All Cakes Considered - Melissa Gray [59]
But first, a story.
My Aunt Di
Doris Calvary Ambrose Moore was my maternal grandmother’s sister, the eldest of four girls, raised during the Depression by a mother who could not read or write. Later, when Aunt Di (who, of course is actually my great-aunt) learned how to bake, it was always “a pinch of this, a bit of that, fill this bowl halfway with that and add a half a can of this, and mix until it tastes right.” When my Grandma Marshall (technically, Great-Grandma Marshall) got older (and she was only sixteen years older than her firstborn), Aunt Di would help her make the Christmas cakes. This was back before everybody had electric mixers, so Aunt Di brought her fearsome forearms to the task. By the time Christmas Day rolled around, they’d have tin upon tin of cakes at the ready: fruitcakes, coconut cakes, pound cakes, and chocolate frosted layer cakes.
When I was growing up (this would have been the Ford-Carter-Reagan years) we’d spend part of Christmas Day visiting Momma’s family: her sister, parents, Grandma Marshall, Aunt Di, and Uncle Alec. All of them very conveniently lived within walking distance of each other. They all had cake, too, and you could not refuse a slice. Fortunately, you COULD request they wrap it up in tinfoil so you could eat it later. Aunt Di’s was the only place where we’d actually eat a slice AND take some of it home. Her bittersweet-chocolate frosted layer cake was too good not to have seconds, especially since it only came around once a year.
Aunt Di was such a hoot. I remember being introduced to the concept of free association in psychology class, which basically meant talking about whatever popped into your head. I hardly needed an introduction: I’d been listening to Aunt Di talk like this my whole life. Her conversation on Christmas Day went something like this:
“Oh, dahlin’, so good to see you, how are you doin’, did you hear about Donald Sutton? Lord, child, he’s some kinda sick. Virgie called and said they had to take him over to Riverside Hospital last night and I know they are all worried, here, have yourself a slice of chocolate cake, dahlin’. You want some co-cola? Here, have some co-cola with that. Did you see all my cards in yonder? I need to show you the pictures Goldie sent me. You want another piece of cake, dahlin’? Here, take some home to your Daddy, they say Donald Sutton started feeling poorly just a few weeks ago …”
She was always quick, with a memory like a steel trap, and it was sad to see her slowing down. I’d started the Cake Project the year she turned ninety, and try as we might, none of us could nudge Aunt Di into giving us the recipe for her cake. It’s not that she didn’t want to share it; the recipe was locked into her manual memory. Aunt Di had done it for so long, without ever writing it down, that she couldn’t remember unless she was in the process of making it herself, and she’d become too frail to attempt that.
The first Christmas without her, I decided to try to re-create the bittersweet-chocolate frosted layer cake. I came very close. I was helped by a World War II-era recipe and a new product put out by Hershey’s: Special Dark Cocoa. And trite as it sounds, even though it’s not exactly her cake, and even though I usually don’t like making layer cakes, whenever I make this recipe, I think of Aunt Di, and it’s truly a labor of love.
Poor Niece Melissa’s Humble Attempt At Re-Creating
Aunt Di’s Bittersweet-Chocolate Frosted Layer Cake
Like I said, we have no idea how Aunt Di made her