2835. Birthday cake

Ella and Justin Sudworthy had never had to go much without but they could never be termed as “well off”. And now it had all come to a pretty pass. There simply was no money left. They had retired with enough savings for a few years, but they had outlived their expected life span. Now they were retired and broke.

Justin’s birthday was coming up. Ella had always baked a cake. It was always a banana cake because in their younger days banana cake had been Justin’s favourite. It had become a tradition. But there were very few pennies in the kitty for the ingredients.

Ella decided to bite the bullet; to swallow her pride; to eat humble pie. She would simply  go to the neighbours on either side and borrow a bit of flour, a bit of sugar, a spoon of baking powder.  She had two over ripe bananas and could use lard instead of butter.

The neighbours were very gracious. They all said the same. “Return it? Don’t be silly!” Ella was ready. This was their 53^rd birthday together and 53^rd banana cake! She assembled all the ingredients on the kitchen bench. With a positive attitude she had conquered the lack of birthday money! The electric company had turned the electricity off.

2706. The pies have it

You have to give credit where credit is due. Bianca made the most incredible pies. She had a reputation for her pies right through her side of the town. To get invited to one of Bianca’s pie soirees was a treat.

“Your pies are to die for, Bianca,” gushed Alannah Pinkum. “I don’t know where you find the time to create such masterpieces.” Of course, it wasn’t simply the taste of Bianca’s pies that enraptured her fans, it was the presentation. Perfect! Simply perfect!

These occasions were always held in the early evening. No one ever turned it down. Except for Mr. Vernon Clydesdale; he had to go to work at that time.

“Can’t you hold one of your pie soirees on a weekend, Bianca?” Vernon asked.

But no! Bianca had the weekends off. Never on a weekend.

Besides – between you, me, and the wall – the pie shop on the other side of town wasn’t open on weekends.

2679. Fruit slice

Thelma McGarvey was well-moneyed. Her husband had died several years back and left Thelma with a substantial fortune. It had turned her into a greedy, dominating, haughty lady of position. She did little but socialize. All the household tasks were performed by paid servants. In the first two years of dictating widowhood she had fired three cooks.

Which brings us into the kitchen. Thelma, one mid-morning, barged uncustomarily into the kitchen and announced to Roger the cook that she was having important guests for afternoon tea. Some delectable slice of homemade cooking was what was needed. “And what’s this fly in the kitchen? There’s a fly on the kitchen ceiling. See to it immediately. This is gravely incoompetent.” Thelma stormed out.

For afternoon tea Roger baked a mouth-watering currant slice; two sheets of pastry with a thick layer of little black currants inside.

2640. Back street triumvirate

It caused a great deal of anticipation when Nadia said she would cook dinner. The three widows, Beth, Angela, and Nadia, had all ended up living on the same little back street. They had quickly become friends – of sorts.

Every month or so they would meet to share a meal. The first time it was a Beth’s place. The second time it was at Angela’s place. Nadia seemed a little reluctant to take her turn, and then suddenly one day she announced she would cook. Judging from what she said, she was an excellent cook, having worked as head chef in an exclusive restaurant for many years before retirement.

It was therefore with considerable anticipation that Beth and Angela arrived at Nadia’s place.

“Well,” said Nadia. “Where’s the food?”

“The food?” asked Beth and Angela.

“I said I would cook,” said Nadia. “I presumed you were supplying the food.”

Needless to say – but it will be said anyway – the little back street triumvirate didn’t survive for long.

2120. Spider bite

Thelma went out to the garden to get some parsley. She got bitten on the finger by a little spider. It wasn’t much. It gave her more of a fright than anything else. Over the next few days her finger swelled up so she went to the doctor.

The doctor gave her some stuff but it didn’t seem to make any difference. It wasn’t overly sore, but Thelma worked as a secretary and she was finding with the swollen finger that it was increasingly difficult to type.

Things went from bad to worse. The doctor began suggesting amputation but Thelma said she wouldn’t mind a second opinion on that, thanks very much.

She had to resign from work and, being a solo mother, found it difficult to pay for things needed for her three high-school-aged children. They were falling into bad company. She couldn’t afford to run the car, and rent was becoming increasingly difficult. Then one of her daughters came home and announced that she was moving in with her boyfriend, and she was only sixteen. Next thing Thelma was thrown out by the landlord.

As luck would have it, Thelma got a job working as a cook in a rather exclusive restaurant. She was very good at it too. But if you go there to eat you’ll find there’s not a sprig of parsley in sight.

1727. Pamela makes a cake

It would be wrong to suggest that Pamela’s mother-in-law was horrible. In fact she was satisfactory – as are most mothers-in-law. It was her father-in-law who was the snarky one. His favourite party story was how he’d taken some leftovers home after dinner at his daughter-in-law’s house and not even his cat would eat it. Haw! Haw! Haw! He would repeat the punchline: not even the cat would eat it!

