I recently met with a friend for coffee, cake and a chat. My mother’s cooking came to mind when I was looking at the expensive prices for a small slice. I could have made 12 for the price of what they were charging for one.
My turn to have all the girls over for a morning tea was fast approaching. I did not want to do the usual thing of buying a couple of cakes, so I decided to make something from my mother’s cookbooks.
I’d put the books in some boxes and had to rummage through them. When I found the elusive recipe books, I was lost in the nostalgia of seeing recipes written in my mother’s handwriting.
My mother was a beautiful caring soul and she was ever so patient. I remember that when I was little, if I mucked anything up or dropped something she would say, “Rome wasn’t build in a day” or “Your little hands should not have been expecting to carry such a large cake”.
She loved cooking sweets. One of my favourites was her apple pie, a dish I’ve dared not try because I don’t feel I could do it justice.
She had a special chair for me to sit on in the kitchen so that I could reach the bench. My aprons matched hers. As I grew up, she taught me her recipes in greater detail and she did it all with a great deal of love and patience.
Finding my favourite recipe — a cheesecake slice — I got to work. My husband is a massive fan of cheesecake and declared my efforts with this slice ‘a little piece of heaven’ and something he couldn’t leave alone. It wasn’t long before the slice quickly disappeared and I had to make another before the girls arrived for coffee.
All the time I spent making this, I couldn’t help think about my mother.
When the girls had eaten their slice, they declared it a winner and all wanted the recipe. I was right, too, I cut 12 good sized slices.