A Cuban Girl's Guide to Tea and Tomorrow - Laura Taylor Namey Page 0,10
my summer with the butter, flour, and sugar composing the only part of my heart left intact, I’m going to have to watch my approach. Slide in, not stomp. I’m going to have to be… nice.
I secure my ponytail. Smile. “Ms., err, Polly, I tried your bread and scones the other day.” Too sweet. “And I was wondering if I might spend some of my time here. Maybe help with the baking duties?”
Polly hooks one spindly arm onto her hip. “You, baking for guests? With me?”
“Well, there’s an idea!”
Polly and I whip our heads toward the door. Catalina “Cate” Mendoza Wallace is one stealthy Venezuelan.
“Really?” Polly and I say in unison. But I say it with high-pitched glee. Polly barks it out like Cate just handed me the last cookie from the jar.
Cate steps closer, her mint green cashmere poncho winged over black skinny pants. She puts her hand on Polly’s shoulder. “I would not trust your kitchen to anyone less. Lila is highly experienced and capable.” Cate turns to me. “Hopefully this will help you feel more at home here. But I’ll leave you to Polly’s charge and direction.”
I swear I hear the baker hiss.
“Now,” Cate says, peering into the oven, then our faces, “I need to see that Gordon’s not late for the dentist, so I’ll leave you two to sort out duties.”
Polly plucks a red binder from a shelf. “I have five minutes to give you thirty minutes’ worth of directives. How we do things.” And by we, she clearly means I.
“I assure you I can handle any recipe in that binder.” I’m already washing my hands. “And I’ll find my way around the equipment and ingredients.”
“We’ll see. Mornings, we do a small spread of breads and jams and seasonal fruits. I’ve got honey orange scones and white toasting bread ready for serving. Then we provide a teatime offering at half past three.” Polly opens the red manual to a laminated, typed recipe. “Today calls for Madeira sponge cake and chocolate biscuits.”
Chocolate biscuits? Abuela taught me to take big risks with flavor, just like she did. But some flavor mash-ups simply do not mash. “Biscuits with chocolate?” I ask, feeling my nose wrinkle.
“If you’re going to even attempt to bake in England, you’d best familiarize yourself with our basics.” Polly says basics like she’s already enrolled me in her Baking for Preschoolers class. She shoves the red binder into my vision. The full color photo tells me an English biscuit is a cookie. Ahh. Right.
“I’ll see to the biscuits,” she says, flipping pages and ensuring I take the book this time. Then she tosses over a clean apron. “I suppose you can prepare the Madeira cake. Can you manage four loaves all right?”
Sometimes respect warrants education—un poquito. I steel my spine. “When I was thirteen and my parents were stranded in New York, I catered a huge order for our congressman’s party. I made more than a thousand Cuban pastries and appetizers, working overnight. The Miami Herald even did an article on it.” I spot the correct pans and grab them. “I can manage four sponge cakes.”
Polly totes a wooden baking peel to the oven. “Hmmph. The finished cakes will tell, won’t they?” She opens the glass door and slides the peel under the golden loaves, transferring them to the island to cool.
I scan her recipe for Madeira cake. My eyes immediately latch onto problems. The sugar to flour ratio is off and… margarine? Butter is best for these types of dense cakes. Oil, second best. But margarine? No.
“Polly?” Her kitchen. Not my kitchen Polly’s kitchen. “After looking over your recipe, I was wondering if I might bake a butter pound cake that’s very similar. It was Abuela’s—my grandmother’s—recipe.”
She exhales a quick puff of air. “I see. Still, that Madeira cake is the only one we’ve ever served here. My nan’s, in fact. As are all the scone recipes.”
Ahh, the culprit revealed. One sugar-happy grandmother and a palate never trained out of it. I tell my running shoes, “That’s really special, but—”
“Heavens. I’ve too many tasks to stand here and argue. I suppose you can do your nan’s cake.” She hoists the serving platter. “Whether you make it again remains to be seen.”
Dios. I locate a few key utensils in a cylindrical caddy near the sink. I move the container to the butcher block island, where bakers would actually use it, then introduce myself to the oven. The Owl and Crow deck oven is the same model