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Today I took my mother, and our family friend Kathie, AND the kids to the church fete in the next village. My Mother and Kathie have never experienced such an English moment, and they are game for such things. My sister in law was there with her kids, her niece, and great nephew, (who is such an adorable little guy) and we said hello. My mother in law showed up, and we had a chat with her. Miss Biscuit ran into her best friend in the entire universe, and they ran off together, and Senor Onion ran off with school friends. There was folk music, a tent with people selling books, toys, and other second-hand junk, cake, jams, and chutney. Mrs. B. was serving ice cream, there were games, the local spinning group, tea and cake in the church, and everyone having a merry old time. It isn't wild living, but it is a pleasant afternoon. My Mom, and Kathie thought it was the best time, they bought loads of interesting things. My Mother earned herself an open invitation to hang out with the local spinners.
Anyhow, I was chatting with people when this man with an Australian accent came up to me and asked, "Are you Gennie? You see, I've just bought this cake, and the woman at the stall pointed me towards the lady selling ice cream, who pointed me towards you. You see, last year we came down to Devon, and I went to the tea room, and had this daffodil cake, and I had never had anything like it in my life. Were you the lady who made it?"
I said, "YES! I did make that cake last year. I'm glad you liked it."
He proceeded to tell me this long passionate story about how he had been going mad the past year trying to find a recipe that might be just like that cake, and how this cake had haunted him. He said, "That cake you made. It was like memory foam, but so light, and so delicious. I told my friend in Spain about it, and we kept googling trying to find this recipe and everything we found was like lemon drizzle cake. WHAT IS THIS RECIPE. I MUST HAVE THIS CAKE!"
I told him it was just a variation on angel food cake, and it was an American recipe, and I grew up making it, and it was kind of common. He sang more praises for the cake, and I said, "If you give me your email address, I can send you a copy of the recipe, and explain how to make it." The man was scrambling for paper, and I found a pen, and I wrote down his email address. By this point his wife came up, and the man turned to her and said, "THIS IS THE WOMAN WHO MADE THE CAKE! WASN'T THAT CAKE AMAZING? YOU HAD SOME REMEMBER?" His wife who was very nice said, "Oh yes, that was nice cake." He interrupted and said, "NO, it was AMAZING."
I worry that this cake might not live up to the memory he has created around it, but there is something rather flattering about the fact that it was so well-received.
And that is the story of how I once drove a man mad with cake.
Anyhow, I was chatting with people when this man with an Australian accent came up to me and asked, "Are you Gennie? You see, I've just bought this cake, and the woman at the stall pointed me towards the lady selling ice cream, who pointed me towards you. You see, last year we came down to Devon, and I went to the tea room, and had this daffodil cake, and I had never had anything like it in my life. Were you the lady who made it?"
I said, "YES! I did make that cake last year. I'm glad you liked it."
He proceeded to tell me this long passionate story about how he had been going mad the past year trying to find a recipe that might be just like that cake, and how this cake had haunted him. He said, "That cake you made. It was like memory foam, but so light, and so delicious. I told my friend in Spain about it, and we kept googling trying to find this recipe and everything we found was like lemon drizzle cake. WHAT IS THIS RECIPE. I MUST HAVE THIS CAKE!"
I told him it was just a variation on angel food cake, and it was an American recipe, and I grew up making it, and it was kind of common. He sang more praises for the cake, and I said, "If you give me your email address, I can send you a copy of the recipe, and explain how to make it." The man was scrambling for paper, and I found a pen, and I wrote down his email address. By this point his wife came up, and the man turned to her and said, "THIS IS THE WOMAN WHO MADE THE CAKE! WASN'T THAT CAKE AMAZING? YOU HAD SOME REMEMBER?" His wife who was very nice said, "Oh yes, that was nice cake." He interrupted and said, "NO, it was AMAZING."
I worry that this cake might not live up to the memory he has created around it, but there is something rather flattering about the fact that it was so well-received.
And that is the story of how I once drove a man mad with cake.
