Extra Love

Nanna’s recipe called for extra love.

Her hands were always dry and cracked from the sun, splintered from working the land, and covered in flour or spices from her kitchen. Her garden was an adventure filled wonderland to her kids, to her, it was what she needed to get by. There was always something to be done at Nanna’s house, but each mundane chore became magical as the home and land flourished beneath her fingers - strong, delicate, dedicated.

And there was always something in the oven, sending delicious waves out across the fields, calling her husband home to her. Everything was made from scratch at Nanna’s house, as though there were no option but to put in the effort. Her husband was always so proud. So grateful. So damned full.

Course after course they’d roll through, kids climbing over and under the table as they laughed and shared stories about their day. Dramatic sword fight reenactments were often their chosen entertainment, children’s charades shared to see their parents smile. They knew exactly how loved they were at Nanna’s table, eating the food so lovingly made to strengthen their bodies, sharpen their minds, and send them to a delightful, deep slumber.

Nanna taught all her kids the basics. Boys, girls, friends, neighbours, they all knew they were there to learn and work and dream abundantly in Nanna’s kitchen. They all knew how to cream the sugar and butter, to check their chickens eggs were ready, the ratio of flour to baking powder.

But nobody made chocolate cake like Nanna. Chocolate cake was Nanna’s sole, solo operation.

If you were eating Nanna’s chocolate cake, you knew the special ingredient because you could taste it warming your soul, hitting every inch of your body like a smooth, velvety hug. Nanna’s chocolate cake had the perfect ratio of moist fudginess, to crisp edges. The icing rolled off your tongue better than even your first kiss, and tasted heavenly. Never a crumb was spared. Never a mention of sugar overload. Nanna’s chocolate cake was made to be devoured without a care in the world. It was the cure to all ailments, and the answer to everlasting love.

When her fingers began aching in Winter, it added a new element to Nanna’s chocolate cake. She would have to ask for help whipping the butter, or stirring the cocoa and flour into the wet mix. It meant an extra chance to lick your fingers when she turned to the sink, although she could always see into the reflection of the oven, and she would simply smile at the chance to share the experience with her now grown children.

When her feet grew weary toward the end of the day, she’d sit on the playmat with her grandkids and they’d make a lovely mess helping her stir as their parents had before. There was no subtlety now with cheeky taste tastes, and no reflection in the oven, her little loves too short to be seen. But there was more love than ever before as her family evolved around her, adding a new layer to the cake that was her legacy. There were sword fights again, princesses and knights, fairies and elves. There was wonder in her life once more. And though her chocolate cake was less her solo operation, it was more precious to her than ever.

Nanna shared the chocolate cake recipe to be eaten at her wake. We’ve never quite perfected it, but somehow, chocolate cake will always taste like Nanna. It will always taste like warmth and magic and hard work. It will always take a little more effort, and deserve special attention. It will inspire magical memories and call us home across the fields.

With extra love.