Chocolate Cake Through the Seasons

A friend offered me a slice of chocolate cake she had baked today. She'd just found her go-to recipe, she explained - a Nigella Lawson recipe. 

As I nibbled on bites of that cake through the afternoon, memories of loved chocolate cakes paraded through my mind. 

There was Sara Lee chocolate pound cake - buttery and moist. There were Delifrance chocolate muffins - studded with melty chocolate chips, and ensconced in white pleated baking parchment cups - the first chocolate muffins I remember ever eating. 

There was the first go-to chocolate cake recipe, copied out of a kids cookbook. I must have been just 12 when I made the recipe again and again, always finishing it was a dusting of icing sugar, fully convinced that it was the best there was - until, fully courageous, I brought it to a party, only to realise all of a sudden that it missed the mark altogether. I'm not sure what went wrong, or if anything did? Perhaps it was just the after taste of not having impressed as I had wished. 

Then there were the chocolate cakes and brownies of university days. There were Leslie Overton's Underdon Brownies, a recipe lovingly shared by a flatmate during university days, written inside a Christmas card, saved through the years and now very faded. Then there was Marks & Sparks' Chocolate Fudge Cake which marked many-a birthday celebration at small group meetings during university days... One summer, Nigella's Dense Chocolate Loaf Cake from How to be a Domestic Goddess appeared in my kitchen - unforgettable and rich. 

In the young adult years, there were the Sunday Morning Brownies, made time and time again in the constant bid to trade brownies for friendships. There was hot fudge sundae cake. There was a Mrs Field's brownie, gifted by a frolleague, savoured with wonder at the end of a relief-teaching work day on the way home. And there was Lana, a constant, almost taken-for-granted presence in the backyard, before there was Awfully Chocolate. 

Later on there was chocolate beetroot cake which never quite satisfied. There was a chocolate cake recipe from Gourmand Recipes, made for a friend's 2 year old's birthday celebration. Just perhaps, it was the preciousness of that night I had wanted to keep. But the site was closed, and the recipe lost. Along with that, surely there were so many forgotten recipes - a layered banana and chocolate number with two kinds of frosting made for my FIL's birthday one year, the chocolate cupcakes frosted with blue icing and decorated with bluebirds in nests made for a friend's baby shower, and perhaps others that remain truly forgotten. 

 Keiji's 2nd Birthday Cake 

Bluebird Cupcakes for Bindu's Baby Shower 

Not-quite-molten Chocolate Cakes - still to be perfected 

 Chocolate Mousse Cake for the always-appreciative sweet toothed FIL

Aunty Chris's Chocolate Muffins - Ten years and going strong

In some way, those are all cakes of the past - all symbolic of the friendships of the past. Now, though, there is Smitten Kitchen's Everyday Chocolate Cake, Aunty Chris's chocolate muffins, and Serene's brownies - and the option of buying instead of baking one - there's still Lana, Awfully Chocolate, Classic Cakes, and Four Leaves' Coco Exotique - and so many other options besides. 

They were each treasured, went-to, savoured, and kept, whether or not they came with a recipe. But yet, they were all transitory in some way. Some cakes were eaten, recalled fondly, but seldom encountered again. And why did I, through the years, keep on searching for yet another better chocolate cake recipe? 

Chocolate cakes are trifles - and my mind accepts their transient nature well. I have never mourned the passing of a cake. 

Yet, I cling to the passing seasons. A feast of options before me, still unsatiated, I reminisce old recipes and try to recreate them with ingredients meant for another time. I have moved on, and yet, I hold back. How foolish, for surely this is a very different season from whatever I had ever encountered. And in time to come, even these recipes will give way to others. This season shall pass, these relationships will change, and it will be time for a chocolate cake recipe of another kind. Embrace it, I must. For what surprises may I find, from the chocolate cakes that await? 

Of Lizards and Seeds, and Naps

Expecting a few extra moments with Gracia, this being a Sunday, I found myself searching through my list of Pinterest and Instagram saves for toddler activities I could prepare for at 6.30am in the morning. 

In the end, how interesting it was that none of my fretful planning was needed. Before breakfast, we ended up on the sofa. Gracia asked for Eric Carle's A Foolish Tortoise so that's what we read, complete with dramatisation by whichever soft toy friends happened to be around! Then it was A Tiny Seed, with impromptu 'props' - nine shiny saga seeds which would all meet with incidents along the way preventing them from eventually taking root and germinating, and of course, one tiny green bean seed. Gracia got too excited about the seeds, and eventually a sharp admonishment about putting the seeds into her or my mouth sent her bursting into tears. End of read aloud. After breakfast, we practiced stamping using a single monarch butterfly stamp. 

