
Mae walked in. Said it “smelled like old holidays.” I pretended that didn’t land.
There was a moment—right after the last swirl of vanilla—where it looked like snowdrift peaks. Not perfect, but soft. Soft enough to spread over a memory.
A Few Things I Learned
Don’t wait for the right dessert.
Frosting is its own excuse.
Vanilla carries ghosts.
But sugar talks louder. For a while.
What I Did With the Extras
Ate it with a spoon.
Mae dipped a graham cracker. Said it tasted “like something from when I was little.”
Didn’t ask what she meant. Didn’t want to hear it out loud.
Would I Make It Again?
Maybe. If I need to remember and forget at the same time.
That’s As Much As I Remember
It got quieter after.
Even the fridge stopped humming.
If you want something warmer, I did a soft chocolate loaf once that cracked just like the windows used to in December.
FAQs
Honestly? I didn’t. It still worked. Just took a little elbow and swearing.
Yeah. Just cover it. Fridge makes it a little firmer, but it spreads fine once it sighs back to room temp.
Sweet enough toDoes it taste super sweet? remember Christmas, but not enough to hurt your teeth. If you want less, pull back the sugar a bit. Her Highness won’t mind.
You can. But when it thaws, it’s a little… weird. Still tasty. Just more like frosting’s sleepy cousin.
Use maple. Or rum. Or nothing. Just name it something poetic like “ghost frosting” and act like it was on purpose.
Check out More Recipes
- Martha Stewart Chicken And Dumplings
- Martha Stewart Chicken Salad
- Martha Stewart Chocolate Cake
- Martha Stewart Cornbread
Martha Stewart Cream Cheese Frosting
Description
Soft, sweet, and too nostalgic for something this simple.
Ingredients
Instructions
- Soften the cream cheese: I threw it into the green Pyrex and mashed it around with a spoon. Cold, but forgivable.
- Add the butter: In chunks, not all at once. Mixer struggled at first but caught up. Just like me, I guess.
- Mix until smooth-ish: Used the handheld mixer that smells faintly like burnt toast. Didn’t stop until it looked like a memory.
- Add the sugar: All at once, because I don’t sift unless someone’s watching. It snowed over the counter. Mae laughed. I didn’t.
- Pour in the vanilla: I didn’t measure. Just poured until it felt like December before everything changed. Stirred it in slow. Like I meant it.
- Let it sit a minute: It thickens a little, softens a lot. I tasted it off the beater. Said nothing. Just let it be what it was.