The Christmas WPA Cake

The Christmas WPA Cake

Suzanne Marsh

December 25th, 2001

"You want me to make the what from memory? Are you insane? I haven't made a WPA since

I was twelve. I don't remember what goes in it. Grandma taught Mom to make it and she

taught each of us. That was a long time ago. What if I can't remember? Then what?

Your Dad and my Mom and Dad are going to be here at five, it is one now. I thought you

you were going to make a box chocolate cake with chocolate frosting."

Tara Martin, she knew she could convince her husband George, there was nothing he liked better than a challenge. George knew she had him; he might as well give up the ghost and get this project started.

George spoke softly:

"Tara, if I am going to make this cake, you are going to have to stay out of the kitchen

while I make it. This is a Martin Family secret recipe, handed down from my Grandmother."

Tara in her most submissive voice:

"All right George, but why can't you just show me how to make the cake?"

"I just told you it is a secret family recipe."

"George, remember me we are married."

"Yes, Tara we are but I am still not going to show you how to make the WPA cake."

Tara muttered under her breath as she vacated the kitchen:

"I should plead insanity for trying to get George to make the WPA cake."

She sauntered toward her office, determined to find the recipe. All cakes had recipes somewhere on the web, The quest began. Tara turned on her computer, seated herself then keyed in:

WPA, first it came up Work Pays America. The next entry down was the WPA Bakery which

is located in Virginia. Finally there was Mega Birthday Cake...big help that is. She decided to try WPA/FDR administration. She learned that the WPA was actually Works Progress Administration. She thought to herself, 'I can almost visualize George's grandmother. She was white haired sweet little old lady now but back in her day she was a real beauty. She had long black hair, a big bust and huge blue eyes. Tara could almost see her mixing a WPA cake for her brand new husband. The delicate fragrance of chocolate cake cooking. She kept looking, no recipe for WPA cake anywhere on the web. How disappointing but Tara was not one to be deterred by the web. She decided to go back to the kitchen. Maybe George would be a bit more cooperative now.

Tara, as she approached the kitchen heard mumbling. Mumbling was never a good sign, it usually occurred when George was frustrated. She hoped the WPA cake was baking but could smell nothing. She peered into the kitchen; there stood George mumbling, closing in on the brink of disaster. He already had several trails of flour, that appeared to be plaster. Eggs were all over the kitchen. Milk, was in a puddle on the floor. There stood George in the middle of the mess, an old apron of Tara's tied around his waste. Good grief she thought; 'he looks like the abominable snowman'. She stepped into the kitchen bravely.

"Tara, I need your help now if we are ever going to get this damn cake made before they arrive."

Tara, attempted to hide the smirk on her face:

"Sure George what do want me to do besides clean up this disaster that was

once our kitchen."

"Listen, if you are going to be snide about this you can miss viewing the WPA cake

being made. Just remember I am not my Mom or Grandma. I am not sure I even

remember how to make this puppy. I am willing to try if you are.

"George we have no choice now. Just tell what you remember that goes into the mix."

"Flour, sugar, coffee, baking soda and baking powder, eggs. I am not sure what else.

Grandma and Mom never measured anything. Me, I have to measure everything.

Shall we get started?"

Tara, was now worried that the cake would not be the way it was supposed to be. That would be very embarrassing to say the very least, especially since she had told her Dad that George was a great baker. She thought once again: 'maybe I can plead insanity, better yet I could just disappear. No I can't do

that to George. I guess I: "better suck it up buttercup."

Tara began gathering everything that George asked for. Thank heaven she always bought in bulk quantities, other wise there would be no flour. The stores were closed, this was Christmas Day. George, was beginning to look like the Pillsbury Dough Boy, he was flour from head to toe. Tara asked about the chocolate mix. That she had then she asked whether the cake needed shortening or oil. Once all the ingredients were gathered, George was beside himself. He hoped he remembered the entire recipe, something seemed to be missing, he wasn't sure what. He could call his Mom but she was already on her way. Tara was no help, she asked to many questions; he did not seem to have the correct answers.

The batter appeared to be the same consistency he remembered...that was a step the right direction. It was now three o'clock in the afternoon. The cake smelled great, George opened the oven door, there it was flat as a pancake, it had not risen. Damn, George knew he needed to redo it but he could not understand what was missing. Tara, when she saw the cake was mortified....of all the times for George's memory to leave the building temporarily, this was not the time.

George looked rather pathetically at Tara:

"What could I have possibly left out...look at it Grandma would turn over in her grave and

Mom would have a laughing tizzy. Tara, what are we going to do? You could always make

the box cake right?"

"Wrong, we are going to determine what the missing ingredient is and we are going to do it

correctly."

Suddenly Tara sighted the culprit, somehow with the huge mess in the kitchen, they had overlooked the baking powder. Tara mixed the dry ingredients while George prepared the wet ingredients. Now things were going smoothly. Tara, as quickly as she could made the chocolate butter icing.

The cake came out beautifully, it raised above the rim of the pan. All was right with the world. The turkey was almost done, the vegetables were prepared.

The doorbell rang at five minutes to five, it was Tara's Dad:

"Hey sweetie everything smells great. Ah I brought salad just as you suggested."

He couldn't keep his eyes off of George, who was still looking a great deal like the Pillsbury Dough Boy. Promptly at five the door bell rang again. There stood George's Mom and Dad. His Mom, a white haired lady herself looked in amazement at her son:

"Son, I have to ask, are you attempting to copy the Pillsbury Dough Boy or did you jump

in a bag of flour. You are covered from head to toe. I just know there has to be a story behind this I brought a jello mold, would it be all right if I put it in the frig?"

In unison they replied:

"No Mom don't go in the kitchen..."