I swore every year I wouldn’t do it again.
Why? Because weeks afterwards, I would find crusted chocolate icing underneath the bench top. Electric blue fingerprints on a corner kitchen tile. And dried butter cake residue stuck fast to the blender that I had been too tired to clean up on the day.
The Book was to blame. According to this blogger, who is cooking her way through it, there are 104 cakes in it. Yes, you know the one: The Australian Women’s Weekly Children’s Birthday Cake Book.
We would take it out a whole month before each of our children’s birthdays. They would pore through it, pointing to the cake with dollies sitting in jelly, or the train with its quaint lamington carriages. Gently, gently, I would steer them to the cakes I thought would be easy to make. Not so gently, they steered me straight back to the ones that required electric blue food colouring and intricate decorations that didn’t seem to sit on the shelves of our local supermarket. And the clean-up afterwards; it didn't bear thinking about.
But what joy this little yearly ritual bought them, and I couldn’t find it in my heart to say no when they asked again and again for another homemade cake. And so, each year, on the kitchen bench our children sat, among the chaos of ingredients – and they helped to stir and decorate with their sticky little fingers, all the while fighting over who would lick the bowl. And even if we strayed a little (or a lot in some cases) from the bible of children's birthday cakes, they didn't complain.
But then something happened when my daughter was 12.
She asked if she could make her brother's birhtday cake. All by herself.
I confess: I felt a twinge of loss.
And a sense of relief.
She’d taken the baton.
And I was relegated to the sink.
Our now 13-year-old daughter is quite the baker. This year, she and her friend even offered to make the cake for their bestie’s birthday party.
I reached for The Book.
But she reached for another. I shuddered.
She flicked through it, a whole month before the party. And again in coming weeks. She spoke to me about the possible choices. Was I listening? Only in that I'm-too-busy-cooking-dinner-and-not-really-concentrating-kind-of-way.
Finally, she decided.
As the date drew near I looked over the ingredients. I read the pages of instructions.
And I decided that Zumbo's croque-en-bouche was impossible.
But it was too late. Her heart was set.
Almost three dozen eggs. Vanilla beans. Two tubs of glucose syrup. And more. Sixty dollars later, we were ready to start. I drew the line at unsprayed chemical free flowers and a croque-en-bouch cone. That was going too far, even for a budding pastry chef.
The party was at 6.30pm. The girls met in our kitchen at 9am that morning.
They piped and baked the choux pastry. They whipped the crème patisserie. They set the caramel base. They boiled the glucose syrup. They burnt their hands in the hot toffee. And at 5.30, it was like the frantic last minute on Masterchef; while one was building the tower, another was sticking on decorations. As the girls went off to put on their party gear, sweaty and exhausted, I was madly wrapping the whole creation in angel hair, not caring any more how much sticky toffee mixture was making its way on all the surrounding surfaces.
I drove the girls and the cake, balanced precariously on a nervous lap, to the party. The guests ‘oohhed’ and ‘aaahhed’ in a suitably enthusiastic fashion. And my daughter and her friend looked so proud. They set out to conquer Zumbo's Croque-en-bouche. And they did.
But guess who still had to do the dishes?
And how to express the utter amazement and delight of the "bestie", who was the favoured recipient of such a gift? The croquembouche was, simply awe-inspiring!! And as the mother of the bestie, and I hope, a "courtesy" aunt of the pastry chefs, I was overwhelmed by their efforts for my daughter. The beautiful creation was infused not only with the perfume of the vanilla bean, but with the love and youthful passion of those first true friendships of early adolescence. I hope that there will be many more celebratory cakes made and shared to mark many more milestones in the three girls' lives. I also hope that they will do the dishes next time.
Posted by: Heather Hunt | 08 June 2014 at 10:20 AM
They always leave the washing up. And use every pan in the kitchen. . But wow. Croquet en Bouche profiteroles any one?
Posted by: Irena | 08 June 2014 at 01:21 PM
Yes, leaving the washing up seems to resonate with many who responded to this post!
And thanks so much Heather for affirming how much the 'bestie' loved the cake - I think the cake was made in love and friendship and however it turned out, the fact that they wanted to make it in Sophie's honour was key. So proud of our girls for doing the hard yards and getting there - no doubt there will be many more cake making adventures (and while I'd like to be optimistic, lots more parents-washing-up-scenarios too...)
Posted by: Spiri | 08 June 2014 at 03:48 PM
What a wonderful croque-en-bouche...
...of dishes!
Posted by: Grace Skene | 08 June 2014 at 09:01 PM