Ode to homemade cake

How are we spoiled by cakes from the store. For any occasion, large and small, on the shelves there is a sand, nut, flaky or soufflé miracle. Guests, of course, praise flowers and mushrooms on the glazed surface, remember other successful products of this brand, but ...

The cake will not be a real holiday, even if the candles burn on it. It is too predictable, this product is in a plastic transparent box. Its appearance and taste are known in advance and tried many, many times. Nothing surprising. They will only say that they already ate this.

But quite another matter - the cake is really man-made. If one day you will be lucky and there will be a cake on the table, over which the landlady pored for 2-3 hours, and before that she was looking for a recipe in a calico notebook, she called her aunt to clarify how much butter should be added to the cream and how many minutes to keep the dough on a water bath - You are incredibly lucky.

This cake is certainly not as beautiful as the factory cake, without intricate roses and curls made by the cunning hand of the pastry cook. The mistress will not cut the edges evenly, on the contrary, she will leave as is, in order to get more, because she has prepared enough cream. And fragrant warm circles of cakes are so generously bathed in delicious sour cream or some other, one she knows which, cream - where before it is factory!

He, this cake, can be (and should be!) Every time a little different. The shades of the cake from the degree of baking will be lighter, then darker. Curd cream twists will fall on the mood of the housewife often or rarely. And maybe she will outline the delicious dark frosting with chaotic lines of cream, splashing all her joy into their curvatures from the fact that soon the guests will come and the voices of friends will sound in the house. And she will forget about something that she prefers not to talk about, But what lies deep in her eyes.

And the cake ... the cake will be like a small quay, to which they all will catch up, sniffing and anticipating the quick pleasure - to taste what the mistress did for them, what she created, thinking about them and wishing them well. And it will become warmer and lighter around, while friends are pushed into the mistress's house.

They, adults, turn into children, waiting only for them the intended sweetness. And this is a real gift - cooked by a man who kneaded the dough with the thought that he is preparing a gift for a sweet tooth baby. How can we all now lack this, only for us organized, a miracle.

And then the cake slowly arrives on the tray on the table. There comes a solemn moment, a moment of contemplation of it, as a museum rarity. You can see every grain of scum, shiny slices of fruit and gloss glaze of dark cocoa. The cake is not yet cut, the aroma has not yet floated around the room, but the guests in advance imagine how it will be, and begin to mercantilely estimate how much pieces they will get.

Finally a slice with a golden striped slice, divided by strips of cream, is passed on to the first lucky beggar. Now the main thing is not to rush, imagine yourself a taster and slowly-slowly eat.