A century ago Marcel Proust was inspired to write A Remembrance of Things Past as he sat staring at a Madeleine cookie. I can relate to that, since memories of Strawberry Socials, Harvest Suppers and Silver Teas prompted me to write the continuity for Eating in Church. In Words with Power Northrop Frye explores the mechanism that conveys emotions from  writer to reader. I wonder if that includes from baking to writer to reader?
 
No feeling surpasses that of getting up in the morning, baking a cake and visualizing yourself carrying it off to a birthday dinner party later that day.

“First you steal a dozen eggs …” Zsa Zsa Gabor’s recipe for a Hungarian sponge cake recipe admonishes. So, surreptitiously, I sneaked five Omega eggs out of the fridge and separated them with help from a plastic contraption sold at the Dollar Store. I didn’t stop whipping the whites until they were stiff and shrank from the sides of the bowl. I had left each of the five yolks sitting pretty in one of its half shells but I now mixed in one of them at a time, along with a heaping tablespoonful of sugar. I folded in five level tablespoonfuls of flour individually, poured the batter into a 9” x 9” cake tin lined with parchment paper, and put it on the middle rack of my oven, preheated to 350° F.

My test for knowing when it was done was to go back upstairs to my computer. Few things can drag me away from my writing but the smell of a cake rising does. In about a half hour I got the aroma summons. The cake was browned beautifully and the skewer I inserted in the center came out clean.
 
When I looked at my granddaughters staring at their father’s birthday cake, I was struck by a marvellous inkling of what is still to come.

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