Every Easter Sunday of my childhood was dipped in sunshine and wrapped in the gentle rituals of Southern spring: church bells ringing, new shoes and a sport coat, pastel dresses swirling in the breeze, and tables heavy with deviled eggs and glazed ham. But none of it was truly complete without one thing—Rich’s profoundly delicious coconut cake.
In Atlanta, Rich’s wasn’t just a department store. It was an institution. It was where families bought their Sunday best, rode the Pink Pig at Christmas, and, for my family, found a taste of tradition that came in the form of a cake—tall, white, and crowned with clouds of shredded coconut.
My mother worked at Rich’s until retirement. She wore her career there like a badge of honor, and she carried that pride into everything she did. Especially on Easter. That was her holiday. While others enjoyed her amazing array of ham, fried chicken, congealed salads and fresh vegetables, she favored the cake.…