Take a stroll down a “crumb filled” memory lane with me.

 

Crossword clue snagged poignant memories: number twenty-seven down asked for a word that meant “gently add, as egg whites to batter”.

 

Correct answer, FOLD, conjured up a Sponge cake, baked from scratch during one of our summer visits at Dad’s Spartan home, after our parents divorced.

 

My first attempt at a “made from scratch”, a Sponge cake recipe, found in the good old Betty Crocker cookbook.

 

I’d measured, sifted, and was ready to assemble the wet and dry ingredients, which I’d then pour into the aluminum tunnel type pan. Its tall, deep sides would accommodate the expansion of the fluffy   potion and support the end result.

 

Separated egg whites were beaten into stiff peaks, per the recipe, using a manual whisk.

But then, with equal vigor…I beat the results, into the bowl, with remaining batter, erasing any benefit of the airy mixture’s ability to add height to the end result.

 

The carefully scraped contents of my bowl went into the pan, and slid onto the bottom rack the preheated oven. I’d removed the other racks to make plenty of room for the expanded end result.

 

The timer went off and I peered into the oven. The expectation, to see the contents swelled up to the top, disappointed greatly. The cake hadn’t risen beyond the point of the batter line when I’d filled the pan.

 

The resulting product lived up to its name, indeed a very sponge like cake. “Tough and chewy” would be a charitable description.

 

Dad ate it without comment, and managed to swallow a second slice for good measure.

 

Acquiring culinary skills takes time.  Most chefs will admit to a few food failures in their early years.  Trial and error taught me better than any of my home economics schooling.

 

Economics of the times meant waste was a sin. Family finances didn’t afford the luxury of tossing the less than perfect results down the disposal. We ate our mistakes.

 

My younger sister’s first attempt at baking garnered similar support from Dad.

 

She’d cracked open his old stained copy of Dad’s copy of “Betty Crocker” and paged over to the section marked COOKIES.

 

Her selection: the Oatmeal cookie recipe.  Somehow a breeze or maybe an unseen nudge caused the page to turn to the next recipe…Peanut butter press cookies.   Lizzie soldiered on, not realizing the error.

 

The “new” recipe had, of course different portions of flour, liquid, that were incorporated into the bowl with the first few ingredients of the previous page’s recipe-

 

Results I remember- the oatmeal bits were a bit dry… but Dad thought they were “tasty.”

 

Liz recalls he embellished the rather crunchy hunks with a liberal dose of Peanut butter and chewed with gusto.

 

Whatever the effort, our father praised the result.

 

Dad never let on that our work was at best only edible, when washed down with a large glass of milk.

Happy Father’s Day to all the Dads out there who’ve “swallowed” their kids culinary efforts, without complaint.

 

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