Memoir in Action 001: When Auntie passes the torch
The biggest thing to happen me this year!
Hello everyone! I hope everyone is well. It’s been a busy summer for me as I’ve been amping up writing, shooting, and recording for several audio experiences, one of them being my new show Unlocking History with Asia! The first two episodes of my Women’s Work series are up (with another one dropping soon) so if it’s your thing, please check them out.
I’m also experimenting with memoir writing this year (something I’ve been tempted to do for awhile) hence this new series, Memoir in Action. I’m kicking off this inaugural piece detailing a special moment exploring family dynamics, a sweet recipe, and passing the torch.
When Auntie passes the mantle, you know its going down
This year for Easter my parents and I went to Louisiana to join family in the state’s capital, Baton Rouge. My dad is from a small town named Morganza nestled off two highway bridges, sugar cane fields, and tucked behind the local railroad track.
It’s a 8-hour drive minimum from Atlanta and the nearest mall is an hour away.
You get my drift.
While the city girl in me aches at being far from home, I must admit a piece of myself heals every time I visit my Grandparents home.
The large branches of the Louisiana oak envelop me when I arrive. My cousins and I stayed clear of the stream behind their home for fear of being snapped up (which we now know was in good jest). And then, if that wasn’t cool enough, there’s the green. As a Georgia girl I grew up around trees, but Louisiana’s Green is unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
It’s as deep and vast and wide as the ocean from moss to wild vines, to lush grass, and various vegetation, all of it covers that great big state.
This is why I firmly believe Louisiana should be its own country. The law of the land is like no other, from the districts, to the locals, its medicinal history (which I had a podcast episode coming later) the air, and the FOOD!
THE FOOD. THE FOOD. THE FOOD.
Eating isn’t a pastime in Louisiana, it’s a religion. From the way it’s prepped, sourced, smoked, cured, and consumed - it follows a strict hierarchy, and as with every holiday, our kitchen was in full swing.
From sunup to sundown, my grandparents’ kitchen never stops. Our ovens are packed to the brim with cheese and spaghetti, baked beans, dressings, chicken, turkey, and more. Why so much food one would ask?
My Grandparents home is quite literally the hangout spot around town. Feeding an entire family of extended cousins, next door neighbors, and family friends don’t come easy.
As soon as I crossed over the threshold into the kitchen I stepped over into the familiarity of my childhood. Scents of Brine. Salt. Maple, and then LEMON.
My Aunt Janis was finishing the lemon glaze for the cake just as I rounded the corner. Next to the simmering bubbling goodness in the pot I saw the ingredients for the batter.
“You ready?” My Aunt said in the way all elders do. Not really a question, more of a command. I froze momentarily, as my eyes danced over the rest of the ingredients next to her.
A box of white cake mix, fresh eggs from a market, water, and oil. Next to these ingredients sat a white bowl and three cake pans. It clicked. My Aunt was inviting me into the fold and make her coveted lemon glazed white cake.
Understand, each Aunt of mine has a staple dessert they’ve perfected over the years but few cousins get the keys to that SWEET kingdom. So here we were. A whisk and my bragging rights as the cousin hanging delicately in the balance.
My Aunt gave me one more look. There was no turning back. I grabbed Thor’s hammer and uttered, “Yes.”
A Core Memory
One of my favorite moments in Disney’s Sleeping Beauty (1959) is the surprise birthday scene the fairies throw for Aurora’s 16th birthday. In particular, I was fascinated watching each ingredient happily fold itself in the mixing bowl one after the other.
Making this cake with my Aunt felt like this moment 1000 times over. While the lemon glaze finished in the pot I began work on the batter.
First, I separated the egg whites from the yolks (without an egg separator, I might add) added water, oil, and a secret ingredient to give it a homemade flavor. Before pouring it into a pan my to bake for 25 minutes my Aunt spoke up.
“Now, we’re building the cake”my Aunt Janis said, “With three layers, so fill each pan about a little under halfway so each layer will be uniform and light.” “Yes ma’am!”
I felt like a soldier in the line of cake duty. My spirit knew something momentous was happening. More than a recipe being passed down it felt like a new purpose had been bestowed upon me. That I was growing coming into my own in this great family of mine.
Cake in the oven I moved onto my favorite part which was making the frosting. I melted the vanilla base to soften it. As I poured it into a bowl I wondered would this frosting keep all three layers? Before I could ask, my Aunt brought me a bag of powdered sugar.
“We’ll add this.” She said, placing it down by my side. “It’ll stiffen it.”
Like magic I thought! By whisking together the vanilla base frosting and powdered sugar, the icing would act as a sealant. It would be airy enough to glide over the surface yet thick enough to hold the fluffy, golden cake layers inside.
“Cake’s done.” My Aunt called out, so was the lemon glaze, and my frosting was perfect. It was time to build.
Lining with Liquid Gold
My Aunt’s instructions for building the cake were as precise as Michelangelo building the Sistine chapel. I set the first layer of our cake on the cake plate as she slid me the lemon filing.
“Take this filling and pour it on top but not to much because we don’t want it spilling over on the side.” Each layer of flavor had its job to meld in your mouth and we didn’t want the lemon interfering with the icing too much on one side.
Pouring the lemon filing on that first layer felt like I was handling liquid gold. Watching it crystallize and settle deep into the pours of the golden flaky cake made my mouth water.
All my layers fully done, it was time, to ice. I grabbed the bowl slightly panicking. Would the icing be strong enough to hold all our good work?
Right before I spooned that first glob of icing God sent an angel. My Aunt Debbie came into the kitchen to check our progress. She saw my trembling hand holding the spatula with my white icing thick on it like a crown. As I began to lay it down, a few crumbs began to dot my white canvas. For a second a pang shot through my stomach.
I was messing it up. My Aunt Debbie stood next to me and holding the cake plate steady encouraged me to continue. “It’s okay.” She said. I strengthened my grip and laid the first layer of icing down. Stroke after stroke I glided my hands swiftly over each layer, first over the sides and then moving to the top cake layer.
Job done I stepped back so now both Aunts and my mom could observe my work.
Talk about sweating bullets.
After a few moments Aunt Janis leaned over to check one spot. I held my breath. True to my Aunt’s word the icing set and the cake didn’t slide!
After dinner our lemon and white cake was gone in a hour. I devoured my slice legit in 2 minutes.
My Aunt Janis rounded the corner, slid her arm around me, and gave me a gentle squeeze. “Good job, A!” I could tell she was proud and suddenly my face got hot. In a moment, my space in the family had been solidified between a rich lemon custard, white icing, and baked into a golden goodness.
What more can a girl ask for.
