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100 Years of Cake

A Magical Bake

By T.S. KnightPublished 3 years ago Updated 3 years ago 8 min read
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I jumped as the video call was put through and heard her voice.

“Eho!” My grandmother’s voice boomed, thousands of miles away, sitting just as I remember her in her garden.

“Maminke!” I smiled back automatically awaiting her sweet nicknames for me.

“Oh, maminka’s beautiful kid.” She spoke in her raspy voice, trying to imitate my soft pitch as she blew kisses at the screen. “How are you, mamo?” She smiled so big, staring at me closely on the screen, hanging on my every word.

“I’m good, maminke. I wanted to ask you something.”

“Of course, anything you want, maminke.” She smiled sweetly as she took in every moment of our chat.

“Well, we just moved into the new house, and I was going through some of the boxes. I found the recipe book you gave me. When I picked it up, there was this- how do I say it in Bulgarian- postcard? It fell out and it had a recipe for a chocolate cake on it, but there was a note that mentioned a magic spoon? I don’t ever remember you or mom mentioning that.”

Her expression changed, smiling as she looked down.“Are you ready for a story?”

“There is a story behind the spoon?”

“100 years old to be exact. Go in the kitchen. We’ll make the recipe.” My eyebrows went up as I hesitated, wondering if she was serious or not. She started moving, so I quickly got up and rushed into the kitchen.

“Grandma, I don’t have anything set up.”

“We’re going back to the old ways. Just follow my lead.” She pulled out a bowl and wooden spoon, so I tried to mimic her as fast as I could.

“What about the magic spoon?”

“First the story. Once you’re able to do the recipe by memory, you’ll be ready for the spoon. Are you ready?” I nodded wondering where this was going.

“Oh God, it’s been so long since I made this.” She laughed with her raspy voice signaling the years of cigarettes. “Okay, first heat up the oven to a base temperature, and let’s butter and sugar our cake tins.” She moved effortlessly and I felt hypnotized. I suddenly snapped out of her hypnotic movements and rushed to turn my oven to 350 degrees. I spread a thin layer of butter around my cake tin and shook the sugar all around before throwing the excess into the sink.

“Okay, now put in one and a half cups of flour, one and a half of sugar, half a cup of dark cocoa powder, and a handful of baking powder.”

“Maminke, what does that even mean. How much do I put in my hand?” She laughed as she pulled out a spoon.

“Just about one and a half teaspoons, and a half teaspoon of salt, and now mix it all up.”

“What happened to the story, maminke?” I asked as I focused on mixing everything well.

“Soon. Now, does your mom have any coffee left over?” I rushed over to check the cup by the sink and took it.

“Yes, but it’s only a quarter of a cup.”

“That’s okay. Pour another half a cup of water in it and heat it up to a boil while we add the rest of the ingredients." She waited patiently till I came back.

“Ready?” I nodded, smiling at the thought of how calm and happy I felt sharing that moment.

“Good, let’s put a third of a cup of oil, three-quarters of a cup of milk, one egg, and a very good splash, about a tablespoon, of vanilla extract.” She waited as I threw each ingredient less gracefully than I would have liked. Wiping the flour off my nose, I sneezed, making her laugh.

“Haha, what’s next?”

“Let’s mix it in very well, making sure there are no lumps, and add the boiling water to it until it becomes shiny and smooth.” The mixture came together deliciously as I smelled the rich dark cocoa in the air. I poured it in quickly and impatiently as I took the bowl and started to lick it with my finger while I waited. My grandmother laughed when she sat down and noticed the chocolate all over my face.

“Oh, maminka’s sweetest kid. You haven't changed.” She laughed heartily while I wiped the thick chocolate off my face.

“While I share the story, go ahead and make the glaze with one cup of hot heavy cream poured over a cup of chocolate pieces. When you have everything melted and incorporated, just put it in the fridge to set. The cake will be done in about 45 minutes, so once it’s out and cooled, we’ll top it off.” I nodded as I took one last lick from the bowl and set off toward the stove to heat up the milk.

