JAN....I'M READY FOR YOU.....I'LL POUR!
Awwww…the smell of pound cake baking in the oven! It transports me back to my mother’s kitchen. Fabulous things came out that room. She had the knack of making everything taste better. I dug out her pound cake recipe, so happy that I have it; I should make multiple copies, maybe put one in the safety deposit box to ensure I never lose it. I don’t know if this recipe is special or if my mother made it that way, but it’s the best pound cake I've ever tasted. Really, one hundred women could have baked this same cake and my mother’s would have stood above the rest. I tell no lie! Knowing this, I worry I won’t do it justice myself. I haven’t baked this recipe for so long I’m not sure how it will turn out.
I’ve been around, sampled lots of baked goods, but nothing ever compares to the signature goods that my mom made into lasting memories. Case and point, her apple crisp. I was about twelve, and a server at one of the United Church fund raiser dinners. Maybe because I was a skinny rake, someone had foolishly mistaken me for a person who could do the job without sneaking the wares, so I was in charge of portioning out the homemade apple crisps on dessert plates. Why they asked me I’ll never know, I knew as soon as they gave me the job I wouldn't be able to resist the temptation, I’d be like a kid in a candy store with unlimited spending!
I sampled a spoonful from every pan but not one of them tempted seconds. I was spoiled by my mother’s crisp, with the best apple taste and crumble in the county, possibly even the world! I was amazed at this revelation and proud of her. Out of 25 or so pans of crisp, some were soggy, some bland, some with nutmeg, others with cinnamon (my preference), some were under cooked and tough, some overcooked and mushy, some had rolled oats, and others had raisins. Mother’s apples were done to perfection, slices were soft but still whole and the crumble on top was still crunchy with the perfect sweetness. If there was a ribbon to be had I would have pinned it on her!
My mother’s pie pastry always looked picture perfect as if prepared for a magazine. She could have given Martha a lesson or two on rolling out pastry and dimpling the edges. She used her fingers to pinch every inch or so and then pressed a fork in between them. I looked on the internet for a picture of what her pies looked like and not one photo showed this technique for the crust. She never over pulled the pasty so the shrinkage was at a minimum so the crust kept its round shape. The taste was phenomenal too..…fluffy, flaky and crunchy. I always ate the crust first and filling second, not able to hold myself back to eat it as a unit. So many times over the years I see crusts left on the plates at restaurants and diner parties, and rightly so, they were either too tough or soggy. I mentioned the other day about the “Quickies” we used to eat. Well the word was Quiche, and her combo of crust and filling put it over the top on the ymmm scale! Apparently, the secret to keeping the bottom pastry crunchy is to line the crust with shredded cheese before pouring on the egg mixture. Yes, my mom had culinary skills, which I luckily inherited. It wasn’t from studying the master, because I was too busy being a kid to notice much, somehow I lucked out through genes.
So back to the cake. Ask anyone close to me, I’m been itching of late for my mother’s pound cake and old fashioned icing. I’ve been lamenting about it and fighting the urge to throw one together. I have blood sugar issues, this kind of treat isn’t conducive to my diet. But damn, all of my senses are inflamed with its memory. I can visualize it; smell it; and my mouth waters as I remember the dense, lemon and almond flavoured cake.
I’m not a fondant follower. I prefer the old fashioned icing, the outer bit dries to a crunch while the underside remains tender and smooth. I remember watching my mother's spatula gliding back and forth, smoothing out the surface as she covered the cake. She had a rubber device that slid down over a regular table knife tip to make up the handle. My eyes followed its every movement hoping that she would let me lick it clean when finished. She was always concerned about too much sweet and she was right, but a tummy ache was always worth it. Now all I want is a small wedge, a wedding size sliver to rekindle memories and satisfy this craving. I want to be that child in my mother's kitchen licking the beaters or the spatula and then delivering that slice of heaven to my mouth.
Another fun memory.....I used a toothpick to test the cake center, remembering that mom used to pull a piece of straw out of the whisk broom, clean it off and use that as a tester for doneness.
