Saturday, 24 January 2009
I would like to introduce myself....
[cough],...I am Spoon Licker....[cough]...and errrr I'd like to.....say.......I like .....cake.....[sniff].
There. Done it. Feels better.
Now thats out of the way, lets get onto the serious subject of what is the best cake.
With such a wide variety of types it is hard to give an ultimate favourite. If I think back to my childhood and venture in my mind to the kitchen......
The golden summer sun beating in through the window, the smell of warmth from the oven, and the wonder of colourful machines and gadgets that exist within fascinating world of the kitchen. With my socks seeming to grow longer with every step, I slowly walk toward the smell. To my right I can hear a faint blop-blop-blop coming from the corner of the room and I arch my feet to tiptoe with the hope to gain the extra height that may just quench my curiosity.
I behold the sight of a mixing bowl, large enough to set sail in, and what appears to be a wooden post circling the bowl within. The blop-blop-blop appears to be getting louder and faster, and the circles turning first one way, then the other.
Attached to the handle is the arm of my mother, who is leading the dance of the wooden spoon. Conducting the orchestra of ingredients into a sweet sugary blend, only stopping to occasionally hold the coated spoon slightly above the bowl and allow its contents to -plop- back into the mix.
I watch carefully, not wanting to interrupt, for fear of spoiling the routine. I dare not upset the well-established timing, and potentially, delaying the moment to follow.
The rapid circular motions come to an abrupt halt, and I freeze. Did I make that happen?, did my small innocent action of curiosity force this?
I quietly swallow hard, and wait, only now noticing the pedal bin set to the left. Was it there before? Why has the lid already been removed?
The actions are replaced by smoother, more deliberate movements as the bowl is lifted.
Are the contents now ruined?, They seem to be headed for the opening. The plastic liner transforming into a black hole before my very eyes. A scientific force known for drawing everything toward it. From where nothing, not even light, has the power to escape.
The bowl moves inexoriably toward the welcoming mouth of the dark monster, which seems to have grown gnashing teeth.
As if defying physical laws, the bowl starts to move away. It was never even going there. The teeth have disappeared, and waste bin now looks as small and unthreatening as it always had.
My eyes snap back to giant ceramic bowl. In the split second of distraction, I hadnt noticed that it now appears tilted. Tilted at a purposeful angle. The mixture almost seems alive, and it seems to crawling out. Reluctant members are coaxed to join the eager moving mass. They are persuaded with a soft encouragement from the very same spoon that only minutes before appeared to be violently punishing them. I notice some left behind. Some parts that didnt want to go. That wanted to remain where they once came together.
The home for the pleasing mass is a homely shaped steel tin. A metallic frame, that seems to glisten inside. A welcoming shiny coating seems to have been pre-prepared for the arrival. I watch, as the spoon is now replaced to the bowl, set aside just out of my reach. I watch transfixed, as steel lid-less box is carried toward its new warm home. The rush of heat, as the door to the oven is opened, is only just bearable, and I squint. Blinking rapidly so as not to risk losing sight of the bowl and spoon still just visible in the corner of my eye.
I cannot hold back my temptation any longer. My hand moves forward, without any conscious effort. I try to stop it but I cant. It gets within millimetres of the apron string before me. I cant quite reach. Just a little further. Got it.
My mothers face snaps immediately in my direction, and I look up. Not being able to breath, but for one quiet whisper. I strain with every nerve and effort I can muster, and utter...
'Can I lick the bowl now?'
[cough],...I am Spoon Licker....[cough]...and errrr I'd like to.....say.......I like .....cake.....[sniff].
There. Done it. Feels better.
Now thats out of the way, lets get onto the serious subject of what is the best cake.
With such a wide variety of types it is hard to give an ultimate favourite. If I think back to my childhood and venture in my mind to the kitchen......
The golden summer sun beating in through the window, the smell of warmth from the oven, and the wonder of colourful machines and gadgets that exist within fascinating world of the kitchen. With my socks seeming to grow longer with every step, I slowly walk toward the smell. To my right I can hear a faint blop-blop-blop coming from the corner of the room and I arch my feet to tiptoe with the hope to gain the extra height that may just quench my curiosity.
I behold the sight of a mixing bowl, large enough to set sail in, and what appears to be a wooden post circling the bowl within. The blop-blop-blop appears to be getting louder and faster, and the circles turning first one way, then the other.
Attached to the handle is the arm of my mother, who is leading the dance of the wooden spoon. Conducting the orchestra of ingredients into a sweet sugary blend, only stopping to occasionally hold the coated spoon slightly above the bowl and allow its contents to -plop- back into the mix.
I watch carefully, not wanting to interrupt, for fear of spoiling the routine. I dare not upset the well-established timing, and potentially, delaying the moment to follow.
The rapid circular motions come to an abrupt halt, and I freeze. Did I make that happen?, did my small innocent action of curiosity force this?
I quietly swallow hard, and wait, only now noticing the pedal bin set to the left. Was it there before? Why has the lid already been removed?
The actions are replaced by smoother, more deliberate movements as the bowl is lifted.
Are the contents now ruined?, They seem to be headed for the opening. The plastic liner transforming into a black hole before my very eyes. A scientific force known for drawing everything toward it. From where nothing, not even light, has the power to escape.
The bowl moves inexoriably toward the welcoming mouth of the dark monster, which seems to have grown gnashing teeth.
As if defying physical laws, the bowl starts to move away. It was never even going there. The teeth have disappeared, and waste bin now looks as small and unthreatening as it always had.
My eyes snap back to giant ceramic bowl. In the split second of distraction, I hadnt noticed that it now appears tilted. Tilted at a purposeful angle. The mixture almost seems alive, and it seems to crawling out. Reluctant members are coaxed to join the eager moving mass. They are persuaded with a soft encouragement from the very same spoon that only minutes before appeared to be violently punishing them. I notice some left behind. Some parts that didnt want to go. That wanted to remain where they once came together.
The home for the pleasing mass is a homely shaped steel tin. A metallic frame, that seems to glisten inside. A welcoming shiny coating seems to have been pre-prepared for the arrival. I watch, as the spoon is now replaced to the bowl, set aside just out of my reach. I watch transfixed, as steel lid-less box is carried toward its new warm home. The rush of heat, as the door to the oven is opened, is only just bearable, and I squint. Blinking rapidly so as not to risk losing sight of the bowl and spoon still just visible in the corner of my eye.
I cannot hold back my temptation any longer. My hand moves forward, without any conscious effort. I try to stop it but I cant. It gets within millimetres of the apron string before me. I cant quite reach. Just a little further. Got it.
My mothers face snaps immediately in my direction, and I look up. Not being able to breath, but for one quiet whisper. I strain with every nerve and effort I can muster, and utter...
'Can I lick the bowl now?'
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