Everyone has their own quirks about cakes in my home . The younger one loves chocolate cake , any shape and size will do . If I do not slather my cake with chocolate icing , she makes her own version of chocolate sauce and is very happy using it. Elder one professes to love vanilla and strawberry , but she has been known to raid the fridge at ungodly hours for a bite of her sister’s gooey chocolatey brownies.
I , for one, do not go for colour or flavour . Anything sweet will do . My cakes are sweet , as in veering towards ungodly levels . My husband keeps a constant check on the amount of sugar , before I turn a baked goodie into “poisonously sweet substance “.
This Christmas , I had vowed to bake plum cake . I wanted to soak the dry fruits in rum , but having teetotallers around didn’t help much . As a result , I baked several cakes with the dry fruits soaked in orange juice .
Got complimented for them , so I guess I did ok .
Eating cake , warm from the oven is a ritual in our home . Papa cuts the cake up into bite size pieces and places them into plastic containers , for he does it best .
Now , that he is away , his daughters do the honours , and we miss him .
Chocolate cake eaters demand vanilla ice cream to increase the sin quotient . After the double dessert , most of us teeter on the edge of a food coma, and my daughter becomes hyper -charged . It is a guilty pleasure we all indulge in .
It was blazing . It had been like that since six am .
Actually rocky .And dusty . Dust bowl kind of a place . With outcroppings , sudden undulations . There was not even a clear road to follow , for Christ’s sake .
“How do you navigate this woebegone place ?” She wailed for the nth time .
“Here “. He tapped his head dramatically . ” It is all in here. All the maps you’ll ever need . All the weather charts . ” He smiled , a lips-caked-with -dust smile . Happy , nevertheless.
“How can you be so happy ? And so arrogant ? All the time ?” She skipped to keep up with him . Panting slightly . He was annoying but the only human in this vast waste . What was she doing here ? With a cro-magnon man for company ? Who didn’t mind dust and sun and treeless , lifeless moonscape they were trudging on .
Actually , he was walking . Steadily . Plonk , plonk , his huge stick hit the hard earth.
She was just surviving . Slowly following his lead , in his giant shadow.
He didn’t answer . He rarely spoke . Saving his energies . Another survival skill she lacked .
She spoke too much . She thought . She speaks too much . he thought .
A kite swirled lazily overhead. Slowly whistling . She shaded her eyes and looked up . If it was a giant kite , it could mistake us for rats. She looked at the outcrop looming ahead . A sun bleached , white , undulating , lifeless mass of caked dirt .
She wondered what the kite ate , in order to survive. That thought prompted hunger . Thoughtlessly , she ran a tongue on her parched lips . And immediately tasted the desert .Salt and sand and dust . “Ptooi” , she spat noisily . Another mistake . He had spoken on the necessity to not spit . Conserve body fluids .
“Water ?” He spoke finally . Framed against the outcropping , he looked askance at her . She shook her head . Being brave . Saving water .Precious , life giving fluid.
She looked up , and saw something terribly familiar , and terribly out of place . The unmistakable globe of a femoral head , white, bleached , gigantic , sticking out of the outcropping . The shaft concealed in dirt . Eroded but a bone , nevertheless.
“Mastodon bone !” She shrieked .
“Where ?” He whirled around startled as if she had seen a snake .
“There ” She pointed to the outcropping behind him .
“What ? No !! That be rocks ”
“No rocks .” Rejuvenated by the sight , she raced ahead of him . Dislodging pebble showers , she nimbly climbed up , cupped her trembling palms around the mound , triumphantly announcing ” I told you !!”
He sighed . He knew the signs . Trusted her instincts. Whisking out the walkie-talkie , he barked some commands . A team was on the way.