"I want everybody to share in the community of having the cake. It's like breaking bread. Because in a way, it does bind us, it's that one moment where we don't have to worry about the next deadline."
When I came across that quote, I decided I had to post it. How could I possibly forget to post something so divinely inspired? Providence herself whispered the story into my ears and tugged me along to visit the book fair in the skyway at work, guided my hand to pick up that one cookbook amidst the pile, to browse through it and be curious, to go back to my computer and type each letter in the google search engine, M.E.L.I.S.S.A, (etc) and to eagerly devour the words about the author and read her thoughts.........
Tonight I practiced making single serving English Trifles in precious little wine glasses.
I wanted to try out two different flavors to accent the moist butter cake so I used the traditional (and passed down from my mother) "sherry" and also the hipster's favored "espresso". After baking the cake and beheading it, I basted half of it in sherry and the other in espresso (I cheated and used strong Columbian coffee....my fave).
For the whipped cream, I used my very own hand mixer, non-electric, straight-up twisting-the-spools-with-my-own-wrist, Laura Ingalls Wilder style(too old?) handmixer. I love using my old fashioned handmixer/eggbeater. I love it mostly because I feel as if my real blood and guts is going into making these desserts......I've never owned a KitchenAid, and I don't wish to own one. I feel as though it subtracts from the connection I feel with the cake, with the process......just throwing it all in a big bowl and letting a huge machine take the credit for those stiffly peaked egg whites or the light and fluffy butter/sugar cream. No....I prefer to do it myself, with my own hands.....like kneading the dough on the countertop instead of a breadmachine. (Not to mention I can't stand the sound of the electric zooming that takes up all the audial space in the house while it's turned on.....like a vaccuum or something! yikes! No no no...)
I actually do sweat sometimes, and my arms get very tired, and my wrists begin to feel sore and worn down, and I get splotches on my apron or my shirt (more likely) or powder and flour on my jeans.
The getting dirty is actually a pleasurable part for me. I am like that child digging in the dirt, adding a pinch of sand here, a handful of grass there, two cups of murky pond water here and there into the large water bucket I found in the lightless green pole barn with the tin roof and the musty smell. Why am I not allowed to get dirty anymore? Why do I have to look in a mirror after every meal to make sure I have no food on my face? Or wash my hair every day? I much prefer the sticks and the leaves hanging in pieces off the ends of my hair strands, and burrowing under my hair roots and slowing the transformation from Eve or Ivy into Grown-Up and Professional. I much prefer the floured jeans and the sticky battered sleeves......
But of course, just like a child, I don't much like doing dishes afterward.
Tonight I practiced making single serving English Trifles in precious little wine glasses.
I wanted to try out two different flavors to accent the moist butter cake so I used the traditional (and passed down from my mother) "sherry" and also the hipster's favored "espresso". After baking the cake and beheading it, I basted half of it in sherry and the other in espresso (I cheated and used strong Columbian coffee....my fave).
For the whipped cream, I used my very own hand mixer, non-electric, straight-up twisting-the-spools-with-my-own-wrist, Laura Ingalls Wilder style(too old?) handmixer. I love using my old fashioned handmixer/eggbeater. I love it mostly because I feel as if my real blood and guts is going into making these desserts......I've never owned a KitchenAid, and I don't wish to own one. I feel as though it subtracts from the connection I feel with the cake, with the process......just throwing it all in a big bowl and letting a huge machine take the credit for those stiffly peaked egg whites or the light and fluffy butter/sugar cream. No....I prefer to do it myself, with my own hands.....like kneading the dough on the countertop instead of a breadmachine. (Not to mention I can't stand the sound of the electric zooming that takes up all the audial space in the house while it's turned on.....like a vaccuum or something! yikes! No no no...)
I actually do sweat sometimes, and my arms get very tired, and my wrists begin to feel sore and worn down, and I get splotches on my apron or my shirt (more likely) or powder and flour on my jeans.
The getting dirty is actually a pleasurable part for me. I am like that child digging in the dirt, adding a pinch of sand here, a handful of grass there, two cups of murky pond water here and there into the large water bucket I found in the lightless green pole barn with the tin roof and the musty smell. Why am I not allowed to get dirty anymore? Why do I have to look in a mirror after every meal to make sure I have no food on my face? Or wash my hair every day? I much prefer the sticks and the leaves hanging in pieces off the ends of my hair strands, and burrowing under my hair roots and slowing the transformation from Eve or Ivy into Grown-Up and Professional. I much prefer the floured jeans and the sticky battered sleeves......
But of course, just like a child, I don't much like doing dishes afterward.
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