Tell Me a Story, I'll Bake You a Cake

by Joy Smith

Overview

Some of the stories in "Tell Me a Story, I'll Bake You a Cake" will take you back to a carefree time when kids ran barefoot all summer, caught lightning bugs, climbed trees, and didn't have to come home until the streetlights came on at night.

Joy's humor is evident as she tells about kitchen disasters, poison ivy, family togetherness, the agony of math, the ecstasy of Baked Alaska, and the infamous Lavisson sisters. Some stories are funny, others poignant, but all are entertaining.

The recipes are simple and non-threatening to the novice cook. As long as you're not looking for recipes for turnips, brussels sprouts, or liver, you'll find a recipe to suit any occasion. Enjoy the stories. Now go into the kitchen, and cook something.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781524624927
Publisher:	AuthorHouse
Publication date:	10/07/2016
Pages:	198
Product dimensions:	8.50(w) x 11.00(h) x 0.54(d)

Read an Excerpt

Tell Me a Story, I'll Bake You a Cake

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By Joy Smith

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2016 Joy Smith
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-5246-2492-7

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CHAPTER 1

DESSERTS

Peggy's Red Velvet Cake

My friend Peggy Swink gave me her recipe for Red Velvet Cake sometime in the early 1970s. I know it had to be before 1976, because I made it for my daughter Whitney's first birthday party in May of that year. I have a picture of our little birthday girl, right after she put her face down into the cake. It's quite a "Kodak moment."

Peggy died suddenly, and unexpectedly, in June of 2003. She was 56.

I met Peggy when we bred our Cairn Terriers in 1971. When her husband came to drop off their dog "Toto" at our house, he not only delivered the dog, but also a lunch that Peggy had packed for her. I knew then and there that we'd be friends forever. Anybody who would pack a lunch for a dog was my kind of person.

What followed were two litters of adorable puppies and a lifetime friendship. Our children grew up together. So did we. Even though we were "geographically challenged" for almost twenty years, with the Smiths in New York and the Swinks in North Carolina, we remained close. Our visits together in August and at Christmas were a special tradition.

Our son attended Duke University and couldn't make it home for Easter one year, so naturally the Swinks invited him to their home for the holiday. Peggy made an Easter basket for him, as well as her Red Velvet cake.

Now she's gone, but reminders of her appear all around us. I'm especially aware of her when I find her handwritten recipes in my recipe box. I like to think of them as a rich legacy that will continue to bind our families together in the future.

Peggy's first grandchild was born almost exactly a year after she died. I'm pretty sure he had a red velvet cake for his first birthday party.

In Peggy's memory I'd like to share this very special recipe with you. Bon appétit.

Peggy's Red Velvet Cake

1/2 cup Crisco
1 1/2 cups sugar
2 eggs
2 tablespoons cocoa
2 oz. red food coloring
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup buttermilk
2 1/2 cups flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1 tablespoon vinegar

Cream Crisco, sugar, and eggs. Make a paste of the cocoa and food coloring. Add to creamed mixture. Mix salt and vanilla with buttermilk and add to mixture, alternating with flour. Mix baking soda and vinegar and barely mix it into the batter.

Bake in two greased and floured 9-inch layer pans for 30 minutes at 350 degrees. Cool on a rack before frosting.

Frosting

5 tablespoons flour
1 cup milk
1 cup butter (not margarine)
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla

In a saucepan on medium heat, cook flour and milk to a stiff paste. Let mixture sit until it gets cold. Cream butter and sugar. Add vanilla. Add to flour and milk paste and beat until it looks like whipping cream. Add a drop of red food coloring.

Serves 8

Mother's Lemon Pie

As a child, I loved to climb trees — all kinds of trees. I remember them all fondly, even our neighbor's maple tree. I fell out of it one afternoon and knocked out my two front teeth (baby teeth, fortunately). It was a memorable event but didn't dampen my enthusiasm for tree climbing one bit.

