Grandma Shirley's Belgian Chocolate Cake

Hints of coffee and chocolate suddenly filled the room and the feeling was so immediate that it caught Miranda off guard. She needed to have a slice of her Grandma’s Belgian chocolate cake. It must be the smell of chocolate ganache blown in from nowhere or the pictures that she came across of Grandma Shirley and her in the kitchen when she was a child. The reason was not important to Miranda, she knew that she needed a piece of that cake and she wanted it now.

Grandma Shirley was a no-nonsense woman and the queen of her household. She raised six children as a single parent and ensured that they all got the best education. She loved cooking and her favorite was baking. Miranda searched the internet for “Belgian chocolate cake nearby”, hoping to find a restaurant that would satisfy her craving. It was 10:30 pm and her options were limited. Chocolate peanut butter cake, chocolate lava cake, chocolate mocha burnt cake and every other type of chocolate cake was available except for Belgian chocolate cake. She entertained the thought of trying the chocolate fudge cake but argued that it would be too sweet. She needed that bittersweet taste in her mouth.

She fell back onto the couch and tried to picture the cake that Grandma Shirley made for every family celebration and holiday. It was a must have family request. Her mouth filled with saliva as she was hit with another whiff of Dutch-process cocoa powder, hazelnut and brown sugar. She remembered standing on a stool near the kitchen counter with a spoon in hand while Grandma allowed her to take control of mixing watching the chocolate mixture move in a circular motion in the bowl. Grandma Shirley stood right by her side to take over when her arms grew tired from turning that big wooden spoon. She always thought that the kitchen smelled exactly as it did in the movie “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory”. It was their favorite movie to watch and Miranda remembered that she had a copy of it. She had not watched it in years. Life always had a means of throwing something at her that was much more important and then she never could make the time to even go over and spend time with Grandma Shirley especially when she began to lose her memory.

Miranda decided that if she couldn't get herself a slice of Belgian chocolate cake, she would just go out and buy the ingredients. It was almost 11 pm but she would not be in bed for another few hours. She walked to her window of her luxury apartment on the 40th floor of her building with a beautiful view of the Manhattan skyline. In it a profusion of towers, silhouettes of buildings and trees against the blackened sky with a myriad of distant dazzling lights. It reminded her of Grandma Shirley's hazel eyes that always had a spark, bright enough to illuminate any room. She needed to get an Uber and make it to the store which was five minutes away before it closed at 11:30 pm.

Flour, baking soda, butter, buttermilk, eggs were some of the items that Miranda rung up at the self-check-out. She could ask her assistant, Lucille, to get her some Belgian chocolate cake the next day, but she couldn't wait until then. Her body craved it so badly that she needed to have it at that moment. It would help her fall asleep.

Upon getting to the apartment, she grabbed hold of her mixing bowls and every kitchen utensil that she needed. She and Grandma Shirley made this cake probably a thousand times and Miranda knew she could do it even with her eyes closed.

The apartment was quiet and nothing could be heard except for the ticking of the clock. She tried to picture Grandma Shirley standing next to her in her usual spot, always on the right side. Oven preheated to 350 degrees and the hazelnuts and brown sugar were being ground together until fine in the food processor. With the disturbance created by the food processor in the background, Miranda pictured both her mother and grandmother together when her mom was a child grinding away at the hazelnuts and sugar by hand, breaking out into a sweat working their arm muscle in comparison to her using the food processor to do all the work.

For the first time in a long time, she broke out into a smile. Or a semblance of a smile. She remembered all the stories that Grandma Shirley told her. One was about harvesting cocoa on the farm where she grew up with her family. She, her sister and four brothers were responsible for collecting the cocoa pods. The pods were sliced in half using machetes. And mom talked about how they often sucked on the seeds ripping it of its sweet nectar. Once they returned home, the seeds were placed outside to dry on top of some unused galvanize. Everyone looked forward to the drying of the seeds before being roasted and then crushed into a sandy mixture. This mix was used to make chocolate and even coffee. It was hard work but it was worth it once they took a bite out of Grandma Shirley's chocolate cake.

Miranda was sure that she grabbed the Dutch-processed cocoa but on her white quartz kitchen counter was a box of natural cocoa. “I’m sure it’ll work.” She told herself questioning whether or not Grandma Shirley was disappointed in her. Not the first time she would be disappointed she thought sadly. She was disappointed when Miranda had moved to the ‘big city’ and seemingly forgot about where she came from and her entire family. She ran away at the first opportunity she got– running from something that no one understood. She left and eventually there was no contact with the family. Now she couldn’t remember if she should use baking powder or baking soda with the neutral cocoa.

