The Dessert with No Name

My memories may be fading in recent years, as I’m sure many can attest to, but the memory of that one dessert stays with me.

My mother could do it all. In the world of tarot she would be The Empress, a creator, a nurturer or at the very least the Queen of Pentacles. But to me she was Mom. She could cook and bake, sew, knit and crochet. The art of quilting and needlepoint was not lost on her and she could fix anything, without the directions, and eventually, with.

Of all of my mother’s accomplishments, the best, I must say, if you want me to be honest, was her baking. Oh, the cakes that woman could make and don’t get me started on the butter tarts and the ‘Death by Chocolate’. To try and narrow down to just one out of her masterpieces is an impossible task. But alas, I will do so for the sake of this memory. As if to write it down will permanently cement it in my mind.

It had no name but the flavour swirled around my tongue, bringing a satisfied groan to my lips. I closed my eyes to drink in the moment, trying to identify each flavour, lost in my delight.

After handing me the spoon, my mother continued puttering around the kitchen, from stirring a pot, taking cookies out of the oven, to putting the final touches on the chocolate layer birthday cake. Small chocolate macaroons decorated the top of my fifty-fifth birthday cake. My favourite of all cakes.

When the spoonful of deliciousness was gone, I looked at my mother in amazement. How on earth did she do it? She was mother incarnate.

As I licked the last crumb from my lips, like an eager child, I asked for more. Like before, each bite took me into a cozy haze.

Wow!

I think of all the money my mother could have made during her lifetime and could potentially make. We could open a store, or two or three. We’ll have restaurants and this dessert will take centre stage. I would run it and Mom could cook and bake, sew, knit and crochet. Her quilts would sell for hundreds and the needlepoint (almost a lost art) would as well.

It is amazing how in a flash one idea can morph into a 15 billion dollar corporation run by me, of course, and allowing my mom to continue with all the projects she enjoys. Look at me and how I had that all planned out in a matter of five minutes.

Once finished the dessert that was going to change our lives, I cleaned my plate and stored it away. Excited to discuss this new venture that would change our lives completely, I turned to my mother who was whipping up some goodies for her grandchildren.

“What's the name of that dessert?” I asked.

Mom sat down and filled her plate. Like me, she savoured every bite. At times she seemed thoughtful as if she was making changes to the recipe for the next time. Finished, she cleaned her plate and fork and answered as she put them away.

“It doesn’t have a name and it isn’t getting one,” she answered.

“Why? It was one of the best yet!”

Now, the one thing about my mother is she is definitely a matter-of-fact type of person. No ‘buck farting around’. For me, that dessert I had just eaten needed to be celebrated, discussed, put on a pedestal. But for my mother it was just another dessert in the long list of desserts she had made throughout her life, first as a young bride, then as a mother and grandmother, and later as a great-grandmother.

“Because I threw things in willy-nilly. I'll never be able to make it again.”

With that one sentence she dashed all hope of our future billionaire status. My dream of seeing that dessert featured on the menu of our own restaurants vanished as quickly as the last spoonful.

It was a one-time creation, never written down, never recreated, and destined never to appear on any restaurant menu, real or imagined. It survives only in my memory.