“This story has been passed down through 4, about to be 5, generations of women in our family. It came from an old tale that a special tree in the Rila Mountains produced the most delicious and amazing fruit, but the true magic was the ability to make two people fall in love. One hundred years ago, your Baba Dorka, when she was in her youth, used to daydream about her one true love after she got arranged to someone else.

“Her new husband knew that he’ll never compare, so he wanted to do the ultimate gesture and go and bring her a fruit to eat from that magical tree in the hopes of her falling in love with him. Unfortunately, he had only but a rough idea of where it could be based on the old wive’s tales. Nevertheless, he set off on his search.

“The first part of the tale told of a young man sitting under a tree until a black sheep came to take him across the mountain in exchange for the young man’s blade. The husband decided to take a blade with him and some bread and cheese in a cloth that he wrapped around a wooden rod. It took him hours until he finally came to the foot of a bridge that he recalled from the tale. Little did he know that a wolf was sitting in wait, just as the tale had predicted.

“Maminke, don’t tell me he got eaten!”

“Haha, if he did, none of us would be here right now. Even though he did fight it and almost lost. There is no proof, but it has been said that he had a scar on his shoulder that has been passed down through the generations as a sign of great courage and perseverance in a person.” I quickly threw my hand up to my left shoulder and realized that I was born with a birthmark on my shoulder. My grandmother smiled at my shock stricken face as she continued.

“Our family isn’t known to back down from a fight.” I shook my head at the thought as I realized how stubborn and strong willed I have become.

“What a family. Now you’re going to tell me that he finds the tree and we’re suddenly going to be magical?” I laughed, but she looked at me without saying anything. “Maminke!”

“He did find the tree, but there was no fruit for him to take. Instead, he chopped down a branch. He knew that the only time he had seen his wife happy was when she would cook, so he carved it down into a wooden spoon.

“He took the long journey home, wondering if she noticed that he was gone, but the fear was too great. Although they had only recently wed, he felt attached to her. He wanted her happy, and if that meant that she would be better off if he left, then he would do just that. He left the spoon through the kitchen window and set off without a direction.

“He had just reached the edge of the village when he heard his name being called. Looking back he realized that his wife was running straight toward him, waving the spoon that he left behind. Fully shocked, she ran right into his arms before hitting him on the head with the spoon.

“You stupid man! I can’t sleep without your snoring. Let’s go.” She pulled him by the hand toward their house.

“How did you know where I was?” He asked, following her.

“The spoon told me.” She responded as he looked at her in shock.

“I went into the kitchen and grabbed it to start cooking when I got these visions of you at the edge of town. It was the most horrific thing, and I knew I couldn’t let you leave.”

“But you’re in love with someone else.” He stopped behind her, unable to keep going.

“I am... with a new man. One that went to the edge of the world to give me a spoon from a magical tree that was only a tale.” He was about to ask her, but she answered before he had a chance. “The spoon. Somehow, it connected me to you and showed me what you did, that’s how.” She walked in toward him, and leaned in for a kiss that sparked at their touch.

“They ended up falling in love and passed on that spoon to every daughter, or daughter in law getting married as a sign of true love, loyalty, and commitment.”

“Wow. So, whoever has the spoon falls in love? I don’t know if I’m ready for all that yet.” I giggled at how crazy that sounded.

“In time, things will fall into place. For now, we have a cake to eat!”

I laugh when I think back to that moment. It wasn’t until my wedding day that the spoon found its way into a wooden box left beside my wedding dress.

In the rustic container was a folded traditional Bulgarian cloth. As I unwrapped the cloth, it revealed a beautiful engraved wooden spoon, etched with generations of initials. My fingers ran over the engravings, and I smiled. I now understood that the magic of it came from the wisdom that got passed down from sharing recipes and memories.

“I hope my husband is ready for me.” I thought, before setting it down and putting on my dress.

Short Story
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About the Creator

T.S. Knight

As an artist I feel driven to share what lives inside of me. My goal and passion are to bring experiences to the people around me and to bring the unspoken to life if it's through writing or art. I live for experiences that can be shared.

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