Well now, child, gather 'round and wash your hands. We’re gonna make red velvet cupcakes the proper way—none of that box mix nonsense. I’ve been making these since 1944, would you believe, back when I worked at the Oak Ridge facility during the war. Of course, back then, we didn’t know what we were working on—not exactly. Just that it was important. But never mind that right now. Get me the flour and let’s get started. Ingredients:

2 ½ cups all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons cocoa powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
1 cup buttermilk
1 tablespoon white vinegar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 ½ cups granulated sugar
1 cup vegetable oil
2 large eggs
2 tablespoons red food coloring

Now sift your flour into a bowl—don’t just dump it. Siftin’ makes it light, like the letters I used to get from your grandpa when he was stationed in the Pacific. Lord, those were the only things that kept me grounded during those long shifts.

Add in your cocoa powder too. Not much—red velvet isn’t chocolate cake, despite what your cousin Cheryl says. And don’t forget the salt and baking soda. Always measure level, not heaping.

Back at Oak Ridge, we used to be timed for everything. Had to clock in, clock out, all hush-hush. I worked in a building with no windows. The men in suits said it was about “separation efficiency”—never knew we were enriching uranium till years later. Just knew my job involved charts, dials, and not asking questions.

Alright, in another bowl, mix your buttermilk, vinegar, vanilla, and that red food coloring. Go on, pour it in—it’s gonna look like you’ve made a mess, but it’s what gives red velvet its sass. Funny thing, during wartime there was a ration on food coloring, so we had to barter for it. I traded an extra pair of stockings for a bottle of red once, just so I could bake a cake for the girls in my barracks.

Now beat your sugar, oil, and eggs together until it’s smooth. We didn’t have electric mixers then—you used a good whisk and elbow grease. My arms were stronger than most of the men’s, I’ll tell you that.

Pour in your wet mixture a little at a time into the sugar and egg bowl, then slowly fold in the dry ingredients. Don’t overmix, or you’ll get dense cupcakes. And red velvet’s supposed to be soft—like a memory you can still feel in your bones.

One time, I was walking across the compound with a cupcake in a paper bag—snuck it past the guards for a birthday—and a man came running by shouting about a leak in Y-12. Everyone froze. We didn’t even know what kind of leak he meant. But I’ll be damned if that cupcake didn’t survive the panic. And she cried when I gave it to her. Said it tasted like home.

Preheat your oven to 350°F (175°C). Line your cupcake tins and fill them about 2/3 of the way full. Bake for about 18 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out clean. Let 'em cool completely before you frost—patience, child, patience.

Now, we weren’t allowed to bring cameras into Oak Ridge. Didn’t even know what we were building till the bombs dropped. I remember when we heard the news about Hiroshima. Silence. Then a kind of sorrow, mixed with awe. I didn’t bake for a week. Cream Cheese Frosting (because nothing else will do):

8 oz cream cheese, softened
½ cup butter, softened
2 ½ cups powdered sugar
1 tsp vanilla extract

Beat that all together until smooth and creamy. Frost your cupcakes high, like a Southern lady’s church hat. They deserve it.

And there you have it—Red Velvet Cupcakes, the kind I made before I even knew I was part of history. Every bite’s got a little sugar, a little cocoa, and a whole lot of secrets.

Now go on, have one while they’re warm. Just don’t ask me what building K-25 was for—I still won’t tell you.