GRANDMA'S TREASURE

There was standing room only in the tiny hall, the one where the competition was to be held. The contestants were not necessarily chefs, but they, either of necessity or a keen interest, were reasonably good cooks or bakers. In either event, the place was jumping, a real hive of activity, and while nothing was smothered in flour, as such, there was evidence that foodstuffs were being displayed, in readiness for judging and awards.

Julie carefully unpacked her contribution. Placing a doily on the fancy plate Mum lent her, she was dismayed to find that one of the biscuits had broken. With a small grimace, Julie arranged the rest on the plate and when she thought no one was looking she hurriedly placed a piece of the broken biscuit in her mouth.

Her eyes widened as she allowed the mixture to melt; she could not put her finger on what was wrong…then POW she realised:

“OH NO!”

JULIE’S IDEA

It was a calm British summer. The village had a charity day usually on the first Saturday in August. There was always produce stalls, pageants, horse riding and the Cake bonanza; this year the speciality was Cookies and Biscuits. As always these were judged by the Vicar, his wife and two ladies of the parish who were previous winners. Young men and women were encouraged to participate. Julie West thought she would try because she loved baking, and win or lose, participation was important, so Dad said.

One day during the holidays, when she had nothing, in particular, going on, she boned her Mum for ideas. Mrs West wisely declined to get involved, advising Julie to search google and see what she could find by way of recipes. She did offer to pay for the ingredients and suggested the use of the special plate; the one Grandma had given Mrs West on her wedding day and which was used for special occasions only. As for the rest, it was up to Julie because it was a learning curve whatever the outcome.

Julie dutifully did her research, but all the “possibles” she read about were ditched for various reasons: too hard, too costly, too boring or too common until Julie realised what she wanted to do was use Grandma’s recipe. There was only one problem; she could not remember how it was done; she decided to ring Grandma West.

The bell from the landline was shrill but Ava West answered quickly. She agreed with her daughter in law, that Julie had to do this on her own, but Grandmas invariably develop the knack of helping granddaughters out and still abide by the rules mothers set. Mrs West senior was no exception.

“Hello.”

“Hi, Grandma it’s Julie.”

“Hello, darling, what’s up?”

Julie explained the reason for her call. 

“What a lovely idea, Julie. Do you have paper and a pen or are you recording me?” Ava was speaking tongue in cheek.

“Aw Grandma.” Julie giggled “where do I start”

“By washing your hands, dear.” she laughed “you need: 1 cup of butter, 1 cup icing sugar, a pinch of salt, 1 cup of flour which you sift, knead the mixture rather than beat it, because it is a better texture  … oh I’m sorry dear 2 cups of flour…” the call cut out and the reminder tone was sharp.

There was enough information for Julie to prepare for action. She mentioned the call to her Mum, who stated all the ingredients were already in the pantry. Julie was happy about that and deferred further thoughts until later on in the week. 

“You had better get started love.” her mother cautioned “after all this is Thursday and the competition is Saturday; you may need more than one attempt…”

“Yeah, I guess.” Julie got to work: “Mum what oven temperature do I use?”

“Start with 180 degrees you can turn it up a little and don’t forget, let the oven heat before you put the biscuits in.”

All the ingredients were laid on the bench, then Julie looked up

“Mum, we don’t have a biscuit cutter.”

“Use the rim of a small glass, that should do.”

“Oh yeah,” said Julie as she set about the task. She had watched Grandma knead the dough, and though it was a little difficult she soon got the hang of it. Once the mixture was divided and placed on the tray, Julie crossed her fingers and said:

“Here goes”

She watched the oven like a hawk, and fussed like a brooding hen, but, once cooled, the biscuits did not taste a bit like Grandma’s, though they looked like them. The general consensus was that she try again, the next day, after all, it might not be good enough for the competition but her effort was plenty good enough to have at home.

On Saturday Julie arrived early with her Mum. She set herself up near her friend so that they could chat before and scream after the proceedings. Mr Wickers the Vicar was delighted that there were so many entrants, and even more delighted to see that many of these, were young folk. Oh, what fun he would have sampling the cookies; he just hoped the local GP would not visit and show her look of disapproval as though he were a naughty little boy.

Mum suggested they go outside and see the other stalls before it became too busy. Soon Grandma arrived in her little Morris Minor, which she called Bella. It was almost as old as she was but Grandma called it a faithful old workhorse. Mrs West senior had brought a few cuttings from her garden all potted and wrapped. The ladies at the gardening stall were delighted, the contribution added colour to the display.  

At 12 noon, which seemed mighty early to have a competition, Mr Wickers spoke through a tinny-sounding microphone announcing that the baking competition would start soon and would all participants, please make their way to the hall.

When Grandma came round to have a look, she could see Julie was nervous:

“Never mind, darling Mum will still let you cook at home she is very kind.” she smiled “no need to be nervous dear; as long as you did not put any powder glass in the mixture you are fine”

“Oh Grandma,” said Julie trying not to laugh.

“You are nervous, aren’t you? There are two things to remember, Julie. One there is always next year’s competition, try again. Two; you are my treasured granddaughter and I will love you always.” Blowing kisses Grandma waddled away to find a seat, if at all possible.

The bustle began again. The judges took a piece of everything.

“Good Luck my dears,” said Mr Wickers as he passed by. Soon he stood at the microphone again, beaming.

“Well, I am afraid I would make Dr Ash angry if she knew what I had just consumed, but we are here to announce the winners.  All contestants did very well and all should receive a prize, but alas… Would you mind holding your applause until the winners are announced? Thanks awfully.” he coughed and sought his notes.

“First-prize to Mrs Dora Blake, for her Brownies.” he said “the second prize to Mr John Forrest, yes a young man please note, for his sultana cookies. This year we have a third prize; this young lady is someone to watch in the future.  Julie West, come forward, my dear.”

A little embarrassed, Julie went forward.

“Julie made shortbread Ladies and Gentlemen. The Scots have a knack for this but it is not something you acquire easily. Julie, we salute your efforts.” He gave her a box. Julie could tell by the shape it was her favourite chocolates.

Mum was delighted and said so, while Grandma beamed as though she resembled a grand piano, asking to try a piece of biscuit.

“I’m not happy with it, Grandma,” said Julie as she presented the tin of biscuits.

“Whyever not?” asked Grandma

“It does not taste a bit like yours,” replied Julie

“Tosh.” sad Grandma “let me try.”

Immediately Grandma knew what was wrong

“Oh, Julie I am sorry I think you must have used self-raising flour.”

“Why is that wrong?”

“No, but it’s the rice flour that adds to the flavour.” said Grandma “I would have, …oh was that when the line went dead?”

Julie nodded, nearly in tears.

“Darling 1 cup of SR 1 cup of rice, will make the shortbread twice as nice. It is my treasured recipe and you are my treasured granddaughter.” Grandma said “what’s more you are on shortbread detail next week”

“Can I have some then?” said a familiar voice.

“Yes, Mr Wickers.” laughed Julie 'of course."