Kia ora, we, (me, Sunny Amey, Jan Bolwell), are presenting a play reading of Joyful and Triumphant, Robert Lord’s much-loved play, at St Peter’s Hall, Paekakariki, Sunday November 17, 2pm. Sarah Delahunty directing. Stellar cast. All give their time free.
We always serve afternoon tea and we decided it would be good to offer some christmassy baking this time.
‘I’ll make a christmas cake,’ I said, ‘no trouble – I love baking.’
I put the oven on, lined the cake tin, assembled all ingredients on the bench, weighed everything. A friend with chooks had donated the eggs.
Had a thought. Attempted to open the new bottle of lemon essence. Tried with my fingers, then a spanner, then decided to pierce it with my vegetable knife. Pierced my knuckle. Think I’d like to have the manufacturer here in this kitchen for five minutes – believe me, I was not thinking ear-piercing.
Here’s the big existentialist question – why do they put the lids on so tight? Not just on this lemon essence bottle but everything?
Never mind. On with plaster bandage, on with the dance.
Butter, sugar, mixed in the mixing bowl, thank you whoever invented electric mixers, add eggs one at a time, put a little flour in when it began to curdle (from the weighed flour, good hint), put essences in, added the rest of the flour.
The fruit and chopped almonds were already prepared in a large bowl , already mixed with half cup of the weighed flour so they don’t clog, (good hint), mixed the eggy mixture into that with my thin-plastic-gloved hands. I put it in the prepared tin, then realised I’d forgotten the milk and bicarbonate of soda.
Some olde Englishe exclamations then ensued. At these times I realise why I did that stage 3 Linguistics paper.
Took the mixture out of the baking tin, discarded the baking paper, discarded the plastic gloves, dragged a new pair out of the box (surgeons do this all the time, Renée) put some clean baking paper in the baking tin. Mixed in the milk and bicarb, put all back in the baking tin, put it in the oven, surveyed the bench. A disaster area.
Never mind Renée – onward and upward.
I starting stacking, ran hot water. Squirted some dish wash into the water.
Then I saw the golden syrup.
Had I put it in? I can’t remember. I have a faint memory of getting a spoonful out but is this memory connected with the Anzac Biscuits I made previously? The thing is I had been thinking about the novel I’m writing instead of concentrating on the job in hand. Story of my life.
Too late. This Christmas Cake either has or has not a tablespoonful of golden syrup. Whatever. All will rejoice when they eat it. I hope…
