Tastes Like Vintage: Mabel Jarboe’s Famous Kentucky Blackberry Jam Cake: A Christmas Tide Saga 11

This week’s Tastes Like Vintage recipe is from Betty, at PlumsandHoney.

When my mother created her annual Blackberry Jam Cake at Christmas time, it was the culmination of many months of preparation. This was no average “throw-it together” cake. Oh, no! This was the cake we all worked toward and anticipated the aromatic pleasure that wafted from the kitchen with a magical mix of spices, black walnuts, blackberry jam, and her secret ingredient ~ Old Heaven Hill Kentucky bourbon (some of which actually ended up in the cake).

The saga always began in mid-July, blackberry pickin’ time in Kentucky. How I hated it! Out behind our house, beyond my dad’s huge garden, where he grew all the produce our family consumed during a year, we had a rambling wild blackberry patch that was the envy of the neighborhood. When in the midst of it, the world seemed made only of berry bushes. I still believe it was the deciding factor for my parents when buying the house. So, in the heat of summer, the four of us kids wrapped ourselves in long sleeve shirts that buttoned at the sleeve and neck, tied fast the bottom of our pant legs with a piece of rope or shoestring, cut the fingers out of an old pair of wool gloves, and donned a wide-brimmed hat. The purpose of that crazy outfit was to lessen the briar pricks and to keep those nasty, tiny, red chiggers out. The hat, of course, offered us some relief from the hot sun. Needless to say, these wardrobe choices heated us up and made us itch. 

Nonetheless, off we slouched, eyes tearing up, into the berry patch to pick away. The word went out far and wide that the Jarboe kids were in the patch. People began calling and stopping in to inquire about purchasing a gallon or two, for we not only picked for our family, but we also filled bucket after bucket of those sweet, plump, and juicy berries. Now, I can’t believe we sold them for fifty cents a gallon! It took us about a week and a half of serious work to pick that patch clean.

Afterwards, we ate bowls of fresh berries and homemade ice cream, but only so many. My mother began quickly boiling up jar after jar of the best blackberry jam I have ever eaten. My sister and I carefully sealed them with a good layer of paraffin, and off they went to our storage cellar, where they sat until my mom decided we needed a jar for the table. One special jar would end up in the cake we knew was to come.

Here’s an aside. My parents grew up in Hardinsburg, KY, which was about one and a half hours from our Louisville home. They were both from farming families and had owned large tracts of wooded land, prior to the Great Depression. The family was able to hang onto some of it ~ mostly with vast stands of old black walnut trees. So, every October, my dad and I travelled back “home” to harvest bushels of walnuts, some of which, you guessed it, went into the cake. I was the only one who wanted to accompany my dad. He made a hunting trip out of it with some of his eight brothers. I hung out with my cousins and rode their broken down old mare. Poor old gal! When the day arrived to find walnuts, many of us got up around 5:00 AM to the smell of percolating coffee, country ham sizzling on the griddle, my Aunt’s fluffy butter biscuits, cinnamon rolls, and a big platter of fried eggs. Those of us who were going out to gather ate heartily and took off.

Once we arrived home with the walnuts, my dad spread out a large tarp in the drive, and my older brother drove over them a few times to loosen and crack the hard outer shell. We, then, gathered them up and lay them on grills, where we left them for a few days to dry. Then, out came the hammers and nut picks. My dad and brothers beat the hard hulls with hammers, and my sister and I plucked the tasty, moist nutmeats from the shell, careful to avoid getting any part of the shell in with the meats. Again, here came our neighbors to buy the fruit of our labor, for we also sold walnuts, but not nearly as many. My mom prized these nuts, so she went about putting them up and saving just enough for…the cake. Now, it’s nearing Christmas, and my mom is readying to start baking all sorts of tasty delights that we can only smell, before she puts them in tins, plastic containers, and the refrigerator to await the holiday. The first thing up is the blackberry jam cake, and this is her recipe. Oh, and one other thing, my dad had the responsibility of bringing home the Old Heaven Hill, with enough left to give her cake that special flavor. Mabel Jarboe’s Famous Blackberry Jam Cake, as passed on to her from her mother, Letitia Hawkins ~ I have included my mom’s marginal notations.