My favorite tree, by far, was the large mimosa in our backyard. It spread over an entire corner of the yard and was magnificent in the summertime covered with fragrant pink pompom-like blossoms.

This tree had a nice low center of gravity for easy access and a wonderful spread of branches about halfway up that made a perfect little seat. When the leaves were full, I was pretty well-hidden from the world up there. I loved it.

My tree was a solitary place to daydream, read books, and to indulge in my favorite snack, lemons sprinkled with salt. I usually had a pocketful of lemons and a salt shaker with me when I climbed up to my perch. It sounds weird but I loved that sour, salty treat.

With this in mind, it should come as no surprise that Mother's lemon pie was one of my favorite desserts. It wasn't salty, but it sure was good. The creamy lemon filling was wonderfully tart and topped with fluffy meringue that practically melted in my mouth. It's the perfect dessert for lemon lovers like me.

I was happy to descend from the sanctuary of my tree and arrive at the dinner table on time, hands washed, when I knew we were having lemon pie for dessert. I was even happy to eat all the vegetables on my plate in order to have a slice. That says it all.

I'm all grown up now, and although my childhood mimosa tree died a long time ago, my love for it never did. Coincidentally, the two homes in which we raised our children had mimosa trees in the yard.

When we moved to South Carolina in 1998, we built a new home. I added two mimosa trees to the landscaping plan. They're beautiful and are just waiting to be climbed. I'm looking at them now, and for some reason, have a craving for Mother's lemon pie.

Mother's Lemon Pie

5 tablespoons flour
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 cup sugar
Zest of 1 lemon
Juice of 1 lemon
1 1/3 cups cold water
3 egg yolks, beaten
1 baked pie shell

In a saucepan, mix flour and salt with sugar. Grate rind from 1 lemon and add to sugar mixture along with lemon juice. Slowly stir in water and egg yolks. Cook on low heat and stir until it is the consistency of thick custard. Put aside and make meringue topping. Pour custard into baked pie shell and spread meringue on top, all the way to the edges.

Bake at 350 degrees until meringue is light brown, about 10 to 15 minutes. Let cool before slicing.

Meringue

2 egg whites
4 tablespoons sugar

Beat 2 egg whites until stiff. Add 4 tablespoons of sugar gradually until sugar is dissolved. Spread lightly over the custard filling.

Serves 6-8

Apple Brown Betty

The Norfolk and Western Railroad was headquartered in Roanoke, Virginia, when I was growing up there. Trains were a way of life for all of us in Roanoke. We watched them by day as they crisscrossed the city, and lying in bed at night, we were lulled to sleep by the sound of train whistles in the distance — mournful, lonesome, and yet somehow comforting.

The N&W built sleek new steam engines at their shops in town. With names like The Powhatan Arrow and The Pocahontas, these magnificent locomotives were not only the workhorses that pulled loads of coal from the mountains to the coast, but also the gleaming engines that transported well-dressed passengers to destinations far and wide.

The train station downtown was an exciting place to be. As travelers hustled and bustled across the beautiful marble floors in the lobby, announcements of arrivals and departures reverberated throughout the building. All of this was exciting to a little girl in Sunday clothes anxious to see her aunts, uncles, and cousins at the other end of the line.

Equally exciting was the conductor standing outside the train consulting his pocket watch and shouting urgently, "All Aboard!" There was no doubt that he meant it too. Porters in white jackets helped us with our luggage.

I always sat next to the large window, nose pressed against it, watching with anticipation as we pulled away from the station. Our destination was always Washington, D.C., to visit my mother's family.

One of the best things about train travel was the dining car. The tables, covered with starched tablecloths, were set with china and silver. The waiters were courteous and attentive, and the menu featured entrees that made my mouth water. Watching the countryside pass by while eating a delicious meal was a unique experience I'll never forget.

Gone now from Roanoke are the steam engines, the N&W, and passenger service. Diesel engines replaced steam ones, the N&W moved to Norfolk and became the Norfolk Southern, and the train station closed.