Monday (Feb 10th) was my father’s birthday and Saturday (Feb 8th) was my mother’s. They were born the same year with my mother ahead by one full day and I remember the teasing about her dating a younger man. Maybe this time of year is causing the melancholy need for a connection with the past. This cake will jettison me back to memories of many happy desserts and various birthday cakes. Mother would decorate each cake with a theme or coloured roses and leaves, place candles in little holders and wrap coins, nickels, dimes and quarters in waxed paper and push them in various places around the edge. Scoring money in a wedge was an extra perk, that would be traded in for a bag of penny candy. Those days were simpler times when a few coins could bring heady elation.
I'm not good with temptation in my line of sight. I made two smaller cakes and will have to ice them and share with others to spare me from going on a binge and eating them in one sitting. Like potato chips, one slice will be too many and a thousand not enough. I'll cut a few pieces, wrap and freeze them for when I need a bridge to my past, to memories of my dear mom, to get in touch with the child within and savour the best homemade cake ever baked. Or more realistically just pig out for the sake of pigging out!
I’ll frost the cakes with mom's old fashioned recipe. I’ll ice them tomorrow evening, nothing fancy, just slap a coat on and then feast! The cakes are now on a cooling rack. I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep as the smell has wafted throughout the house. My senses are almost tingling with anticipation, my belly is growling. I must resist temptation until the cakes are decorated tomorrow evening. I want the full experience, the frosting and the cake combined, that sweet almond flavoured icing and the lemony cake. Be still my heart…tomorrow is going to be a very, very long day!
(Excuse the sloppy frosting job. It was done quick and dirty.... I wasn't going for the gold, just a taste!)
P.S.
I was lying in bed last night thinking about my mom and a veil lifted. Something entered my head that never occurred to me. I think maybe, possibly....I got my artistic talents from my mother! It was always thought that they streamed down from my father's side, but now thinking back, considering all the times my mother took up various crafts like knitting, sewing, Liquid Embroidery, Embroidery, cake decorating etc, and the pride she took in it all, I mirror her more. I think because I was left handed, same as my father, and had his sense of humour I was considered a little mini me of his, but now I'm not so sure. This is a total 180 revelation! No one ever gave my mom credit for, or acknowledged her many talents! So sad! I now feel an even bigger sense of pride and closeness to my mother; we were obviously cut from the same cloth! If only she could have lived longer she would have been hrilled to discover rug hooking and most assuredly would hang with me in the shop, sharing the passion.......
I’ve been around, sampled lots of baked goods, but nothing ever compares to the signature goods that my mom made into lasting memories. Case and point, her apple crisp. I was about twelve, and a server at one of the United Church fund raiser dinners. Maybe because I was a skinny rake, someone had foolishly mistaken me for a person who could do the job without sneaking the wares, so I was in charge of portioning out the homemade apple crisps on dessert plates. Why they asked me I’ll never know, I knew as soon as they gave me the job I wouldn't be able to resist the temptation, I’d be like a kid in a candy store with unlimited spending!
I sampled a spoonful from every pan but not one of them tempted seconds. I was spoiled by my mother’s crisp, with the best apple taste and crumble in the county, possibly even the world! I was amazed at this revelation and proud of her. Out of 25 or so pans of crisp, some were soggy, some bland, some with nutmeg, others with cinnamon (my preference), some were under cooked and tough, some overcooked and mushy, some had rolled oats, and others had raisins. Mother’s apples were done to perfection, slices were soft but still whole and the crumble on top was still crunchy with the perfect sweetness. If there was a ribbon to be had I would have pinned it on her!
My mother’s pie pastry always looked picture perfect as if prepared for a magazine. She could have given Martha a lesson or two on rolling out pastry and dimpling the edges. She used her fingers to pinch every inch or so and then pressed a fork in between them. I looked on the internet for a picture of what her pies looked like and not one photo showed this technique for the crust. She never over pulled the pasty so the shrinkage was at a minimum so the crust kept its round shape. The taste was phenomenal too..…fluffy, flaky and crunchy. I always ate the crust first and filling second, not able to hold myself back to eat it as a unit. So many times over the years I see crusts left on the plates at restaurants and diner parties, and rightly so, they were either too tough or soggy. I mentioned the other day about the “Quickies” we used to eat. Well the word was Quiche, and her combo of crust and filling put it over the top on the ymmm scale! Apparently, the secret to keeping the bottom pastry crunchy is to line the crust with shredded cheese before pouring on the egg mixture. Yes, my mom had culinary skills, which I luckily inherited. It wasn’t from studying the master, because I was too busy being a kid to notice much, somehow I lucked out through genes.