All the way home from church and right until we entered the door, we sang It's a Great Thing to Praise the Lord because we sang it in Sunday School, and made it extra fun and theological by adding in our own variations in the chorus. Our favourite was this Nap, nap, nap, nap in the light... Then before afternoon nap, Gracia asked for Loved - which was an unusual but oddly coincidental choice, as we had just read the chapter on the Lord's Prayer that morning from The Jesus Storybook Bible. It was then that I realised that the words used by Sally Lloyd Jones in Loved were the exact words used there! 

After her afternoon nap, I had planned that we could paint the giant tree from A Tiny Seed, but instead, as Tim was setting up the air purifier, that became Gracia's post-nap activity - watching the set-up. She was fascinated by how the air blew our faces and hair when we went closet, so on the spur of the moment again, I went and got multi-coloured ribbons and taped them to the vents so we could watch them fly. I saw a feather lying around so brought that out too. How much fun she had with the feather! She loved watching it sometimes float up high after being caught on the wind, and of course trying to let it land on her hand. So I went to bring out more feathers. And somehow, the next feather became a lizard in her imagination and so we played catching lizards with more multi-coloured feathers. We even got a makeshift "dustbin" in which to throw the caught lizards... It was more fun than anything I could have planned. 

Don't I have much to learn about taking my sabbath rest?

Stop

I think it was just before Gracia turned 2 when this happened. She came down with a high fever, and was not her usual self. I tried to cheer my little bunny up by singing one of her favourite songs, one which has never been met with anything less than bouncy enthusiasm. But instead of breaking into a smile, Gracia put up a hand, like a traffic policeman, and said stop. I tried a different song, but still it was not welcomed. I thought it interesting that she had not instead simply turned away, or ignored me. Had she done so, though, I'm quite sure I would have been a lot slower in understanding her cues. She would probably have had to endure through unwanted song after unwanted song.

It was an unexpected lesson for me, from a toddler, no less, of the need for a time to be silent. During that bout of illness, Gracia had probably appreciated my silent presence more than my silly songs - that was enough for her. And, it would probably what was needful for me too. After all, caring for a sick toddler is exhausting. Sitting and doing nothing would have given me a few extra moments of much-needed rest.

Now, she uses stop to cue me into exact stanzas of songs to sing.  She would point to whichever line she would like me to sing*, and say stop quite quickly if it were not the line or tune she was searching for, and promptly point to the next possible line. Usually, this happens when she is in the process of searching for a particularly catchy part of the song she likes, and wishes to listen to.

Stopping is often the most-needed thing. But I seem to be constantly needing or wanting to do that next thing - whether it be more housework, putting together yet another home-cooked meal, preparing more not-yet age-appropriate home learning activities, or even chasing after and capturing thoughts which nip at my line, only to leave, all too quickly. I ferret and fret, scamper and hardly stop - till I am stopped by sheer mental or physical exhaustion.

When Gracia says stop, I always do. How could I not, when it is said with such definiteness, and accompanied with that outstretched traffic policeman arm?

So let me be led by the intuitive wisdom of my child. Let me stop, long enough to rest - so that I will be able to love and serve from that place of rest; long enough to notice - to allow the precious moments to be written in the notebook of my inner being; long enough to listen - for the questions and wonderings of a curious little explorer - not to provide answers but to better understand; long enough to listen for His direction and re-direction on how exactly I should be spending these breath-long, fleeting days.

This makes me feel like one of those ipens that struggling readers use to help them read aloud unfamiliar words.

Amen

It would be no surprise if, to Gracia, even in her infant years, language  was punctuated with Amens. Prayers said before dinner end with Amen. Prayers said whenever we hear the cries of other babies always end with Amen. The pre-bedtime crafted prayers from the LullaBible all end with Amen. In church, Amen punctuates the worship liturgy. Then there is the long melodious Amen at the end of John Rutter's The Lord Bless You and Keep You, Gracia's bedtime song (until it got recently replaced by Jesus Loves Me). I reasoned that although babies are not yet able to articulate their own prayers (in language understandable to me, at least), they could at least agree in prayer (and who knows what's invisibly happening in their spirit?). In those early days, I was certainly not expecting Gracia to understand what she was saying. But I knew that it would not be long before she would.

Then one evening, I heard the first Ammm. Before long, it was Amah, then Amahm, then Amahn, and now Amen. Those earlier days, I remember how Gracia loved to practice her new-found skill and understanding that Ammm / Amahm was something to be said at the end of sentences uttered with clasped hands, eyes closed, which began with Dear Jesus and come after In Jesus' name. Her enthusiasm actually motivated me to pray. I had found in my one+ year old a prayer partner! 