Pamela had a cat and it would eat anything – in fact she had three cats. And besides, Pamela wasn’t too bad a cook either. She wasn’t the greatest, most fabulous chef in the country, but she could cook a nice meal. When her father-in-law’s birthday was about to come up, Pamela invited her husband’s parents to dinner. Pamela was determined to show that she wasn’t as stupid a cook as the father-in-law made out. She would cook a really nice birthday cake dessert.

She spent ages combing through recipe books and online to discover something lovely that would require a bit of work. She found one and settled on it. It was a Raspberry Tuxedo Cheesecake. The recipe described it as a vanilla cheesecake that sits on a chocolate cookie crumb base, topped with raspberry compote and a drizzle of chocolate ganache. Pure decadence!

The rest of the meal would be simple and elegant, but the birthday cake would put her father-in-law’s cruel joke to shame. Pamela made little bits of the recipe over several days, but on the day before the birthday she spent hours! The “drizzle of chocolate ganache” was the most difficult. It had to be delicate, like a fine lace cloth. And the raspberry had to run evenly down the sides. Finish she did! Pamela put the masterpiece in the fridge.

The guests arrived! Pamela took her creation out of the fridge and placed it on the bench. The meal began! The birthday cake moment arrived! Pamela went out to the kitchen to make a grand entrance! The cats had jumped up onto the bench and eaten most of it.

1707. A chef for the homeless

“I think caviar is vastly overrated,” said Lord Brackenbury. This was at a meeting called by the local Anglican vicar. The number of down-and-outs on the streets had sky-rocketed. The local vestry decided they would provide a grand Christmas dinner for the homeless. And the wonderful thing was that Lord Brackenbury was lending his cook for the day. “Lending a Cook” might be too banal a description; Lord Brackenbury was “Providing the services of his Chef”.

“I think caviar is vastly overrated; although it doesn’t get simpler—or more elegant—than crème fraîche and caviar tartlets when served alongside a glass of sparkling wine. However, in the case of feeding the homeless at Christmas I think a carrot tart with ricotta, almond filling and pickled grapes sounds a lot healthier. And my chef Delphine makes it to perfection.”

“We were thinking along the lines,” said the vicar, “of something simpler. A slice of ham or turkey, with mashed potatoes and peas. Besides, I don’t think we could afford such extravagance.”

“And you need a chef for mashed potatoes?” said a stunned Lord Brackenbury. “Delphine wouldn’t have a clue how to go about doing that.”

The vicar was starting to get riled. “Delphine can’t be much of a cook if he doesn’t know how to boil a potato. I suggest…”

“I suggest,” interjected Lord Brackenbury, “that you find yourself another chef. I have standards. No wonder no one comes to church these days.”

“You can stick it up your…” declared the vicar. The vicar’s statement was interrupted by Lord Brackenbury rising from his chair; he gathered his proposed menu notes and stormed from the scene. Fortunately he forgot to take the main thing he had brought for the meeting to enjoy: elegant crème fraîche and caviar tartlets with a couple of bottles of sparkling wine.

“Ham, mashed spuds and peas it is,” said the vicar. “Cheers.” The meeting cut late into the evening.

1664. You get what you pay for

Let this be a warning! A warning to those of you who think the recipes on this site are worth trying. It’s impossible to think of an explanation adequate enough to describe how this person has tried to pull the wool over our eyes. She calls herself a cook. A cook, my foot! I spent a lot of time and wasted energy, not to mention squandered costly ingredients, making this recipe. I followed everything almost to a tee. And what a disaster! She called the recipe “Shortbread”. Yeah right. She was spot on there. It certainly came out as shortbread, but I adapted it because I wanted a coffee cake. It was horrible. Some people shouldn’t be allowed to post.

Music 150: Bubbling lobsters

Lobsters bubbling away in the pot – and of course, they’re Canadian! (and weren’t boiled alive).

Listen to the music HERE!

952. Just desserts

Meryl collected recipe books. She had what appeared to be hundreds. They were all ordered on shelves according to type: pickles and chutneys, desserts, foreign recipes, and so on. Of course, many recipe books were collections of all sorts, so she had shelves for all sorts as well.

Meryl’s carrot cake was apparently a phenomenon. “You should use my recipe,” said Meryl to Nancy. “My recipe doesn’t come out as sticky as yours. It’s perfection.”

“Your pumpkin pie,” said Meryl to Charlene, “is very nice, but I have the best pumpkin pie recipe in the world. You’re welcome to use it.”

“You overcooked your roast?” said Meryl (in wonderment) to Dottie. “I have a way of cooking roasts that’s fail-proof.”

In short, Meryl’s reputation for fine cooking had become a legend. And what a thrill it was when she was coming to the pot-luck dinner!

“Could you bring some dessert?” asked Charlene.

“We’re so looking forward to it,” said Dottie.

“I can’t wait,” said Nancy.

Meryl had to drive an hour and a half out of town – way-way out of the neighbourhood – to purchase a dessert no one would recognize.

To listen to the story being read click HERE!