INGREDIENTS:

• 3 cups sifted cake flour
• 2 teaspoons baking powder
• 1 ½ teaspoon baking soda
• ¾ teaspoon salt
• 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• ¾ teaspoon ground nutmeg
• ¾ teaspoon ground gloves
• ¾ cup country butter (donated by Mr. Knowles dairy farm ~ give him a big slice)
• 1 tablespoon pure vanilla extract
• 1 ½ cups firmly packed light brown sugar
• ¾ cup sorghum molasses (get it from Boone)
• 4 eggs, well beaten (ask Mary Agnes to save some big ones)
• 1 jar homemade blackberry jam (mine)
• 1 cup fresh sour cream (also from Mr. Knowles)
• 1 ¾ cups hulled black walnuts (from down home)
• 1 cup golden raisins
• ¾ cup Old Heaven Hill (that Bern didn’t drink!)

DIRECTIONS:

Add all the dry ingredients, except for the brown sugar, in a big bowl and set aside. Cream butter with vanilla, until softened (still using old beater).

Beater from AuntHattiesAttic

Gradually add the brown sugar, whip it hard, until nice and fluffy. Add eggs, one at a time, and beat after each.

In a small bowl, blend the jam and sour cream, only until smooth. (This is Mabel and Letitia’s old bowl.)

In the largest bowl, begin adding the flour mixture in fourths and the jam mixture in thirds. (use the big wooden spoon.) Blend in the golden raisins.

Farmhouse Spoon from JustMakeLemonade

My sister and I assisted my mother, throughout the process, adding portions, as she instructed. Once the batter looked almost fine with my mom, she would bring out the bottle of Old Heaven Hill, smell it, and pour the ¾ cup in. My sister and I watched carefully, because we knew she was going to put a drop on each of our tongues. We giggled at the naughtiness of this ritual shared only among us three. This seemingly insignificant little act created a moment when the three of us, the three women of the house, shared a sweet and naughty secret. Sometimes, long after, my mom would wink at one of us, with an almost imperceptible smile, and the recipient would pass it on to the third. My sister and I remembered and remarked on our special moments with our mother, well after she had passed and up to the passing of my sister. Kitchen talk and signals among women adds magic to the cooking.

Double-Boiler from BlueBarnCollectibles

But, I digress. The batter poured thickly into three buttered and floured spring-bottom cake pans and placed into a 375 degree oven, until my mom pricked the centers with a toothpick, and announced they were done. Placed on wire racks, the etsy.com/listing/450294024/ (BlueBarnCollectibles) sumptuous, fragrant layers awaited the piece de resistance ~ Mabel Jarboe’s Famous Carmel Icing. Out came the double boiler and in went sugar, vanilla, dark brown sugar, confectioner’s sugar, and sweet cream, perhaps from Mr. Knowles dairy farm. I regret being unable to recount the measurements and instructions, but Mable did this so effortlessly and without a recipe, that I didn’t pay enough attention to memorize it. My sister did, though, and later she would be able to assemble this cake, and we usually did it together. She stopped using Old Heaven Hill, switching instead to another Kentucky bourbon, Maker’s Mark. We each put a drop in our tongues and an extra drop into the cake. Neither did she continue the blackberry picking and walnut hulling. Rather, her jam came from the market, as did the walnuts, but very delicious it was.

Once we had lavishly spread the thick and luscious carmel icing between the layers and swirled it along the sides and top, Mom drizzled the remaining blackberry jam on the top, and voilà! The masterful creation was ready to be wrapped and stored in a cool place, until Christmas arrived and our guests had been seated at the large, antique table, which was nothing special to look at, but when dressed up in my grandmother’s lace tablecloth, best china, and lit candles, our dining room became a thing of breathtaking beauty.

China Set from PlumsandHoney

Nothing left to do but slice it up, setting aside a generous piece for Mr. Knowles, and dish it onto Letitia’s wedding china and carry out pitchers of ice-cold and creamy milk that Knowles had carried over ~ just in time to pick up his treat.

Creamer from SelectiveSalvage

So, that’s the tale of Mabel Jarboe’s Famous Blackberry Jam cake, a saga filled with hard work, tears, and wishing I were anywhere but in that never-ending patch, filled with plump little berries, nasty chigger critters, and thorns that prick. Thank you for staying with me throughout the telling. If you have, that says to me you may have a story that sits deep in your heart and wants to venture out. If so, I hope you will find a way to pass it along, for only we can do that.

Contributed by Betty, PlumsandHoney

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