She collapsed on the gray and white marble tiled floor and leaned against the glass doors of her kitchen cabinets. All she wanted was a warm slice of Belgian chocolate cake. She was constantly told that she had Grandma Shirley’s strength–her ability to stay steadfast and relentless, never giving up until the goal was achieved. Some thought Miranda was better described as stubborn. She considered herself determined, a trait that forced her to make a ton of sacrifices including not having a family.

Two years ago, she got a divorce–something Grandma Shirley frowned upon. Another thing she added to her growing list of disappointments. “Miranda you should fight for your marriage. It is too soon to give up." Grandma’s voice echoed in her head.

Unfortunately, Miranda had miscarried, and she blamed herself for it. She worked tirelessly every night at the law office. Her clients needed her even though bed rest was advised. She wasn’t doing much but having meetings and returning phone calls and then it happened. She remembered the cramps and the bleeding. It didn’t matter how many times the doctor said it wasn’t her fault, in Miranda's eyes, it was. Her marriage was never the same after. Kevin was still a devoted husband but she couldn’t stand to be around him anymore. She wanted to be alone. “You will regret your decision to leave him. Kevin is a good man,” said Grandma Shirley and Miranda had to admit that she was right. She did miss Kevin so much.

She picked up her phone and began to google “baking soda or baking powder when using neutral cocoa powder.” Once all the dry ingredients were added, she continued to whisk together the cocoa and boiling water until it was smooth. She remembered the recipe as if it had been printed on the back of her hand or in her brain with tiny characters from her grandmother. There was never a need to write the recipe down. It was always passed down from one generation to the next that way.

There was a burning, felt deep within her chest. Miranda sipped on a glass of water. The sensation was still present. She had no one to pass the recipe on to and being close to 40, she was way passed her prime. Her heart did the double beat and she gasped and caught herself trying to catch her breath. Focus. She needed to focus on finishing that cake.

Right before she placed the batter in her buttered glass baking dish, she dipped her finger into the mixing bowl to have a little taste. Another thing that Grandma Shirley always did and since it was part of tradition, who was she to break it. As the mix swirled around her mouth and she swallowed the tiny bits of batter, frowns appeared on her face. It didn’t taste the same. Something was wrong. Had she missed an important ingredient? Miranda tried to picture it all in her mind again but she was growing tired. Maybe it would taste better once it was fully baked.

An hour had gone by and the cake was ready. She waited fifteen minutes before cutting into it. It was still very warm when she placed it in her mouth and although moist and chocolatey, it tasted nothing like Grandma Shirley’s Belgian Chocolate cake. A wave formed in both eyes and tears broke out, beating her cheeks and the remainder of her face like a tidal wave. She had not been able to cry when she first discovered that Grandma Shirley had died, even though she had neglected to visit her in previous weeks. The trip was scheduled, but like always, she canceled it. It had been years since she had seen the family and she simply did not have the courage to face them after all this time.

Miranda was still wearing the black dress from earlier that day when she attended Grandma Shirley’s funeral. It was now soiled with a mix of ingredients, mostly flour, sugar and chocolate batter. She curled up in a ball on the cold floor while the tears continued to flow down her face. She felt alone. She lowered her head as her shoulders trembled and made a forceful effort to draw in a breath.

She woke up frantically after hearing a knock on her door. Miranda had no idea that she had fallen asleep. At first it sounded so distant that she thought it was all a dream. Her eyes were red and eyelids were puffy. She looked into her peephole but saw no one. Upon opening the door, there was a suspicious package wrapped in a brown paper bag sitting on her red mat. Miranda looked up and down her hallway. There was no one in sight. On the package was a sticker which said, “To Miranda, with love.” She quickly grabbed hold of the package and placed it on her kitchen counter. Who would have left her a package and what could be in it? Miranda paced her apartment, but decided that she would open it. If it killed her, it wouldn’t even matter. She had to find out.

Her hands shuddered while untying the red ribbon which wrapped the package. Slowly the outer layers were pulled back and eventually she was hit by that familiar smell. The final reveal was a piece of Belgian Chocolate cake and a note that said.

I am so sorry for your loss. I know today has been one of the most difficult days for you and I'm sorry I couldn't be here to support you. I knew how much that cake meant to you and your family. There's no better way to honor Grandma Shirley than to have a slice of Belgian chocolate cake. I hope it makes you feel a little better.

With love,

Kevin

Miranda bit into her slice of cake and with every bite, she felt Grandma Shirley’s presence grow stronger. That made her glad.