Fortunately the station was restored and now houses a railroad museum. The museum features the incredible photographs of O. Winston Link, forever capturing the remarkable era of the legendary steam engine.

At the museum, I read about the dining cars and some of the great meals served on trains all over the country. I found a recipe that sounded familiar. It sounded like one that a little girl in Sunday clothes might have enjoyed in the dining car on her way to Washington, D.C.

I still love trains and always will. They're in my blood. There must be a rail line reasonably close to our house now because I occasionally hear a train whistle in the still of the night. It makes me smile.

Apple Brown Betty

10 – 12 apples, peeled, cored, and sliced
1 cup flour
2/3 cup sugar
1 cup brown sugar
1-2 tablespoons cinnamon
1/2 cup butter

Mix together flour, sugar, brown sugar, and cinnamon. Cut in cold butter until crumbs form. (I cheated and pulsed the mixture in my food processor a couple of times until it came together.)

Grease a 2-quart casserole dish with butter. Layer the apples in the dish until it's half full. Sprinkle half of the crumb mixture over the apples. Repeat with another layer of apples and remaining crumb mixture.

Bake at 375 degrees for 45 minutes or until the apples are tender. Serve warm with ice cream or whipped cream.

Serves 6

Peachy Keen Cobbler

I had a falling out with peaches when I was about ten years old and have never quite recovered from it.

I have to preface this story by mentioning that my skin is hypersensitive — bordering on weird, actually. All my life I've broken out in spectacular rashes, some of Biblical proportions, at the drop of a hat. Anything can set them off, it seems. Food, medicine, fabrics, grass, bugs, poison ivy, or even a change in laundry detergent can reduce me to an itchy, blotchy, Technicolor mess in minutes.

The peach incident was quite simple really. My father, a Baptist minister, took me peach picking one beautiful summer afternoon at the home of one of our church members. The members of our congregation were generous to our family with whatever they had to offer. In Mr. Grissow's case, it was peaches.

Clad in shorts, a halter top, and most assuredly barefoot, I happily scampered up and down Mr. Grissow's trees picking peaches in his small orchard. We ate cake, drank lemonade, had a nice visit, and left with baskets of fuzzy fruit in the trunk of the car.

On the way home my skin began to itch, and by the time we arrived home I was a pink nightmare. I was a victim of peach fuzz. Right then and there, I decided never to see, touch, or eat another peach as long as I lived.

That promise stayed intact until we moved to South Carolina in 1998, some 40 years later. Moving to the mecca of all things peaches can bring a shift in perception to even the most cynical critic. Rolling fields of pink-blossomed trees and baskets of luscious fruit for sale all around town can mellow a person.

I began to reacquaint myself with peaches, starting slowly with fresh peach ice cream and moving on to non-threatening jars of peach salsa. I finally took a leap of faith one evening at a local restaurant and ordered peach cobbler for dessert. To my relief, it was yummy, sweet, warm, and delicious — just like my mother used to make. I found her cobbler recipe and it's terrific. Keep in mind that this recipe works with any kind of fruit you like. It's sort of a "one recipe fits all" answer to dessert.

Serve it like Mother did — warm, with a scoop of ice cream on top, dusting it with a little sprinkle of nutmeg or cinnamon.

It's been a long journey for me, but thanks to this dish, I'm back in the fold of peach lovers. It's been worth the wait, that's for sure.

Peachy Keen Cobbler

6 cups peeled, diced peaches
1 cup sugar
½ cup all purpose flour
½ teaspoon baking powder
A pinch of salt
1 stick cold butter, cut into 8 pieces
1 egg
½ teaspoon vanilla extract

Toss the peaches with ½ cup of the sugar, and put into a greased baking dish (8-inch-square or 9-inch-round).

Put the flour, baking powder, salt, and ½ cup of sugar into a food processor and pulse once or twice. Add the butter and process for 10 seconds, until the mixture is well blended. By hand, beat in the egg and vanilla.