Our pre-dinner prayers were simple and repetitive, and functioned well as a prayer frame for my little language-learner. They went something along these lines:

Dear Jesus, thank you for this food. Please help Gracia eat it well. Please bring Papa back home safely. In Jesus name, Amen. 

Gracia has always been a very curious listener, attending to all the interesting sounds we hear in our HDB estate. Often, we would hear babies crying. She would look at me intently with her big eyes, questioning. I remember trying to explain the plausible situation to her - Oh, baby is crying maybe because baby is hungry, or baby fell down, and is pain pain, or baby needs to change diaper. Let's pray for baby. 

Dear Jesus, please help baby not be pain pain, and stop crying. In Jesus name, Amen. 

We'd also pray over each bump or scratch Gracia had along the way - no matter how minor. We'd pray whenever Papa or Mama coughed. Basically, whenever anything was amiss with people.

Sometime along the way, she started to say pray. She began to understand prayer as a response to any situation where something is not quite right, and would ask me to pray:

Pray baby not pain pain. Pray mama ahhuhuhuhuh (coughing sound). 

Then there is Uncle Dan. Uncle Dan is our next-door neighbour, to whom Gracia has taken a fancy (quite from the time she was first introduced to him). Or rather, she has taken a fancy to his name. I can't quite remember how it started, but my little prayer partner constantly asks to pray for him. He isn't a Christian, so I take that as an opportunity to pray for his family's salvation each time.

Closer to two, she started voicing prayers of her own. There was the time when we were cooking a salted egg and minced pork dish for dinner, and cracked open rotten egg upon rotten egg. After two rotten eggs, we prayed that God would give us an egg that hadn't turned bad. I remember Gracia clasping her hands just as I was going to crack open the last egg, and pray one of her first Dear Jesus prayers. Well, all the eggs were bad. And so we went downstairs to the provision shop to buy one, and that was how God answered one of the first prayers of an almost two year old. With a no, but. Well, how about that? A response questioned to no end by overthinking adults, accepted as a matter of fact by a child.

Then there were all the seemingly random jibber jabber ramblings along the way. I remember her starting a prayer with Dear Jesus, just while chattering at the dining table during dinners, with hands clasped and eyes closed, and a little smile, followed by a few sentences indecipherable mumblings, followed by opening her eyes, with a decisive Amen. That must surely be how my prayers sound like to her sometimes!

 Now, at 25 months, thank you Jesus has entered her speaking vocabulary. I've heard her say thank you Jesus when Papa enters through the door halfway through dinner, after we prayed that he'd be back soon a moment ago. 

Now, Amen is not just her response to my uttered prayers. Soon, may it be mine, in response to hers. 

With Open Hands

Lunch today was all about laying down expectations, and receiving the unexpected. I have found myself too often saying no to so many opportunities to connect with people, through workday lunches, through social media. Head full of suspicion regarding others' intentions at getting close, or genuine interest in getting to know me, I have found myself more and more alone. It is as though I would rather have no friends, if not perfect-match ones.

Today, though, I said yes, remembering that I had promised. I chose to connect over a meal with non kindred spirits. Yes, I would not be sharing my deeper thoughts, I would need to behave properly. It was not likely conversation would turn to my favourite subjects. I would have to listen to others. I would feel awkward, because I'm not a great small-talker. And I was right about all of it.

Still, there will come a time when I will look back upon this day, and cherish it, simply for what it is. I shall remember that when I stubbornly grasp my preconceived notions and expectations in relationships, my hands are unable to receive the many precious, simple gifts that come with everyday relationships.

Today, the gifts were simple, but so, so needed. There was glorious Thai food - with layers upon layers of flavours and just the right amount of spice. There was a mellow cup of matcha latte, bitterness and sweetness calibrated to perfection. There was even an art exhibition we stumbled upon - with a message so clear it was not possible to miss. But most of all, there was a growing sense of acceptance of these colleagues as my friends - just as they are.

Thank you, J & C, for reminding me, without words at all, of what friendships could be - simple, free, and open.

Holding onto God's promises in the area of relationships

What a perfect reminder of what God values - community

Still Life in Gratitude

This may seem like a rather ordinary dish of ngoh hiong, but for me, it was notable enough to deserve a picture. It was primarily because of the sliced cucumbers encircling the pile of golden morsels of meat, accompanied by prawns, mushrooms, and crunchy bits of water chestnut. Being a full time working mum to a two-year old, who still insists on cooking almost every meal, embellishments such as cucumber garlands are simply not a priority.

