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A story about a cake that had memorable flavor and created a fight. |
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I can close my eyes and see it now. Six, cut in half, layers of sweet, banana-flavored, yellow cake flavored with extra ripe bananas mashed and folded in the from-scratch batter. The first and every layer after that was stacked with a layer of sliced bananas on top of each, then covered with this "burnt sugar" caramel-type icing that trickled down the sides and pooled at the bottom of grandma's old china cake plate. Finally, the top of the last layer of powdered sugar was sprinkled oh so carefully on top. I could smell the bananas early in the morning of her baking this scrumptious creation at our yearly family reunion. I rose and rushed into the kitchen and never left it until the cake was packed in a carrier, and then newspaper stuffed around the sides of the cake container in the box and string tied around the sides of a cardboard box for stability. This piece of culinary art could not be allowed to slip and slide. During the baking, there was a constant opportunity to taste and lick bowls, plates, and spoons. I was in heaven. The cake was packed in my Aunt Ona's car, and I took my place in the back seat. I held it securely so it wouldn't slide around when the vehicle moved. I took this task very seriously—well, as seriously as a kid can. I knew that if that happened, my grandmother would be upset, and I could also get a lick on an essential part of my body. My backside could be on fire. The smell filled the car on the way to the shelter we always used in Riley Park in Greenfield, Indiana. I couldn't help it. I had to slip into the box and scoop up some of the drizzled icings off of the plate, and stick it in my mouth. It was oozing out of the crack between the plate and the cover. Gently and quietly, I placed the lid back down, and the papers back around as much as it initially looked. Pulling up to the shelter so the cake could be unloaded, it was quite apparent that 2 of my cousins, Lyle and Tommy, were planning to sabotage the dessert by offering to carry it for my grandmother. "How thoughtful of them," I said to myself, knowing they were going to do the same thing I was except more. These devious cake thieves were notorious in snatching so much of it that there wouldn't be much for anyone else at the reunion. My Uncle Jeff came to the Rescue. He swooped in between them, and the car opened the door and helped me with the cake box. he took it to the table to assist with the unpacking and placement on the dessert table. The cousins backed off and sat with the guys on the other side of the room while the women prepared and placed the food on the table. I took my usual place in the cousin kids' Crider Family Reunion Kickball Tournament until the "Come and Get It" call. The before-meal prayer, by Uncle Jim, was always the ritual of everyone having one eye closed and one eye on the dessert table, where we all knew the two cake-thieving cousins would try to work their way close to my grandmother's cake. Aunt Ona was the cake police. She stood beside the table, at the back, with a large pancake turner ready to swat any hand that was placed on the food before it was time. The prayer went on and on. The folks forgot about the table and closed both eyes, praying for the prayer to stop so they could eat. Suddenly, a loud Smack! The reverence of the moment is gone. Wild yells. "Ouch! Stop!" Came from the dessert table where Lyle and Tommy stood, holding their hands, looking sheepishly at the group. The commotion stopped the prayer; everyone looked at them, and then the prayer was closed abruptly with, "Amen." We went through this every year until Grandma finally got wise and made Two Banana Stack Cakes. Lyle and Tommy got a cake, and one for the rest of us. It was a double blessing for me. Sometimes, it just pays to have a grandma. |
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