I love cake. Cake is not only delicious; it is art. When it comes to cake art, I am very conservative. I do not like the current trend to shape cakes into everything from a puppy to a motor- cycle. “No, no, no.” says Miss Pat, the cake art connoisseur. I do not want to see a cake shaped like a mermaid or a swan; I want to see a cake that looks like a cake but one that is beautifully decorated. I do allow for cakes to be shaped like gift boxes but that is where I draw the line.
My love of cake and my use of cake to solve everything, can be traced back to my favorite childhood book, The Story of Babar. Babar, a young elephant, is orphaned then rescued by a kind old lady who takes him first to buy new clothes and then to a patisserie.
Wanting the best for my children, I remembered Babar and introduced them to what I call Cake Culture. School days began with an early morning bakery stop. After school, we went to the local French bakery for a chocolate croissant. Now that we are all fat, have rotted teeth, and great memories, maybe I need to rethink Babar. I know he made it back to the jungle and married his childhood love Celeste, but did he stop wearing clothes and going to the pastry shop? What about his fancy red sports car? Shouldn’t I have loved a different story? Where are my values? Let me think…I liked Cinderella, but she grew up to marry a prince and live in a castle. There was really no book that I liked more than The Story of Babar. I like a good plot. First shopping, then the pastry shop, you live with a kind old lady and then return to the homeland and are crowned Ruler of All.
If you haven’t guessed, I take food very seriously. Putting my cake compulsion aside, I raised my children to eat healthy foods. No additives. No preservatives. Everything fresh and made from scratch. When my daughter was in college, she revealed a horrible truth. I had to say something. The conversation went something like this, we were at a gas station:
Jessica: I’ll have a beef jerky. (to the clerk)
Mom: Jessica, Jessica, I can’t believe what just happened. It can’t be true.
Jessica: Sorry Mom. It started in Art School.
Mom: Jessica, it goes against everything you’ve been taught, our whole way of life.
Jessica: I like it, it’s chewy.
Mom: I said nothing about the boyfriend, then not graduating, but this … I need to sit.
I guess other parents have had the dreaded 'it was all for nothing' moment.
Babar was written by a Frenchmen and what I love about French culture is that the French know the importance of the Patisserie. Cake gets its own bakery, which is not to be confused with the Boulangerie where bread is sold. Who would be so foolish as to mix bread and cake in the same shop? Alas, alack, poor bread. Once the staff of life, it is now a scorned morsel unfit for human consumption. The humble, it will keep me alive if there is nothing else, bread, is out. Gluten free but … cake too? What about my favorite French bakery? Are the recipes the same? Who would have believed that such a thing could happen? Not Babar.
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