The ngoh hiong - tasted again now by the heart 

And I'm so glad I did capture that quite ordinary gift, before it was digested and forgotten all about, for as I now see, it was really quite extraordinary. 

Wrapped up in beancurd skin, there was so much to be thankful for. 

My Mum

It was she who prepared these ngoh hiong meat rolls, steamed them, and brought them over one day during a week of solo-parenting. She knew that I would surely not have bothered to cook for one (adult). But she also didn't anticipate that I would have saved them when the husband returned, and I would have to cook! 

My Grandmother

It would have been her recipe - or an impression of it, which my mum used. She's no longer with us, but it is a wonder that we continue to be blessed by what she used to cook.

My Niece 

The meat rolls, themselves, were an extra portion from a birthday gathering for my niece the day before. Thus, she, too, had a role to play in how they came to be! Ngoh hiong are among my all time favourites, so I am thankful I got to enjoy them twice in a week. 

My Husband

Those ngoh hiong were gifted to me steamed, fully cooked, and edible, though not exactly how they would be most delicious. All who are familiar with this dish would know that they must be pan-fried to perfection - golden brown and crisp. All who are familiar with cooking this dish would know that this often proves to be no easy endeavour! This is especially when there is no non-stick frying pan in the house. That evening, as I gave my full attention to each little detail required for perfectish ngoh hiong, in the background I could hear the lively chittering of a little voice responding to her father's animated read aloud. That's something to be thankful for. He was just home from a few days away on a mission trip, and it was our first home-cooked meal together since then. That ring of cucumbers - it was my attempt to be celebratory! 

So here it is, my little study in gratitude - surely a gift in its own right! These simple, common graces are so much sweeter when they are noticed. In noticing, gratitude is deepened. And so it goes on an on. "Thank you" becomes so much more than merely a matter of manners. 

Five Loaves

A basketful of empty notecards in celebration of Good Neighbours' Day sat invitingly in church one Sunday. We happened to be sitting beside this basket for church lunch; so conveniently I picked a few, naming them as I went: This is for Uncle Dan, this is for Uncle Alvin, this is for Aunty so and so, and so on. It would be nice to send these along with a little gift. My little accountability partner heard it all.

Our five loaves... and one extra! 

And so we did. Cookies were not meant to be, as white chocolate and cranberries were missing. There were overripe bananas, perfect for baking, so mini banana loaves it was. With a second pair of little helping hands, we measured, poured and stirred and ate spoonfuls of mashed bananas and chocolate chips along the way. 

We did the first round of door-knocking on a Saturday evening - only one family was home. Sunday was a busy day for us, and it would have been challenging to go door-knocking, but this time, it was God who divinely arranged for us to run into three other families while we were going out or returning. With one family, we felt the ice break - I've always wanted to get to know them better, but it was not until last night that we chatted a little more at their door step. What an encouragement this was to me! 

I hadn't had the presence of mind to reason and figure that a recipe for a single loaf of banana bread wouldn't be able to feed five families adequately. But mini-loaves are the perfect size for gifting by little hands! And how eager these hands were. When I suggested that it could be time for the gifting of gifts, two eager feet pitter-pattered straight to the door, and two little hands were quick to put on her shoes. There was no shyness, no reserve in my little two year old, only childlike confident expectation that her gift would be received. She knocked on doors and waited, then offered her little packages as though it were the simplest thing in the world. 

And it should be. Thank you, little bunny, for setting the example and leading the way. You've shown me that giving can be approached with boldness and simplicity, without expectation. As for shyness and fear of rejection, what are they? 

And so, bake on, we shall, my bunny and I!

Banana and Dark Chocolate Mini-Loaves
Adapted from Jessica Fisher's Not Your Mother's Make-Ahead and Freeze Cookbook
Makes 6 mini loaves

Ingredients
2/3 cup golden granulated sugar
2/3 cup extra virgin olive oil*
2 eggs
1/4 cup full-cream milk
1 tsp baking soda
1 cup very-ripe bananas, mashed
2/3 cup plain flour
2/3 cup whole-wheat flour
1/3 cup rolled oats
1 tsp vanilla extract
1/2 cup dark chocolate chips

Method
Simply measure out all ingredients into a large mixing bowl, and stir all together. Pour into 6 mini-loaf parchment cases. Bake in a preheated oven for 30 min, at 180 degrees celsius.

Note:
Little hands love pouring ingredients as they are measured into the mixing bowl, and stirring after each addition! I think coconut oil would be a lovely substitution. Note to self to try that next. The original recipe is for a single family-sized loaf - if so, bake for about 60 minutes.