Drop this mixture, by the tablespoon, onto the fruit in the baking dish. Don't spread it out. Bake for 40 minutes in a 375 degree oven. Serve while hot. Top with vanilla ice cream or whipped cream if you like.

Instead of peaches, you can substitute any fruit you like. Blackberries and blueberries are especially good in this recipe.

Serves 4-6

Pots de Crème

I really don't have a sweet tooth and rarely think about dessert, except when company's coming. It's the salty, sour tastes that I crave. Chocolate, however, is the big exception. I just love it - the rich, dark, semi-sweet kind, that is.

Without exception my Aunt Flora's recipe for Pots de Crème is the best chocolate dessert I've ever eaten. It's simple and decadent. Most desserts that came from her kitchen were.

Aunt Flora was my favorite of Mother's four sisters. She, Uncle Harry, and my cousin Bonnie lived on what Daddy referred to as a "gentleman's farm" in Maryland. Their stately home was at the end of a long driveway, flanked by white fences and green pastures. Adjacent to the house was a big white horse barn.

I was lucky to spend my vacations at the farm when I was growing up. Aunt Flora was beautiful, gracious, and sophisticated. I wanted to be just like her. I learned the following lessons from my favorite aunt.

(1) If two little girls (Bonnie and I) want to dress cats in doll clothes and then take those cats for a ride in the car, you patiently drive them around, hoping the backseat upholstery doesn't get torn to shreds.

(2) You try to be a good hostess in spite of the fact that the pressure cooker has blown up and the kitchen ceiling is spattered with spaghetti sauce.

(3) When all those around you start dying their hair, it's okay to let yours go gray. Silver hair can be stunning and is a neutral color that goes with anything.

(4) The importance of appreciating family closeness, entertaining with ease, having fun, being stylish, honoring the wisdom that comes with age, and facing health issues with courage and devotion — all are lessons learned from Aunt Flora.

I think of her often. I have a large watercolor of the farm in our front hallway, pictures of her in family photo albums, a set of her dishes in the kitchen, and some of her recipes in my recipe box. Those recipes are very dear to me. Some are in her handwriting. All of them are fantastic. Her recipe for Pots de Crème is the one I use most.

This dessert is VERY rich, and a little goes a long way. It's perfect for a special occasion.

Pots de Crème is rich and elegant. Just like my Aunt Flora.

Pots de Crème

3/4cup milk
1 cup semi-sweet chocolate morsels
1 egg
2 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
Pinch of salt
Whipped cream (I use the canned kind)

Heat milk to boiling point and add to blender containing all other ingredients. Blend on low for 1 minute. Pour into six demitasse cups or cordial glasses. About 1/3 cup per serving is just about right.

Chill overnight. Top with a dab of whipped cream and serve.

At the bottom of my well-worn recipe card for Pots de Crème is a whimsical note from Aunt Flora. It says, "Serve with a candied violet, as the French often do." I had no idea what a candied violet was but found out it really is a candy violet. They come packed in small tins and are expensive and hard to find. Add this garnish if you like.

Serves 6

June's Jets

If you like rich dark chocolate rolled around a delicious butter cream filling, you're going to love June Holcomb's recipe for "Jets". I have no idea where this little treat got its name, but the end result is so good it doesn't matter.

June Holcomb was the mother of my childhood friend Tommy Holcomb. She reminded me of June Cleaver of "Leave it to Beaver" fame. Tommy's mother was always a sweet, well-dressed, stay-at-home mom, who worked hard keeping their Cape Cod style house as neat as a pin. She was also a great cook. Everybody loved her.

Tommy and I became friends as seventh graders at Woodrow Wilson Junior High School in Roanoke. As eighth graders, we starred in a class play in which our two characters kissed. It was my first kiss. We practiced a lot backstage to make the scene perfect. Right then and there, a lifetime friendship was born.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Tell Me a Story, I'll Bake You a Cake by Joy Smith. Copyright © 2016 Joy Smith. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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