I didn’t know the Supreme Court justices’ names before I went to law school. I don’t even remember if I knew they were called justices and not judges. My family didn’t follow politics, let alone litigation. But pretending to be Supreme Court justices for a Constitutional Law course was my favorite thing about my first year of law school.

My professor, Kathryn Watts, passed out cardboard cutouts of the justices’ heads on popsicle sticks and asked us to explain the rationale behind their respective positions. She brought the justices to life by sharing little tidbits she learned during her Supreme Court clerkship: Justice Ginsburg and Justice Scalia held a deep bond. Justice Thomas grew close with a clerk who identified as queer. Everyone rejoiced when Justice Ginsburg’s husband, Martin, brought in baked goods. These are mostly well-known tidbits now, but I felt like I had a window into a world far removed and yet directly responsible for so much of my day-to-day life.

I came to love Justice Ginsburg’s logic and prose. Her chutzpah. Her pathmaking. I remember learning that she tired of always being the parent that school officials called when one of her kids came down sick. So she explained that her children had another parent called: a father, and the school should call him from now on.

I wonder how many times she felt ahead of her time. I wonder if she feared assassination. I wonder what she did in moments of overwhelm. 

I read a tribute from one of her former law clerks that said she never panicked. Instead, she focused on the task before her. What did that moment—that task—call for? And then she delivered as best she could.

I’d like to be in a different moment. One where it’s easy to see truth from lies. Where compassion is the trait most desired. Where there’s equity for all. I’d like to be in a moment where Justice Ginsburg’s alive and well. 

But this is the winter of our discontent. And I can’t change that. And that’s okay.

Because winter can bring spring. Because Justice Ginsburg took the death that comes with hate and discrimination and turned it into something far more powerful: a life well-lived.

So I’m going to do my best to follow in her footsteps. To look at this moment and turn its death into life by focusing on the task at hand. Whether that’s voting or marching or writing or cooking.

When I made this plum torte, I wasn’t in much of a baking mood. But my plums verged on spoilage, and this seemed like something Martin Ginsburg might have made for Justice Ginsburg. So I pulled my energy together and was rewarded with warm, plum-y goodness surrounded by buttery cobbler-like cake. A distinctly September taste. And I remembered that right then—in that moment—my task was to eat plum torte. 

And it’s those moments that give us the strength to bear our grief. To use that grief to create a life well-lived.

Servings: 8 wedges Time: 25 minutes active + 55 minutes baking Via: Adapted from NYT Cooking

Barely sweetened whipped cream is the perfect accompaniment for this torte. I suggest making more than you’ll need for dessert because the combination makes a lovely breakfast the next morning.

This torte—absent whipped cream—preserves well overnight at room temperature, but I’m not sure I’d leave it longer than that.

3/4 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup unsalted butter, room temperature
1 cup all-purpose flour, sifted if you have the time
1 teaspoon baking powder
Pinch of kosher salt
2 eggs
Zest of 1 lemon
12 purple (Italian) plums, halved and pitted
Juice of 1/2 a lemon
1/2 tablespoon cinnamon
2 tablespoons turbinado sugar (or other course sugar) for topping

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

2. Cream the butter and sugar together in a large bowl.

3. Add the flour, baking powder, salt, eggs, and lemon zest to the bowl and beat until combined. The batter will be quite thick.

4. Spoon the batter into a 9-inch springform pan (or other round, 9-inch pan) and smooth with a spatula.

5. Arrange the plum halves skin-side up on top of the batter.

6. Sprinkle the lemon juice over the top. Then sprinkle the top with the cinnamon and turbinado sugar.

7. Bake until golden brown and a cake tester or toothpick comes out clean—about 50-55 minutes. Cool on a rack for 20 minutes.