So back to the cake. Ask anyone close to me, I’m been itching of late for my mother’s pound cake and old fashioned icing. I’ve been lamenting about it and fighting the urge to throw one together. I have blood sugar issues, this kind of treat isn’t conducive to my diet. But damn, all of my senses are inflamed with its memory. I can visualize it; smell it; and my mouth waters as I remember the dense, lemon and almond flavoured cake.
I’m not a fondant follower. I prefer the old fashioned icing, the outer bit dries to a crunch while the underside remains tender and smooth. I remember watching my mother's spatula gliding back and forth, smoothing out the surface as she covered the cake. She had a rubber device that slid down over a regular table knife tip to make up the handle. My eyes followed its every movement hoping that she would let me lick it clean when finished. She was always concerned about too much sweet and she was right, but a tummy ache was always worth it. Now all I want is a small wedge, a wedding size sliver to rekindle memories and satisfy this craving. I want to be that child in my mother's kitchen licking the beaters or the spatula and then delivering that slice of heaven to my mouth.
Another fun memory.....I used a toothpick to test the cake center, remembering that mom used to pull a piece of straw out of the whisk broom, clean it off and use that as a tester for doneness.
Monday (Feb 10th) was my father’s birthday and Saturday (Feb 8th) was my mother’s. They were born the same year with my mother ahead by one full day and I remember the teasing about her dating a younger man. Maybe this time of year is causing the melancholy need for a connection with the past. This cake will jettison me back to memories of many happy desserts and various birthday cakes. Mother would decorate each cake with a theme or coloured roses and leaves, place candles in little holders and wrap coins, nickels, dimes and quarters in waxed paper and push them in various places around the edge. Scoring money in a wedge was an extra perk, that would be traded in for a bag of penny candy. Those days were simpler times when a few coins could bring heady elation.
I'm not good with temptation in my line of sight. I made two smaller cakes and will have to ice them and share with others to spare me from going on a binge and eating them in one sitting. Like potato chips, one slice will be too many and a thousand not enough. I'll cut a few pieces, wrap and freeze them for when I need a bridge to my past, to memories of my dear mom, to get in touch with the child within and savour the best homemade cake ever baked. Or more realistically just pig out for the sake of pigging out!
I’ll frost the cakes with mom's old fashioned recipe. I’ll ice them tomorrow evening, nothing fancy, just slap a coat on and then feast! The cakes are now on a cooling rack. I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep as the smell has wafted throughout the house. My senses are almost tingling with anticipation, my belly is growling. I must resist temptation until the cakes are decorated tomorrow evening. I want the full experience, the frosting and the cake combined, that sweet almond flavoured icing and the lemony cake. Be still my heart…tomorrow is going to be a very, very long day!
(Excuse the sloppy frosting job. It was done quick and dirty.... I wasn't going for the gold, just a taste!)
P.S.
I was lying in bed last night thinking about my mom and a veil lifted. Something entered my head that never occurred to me. I think maybe, possibly....I got my artistic talents from my mother! It was always thought that they streamed down from my father's side, but now thinking back, considering all the times my mother took up various crafts like knitting, sewing, Liquid Embroidery, Embroidery, cake decorating etc, and the pride she took in it all, I mirror her more. I think because I was left handed, same as my father, and had his sense of humour I was considered a little mini me of his, but now I'm not so sure. This is a total 180 revelation! No one ever gave my mom credit for, or acknowledged her many talents! So sad! I now feel an even bigger sense of pride and closeness to my mother; we were obviously cut from the same cloth! If only she could have lived longer she would have been hrilled to discover rug hooking and most assuredly would hang with me in the shop, sharing the passion.......
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