With a lot of trepidation ventured into baking an eggless chocolate and vanilla marble cake today afternoon after a very long time. Hot humid Chennai stole my afternoon sleep and hence decided to spend my time reviving my baking skills. As I was measuring, whisking, pouring my mind wandered to the days when I was initiated to baking by my mother. I think I was 12 years or even lesser when I proudly used to assist her during her baking sprees with my 2 younger sisters waiting to lick the cake batter bowl. Later they were also a part of the baking adventures at home.
Baking was not as easy as it is today. My mother used to bake with rudimentary equipment. A square tin oven that had 2 trays would be heated on our gas stove. Mixing was done with a wooden spatula and later entered the wire whisk and even much later a rotary beater. The tin cake trays or brass vessels would be carefully lined with brown papers or the butter paper. The brass vessels had a coating of tin on the inside and this was was done at home periodically by men who were trained in that art. They would sit in our backyard and melt the metal and deftly apply it on to the inner surface of the brass vessels. The three of us sisters would sit around and watch this being done, It was also a simple way by which my mother would ensure safety of the brass vessels and at the same time keep us from pestering her. Tea cups were used as measures.
My mother’s collection of cake recipes is a treasure. Every recipe featuring in “Femina” or “Eves Weekly” would be noted down and tried during the weekend. She used to use fresh cream collected from milk in place of butter. I still remember the marble cakes that we used to bake. Colorful specks of food color would be sprinkled on to the cake batter and swirled to make the magic. This was our experimental field and the three of us would take turns in deciding on the colors to be dropped into the batter.
Plum cake baking was another experience…. I learnt the nuances of making caramel. Darker the caramel, darker would be the cake told my mother. Chopping and soaking the fruits and nuts in brandy and dusting the tutti – frooti bits was all done under my mother’s eagle eye. We would never be allowed to cut the cake immediately after it’s baked. We had to wait for a day- A strict rule that was laid down by my mother. She would say that a day of aging would result in a perfect cake slice without any crumbs. Banana bread was a regular weekend recipe as the over ripe bananas would be transformed into this delicious cake with a generous sprinkle of walnuts. The smells of baked cake brought me back from the exciting and unforgettable growing up phase which will never fade from my memory.
