I didn’t plan to bake.
But the blueberries were soft.
And something about sour cream in cake feels like a good excuse to remember things you shouldn’t.
Her Highness calls it a pound cake.
I call it memory disguised as breakfast.
What the Original Looked Like
Martha’s blueberry pound cake is butter-forward. Like, unapologetically so.
Nine eggs. Two whole loaves. Blueberries folded in like they know their place.
She adds sanding sugar to the top—crunch against the soft. Very her.
The batter gets creamed within an inch of its life—eight full minutes of beating.
And she serves it with whipped lemon cream.
Because even dessert needs a chaperone.
What I Did Differently
Used frozen blueberries. Didn’t thaw them.
Only had one loaf pan, so I halved the recipe.
My sour cream was almost expired. It worked anyway.
Forgot the sanding sugar.
But the crust still cracked in that beautiful, broken way.
The Way It Happened in My Kitchen
I beat the butter too long, probably. Mae asked me if I remembered that diner in Rockport—blueberry pie and whipped cream that slid off the plate. I did. I didn’t say it.
I cracked eggs one by one. Lost count. Might’ve been eight. Might’ve been nine.
The blueberries bled a little, turned the batter purple in places. I liked it better that way.
The cake rose high. Split down the middle like something being honest.
When I sliced it warm, the steam smelled like something my grandmother would’ve wrapped in wax paper and sent home with me.
A Few Things I Learned
A cracked top means it’s done.
And folding blueberries feels gentler than it should.
Lemon zest and cream are more emotional than they have any right to be.
What I Did With the Extras
Froze a few slices. Ate one cold.
Mae toasted hers, then smeared it with butter and called it breakfast cake.
She’s not wrong.
Would I Make It Again?
Yes.
But only when I’m ready for the smell.
That’s As Much As I Remember
The kitchen stayed sweet for hours.
And quiet.
That kind of quiet that feels like someone just left.
If you want something brighter, I made her lemon bars last spring when the sun came back. they cut sharper, but healed faster.
FAQs
yep. toss them in flour and don’t worry if they streak the batter.
nah. the cake stands on its own. but it does taste like a memory with it.
I did. came out great. just use one pan and don’t skimp on butter.
because Her Highness said so. and honestly… it works.
absolutely. wrap tight. thaw slow. still tastes like home.
Martha Stewart’s Blueberry Pound Cake (Nell’s Version)
Description
A crack-topped, blueberry-loaded cake that tastes like a time you almost forgot. Good warm. Better quiet.
Ingredients
For the cake:
For the lemon cream:
Instructions
- Preheat the oven. Set it to 325°F (160°C). Butter two loaf pans. Or just one, and halve the recipe.
- Mix the dry stuff. In a bowl, whisk together flour and salt. Set it aside like a thought.
- Cream the butter, sour cream, and sugar. Beat for 8 minutes until it looks like frosting and feels like overkill.
- Add vanilla. Just a splash. It softens everything.
- Add the eggs, slowly. Beat lightly and drop them in one at a time. Scrape the bowl. Don’t rush.
- Mix in the flour. Low speed. Four additions. Stop as soon as it’s together.
- Toss the berries with flour. Keeps them from sinking. Or at least, that’s the theory.
- Fold in the blueberries. Gently. Like you’re trying not to wake something.
- Divide and smooth the batter. Or dump it all in one big pan. No shame.
- Top with sanding sugar. If you remember. If not, it still works.
- Bake. 65 minutes or so. Until golden and cracked, and a skewer comes out mostly clean.
- Cool in the pan. Half an hour. Then turn it out, let it finish.
- Whip the lemon cream. Beat the cream, sugar, and zest until soft peaks. Spoon it over slices like an apology.