We have a birthday cake in our family that defies all logic. It's called the Hawaiian Lady – a recipe handed
down by my maternal grandmother Irene – and using my finely tuned math skills I'd estimate that it has graced at least 250 birthday celebrations. It's chocolate, it's sweet, and it's ugly. The uglier the better is the way I look at it. Most of my other family members who bake it manage to make it look pretty good. But my version is a misshapen jewel in a bad prom dress and I couldn't be more proud.
The original recipe for Hawaiian Lady is written in Irene's signature style: no spelling out how the ingredients should be assembled, sometimes no quantities at all. A teaspoon of baking soda dissolved in milk is just that. You just use the logical amount of milk. The dry ingredients go together and then you blend them into the wet. Oh. And add a dash of vanilla. 350. How long?! Until it's done.
Works for me. Even if it doesn't look like it.
Even in the exact science of baking, whose masters I revere, I've had some incredible success stories. Like the lemon coconut cupcakes that were in the oven before I realized I'd forgotten the coconut and was stuffing the flakes into the heating, congealing dough. Turned out just fine. Or the Peach/Raspberry scones that had been all shaped and in the oven for about five minutes when I saw the small pyrex bowl of baking powder sitting on the counter. Opened the oven, eyeballed the ratios and worked it in. They were delicious. Or the cheese souffle that I decided didn't have enough butter and cheese around the rim as it started to rise. Light, fluffy and divine.
Imperfection is a virtue. Improvisation is a joy. And I'm with Irene. You really do know how to do it. Get in there and fly.
