LAVENDER LATTE COFFEE CAKE

stop and smell the roses, and the azaleas, and the lilacs, and the hydrangeas

May 08, 2025

In the absence of her sight, my mother has made her nose her eyes. She can discern which member of my family has entered the house based on a single waft of their scent. She can rattle off the full list of ingredients in a stew bubbling on the stove as she passes through the kitchen. She can open the fridge after a vacation, and tell you the exact source of rot, and which of my siblings forgot to toss their leftovers before the trip (guilt has an acrid aroma).

Though superheroic in its power, her sense of smell can also be her kryptonite. In the warmer months, she often has to retreat to her bed on trash day, afflicted with a migraine triggered by the fumes of the neighborhood’s garbage, roasting in the summer sun. To lessen the effects of the overwhelming odor and protect herself from any other stinks, stenches, or funks that could cloud her vision, my mother has planted a floral army, rallying the likes of Lavender, Roses, and Chamomile to defend her nose.

Large, pearly-white Azaleas guard the front corners of the house, a pair of efflorescent marble lions. Their pollen-coated blossoms bristle like a golden mane, as the shrubs lounge majestically, drinking up the warm spring sunshine.

Lilacs line the garden’s perimeter, a dusty purple barricade. Each plant is born from the same bush, “the mother,” pruned and propagated year after year. My mother knows this original Lilac by her scent alone. “Motherhood makes one smell sweeter.”

An Althea tree reaches up towards the sky in the center of the backyard. As the mauve flowers unfold, exposing their bright red centers, the branches become a watering hole for glittering butterflies and hummingbirds. As a kid, I once ate a flower, hoping it would embellish me with bright orange patterns and sapphire feathers. Unfortunately, it turned me a clammy shade of white that faded into a sickly green.

A motley throng of Wildflowers congregates alongside the driveway. Their stems wrap around each other, and their petals kiss, like drunk lovers on a dancefloor. They sway in the warm spring breeze, as though a soft ballad plays to close out the night. I once made the mistake of asking if we should weed them. My mother gripped my shoulder tightly and explained that she was once a wildflower, permitted to plant roots where she pleased.

Bleeding Hearts pour out of pots peppered around the property. As a kid, I would complain that they barely smelled like anything. My mother told me one day I’d be able to appreciate them. Today, I lean into the plants and bask in their subtle honeyed scent. It reminds me of my favorite part of being in love: the quiet, calm comfort.

A bed of Hydrangeas rustles under the kitchen windows. The light spring air often carries their fragrance through the screens as I bake. The scent blends with the vanilla-soaked heat radiating off the cakes that rise in the oven. It gives me the urge to go out and devour the whole garden.

On a bright spring afternoon, you can find my mom breathing deeply in the center of the yard, absorbing each flower’s essence and allowing it to flow through her.

This month, as a love letter to my mother, I’ve decided to develop a series of flower-centric recipes. Now, I know florals can be scary and often overpowering, but by pairing them with other flavors, I think I’ve found a perfect balance in everything I’ve baked this month.

First up is this Lavender Latte Coffee Cake. The deep sweetness of lots of brown sugar, the warmth from a bit of cinnamon, and the bitterness of coffee pull the lavender out of a soapy zone and into a beautiful light herbiness that complements all the other flavors. It’s the perfect treat to enjoy before or (and?) after a long day spent outside!

THE RECIPE