Cake Batter

When I was I child I loved being in the kitchen with my dad. He would cut and whip, dice and stir, flip and dip, coat and mix. He seared and smothered on top of the stove, he baked on the inside of the stove and broiled under the bottom of the stove. My dad grilled in the back yard and fried on the double burner, free standing gas stove hooked to a tank. It was versatility at its finest. Such sweet smells and memories. Cake batter!

The holidays rolled around and groceries would pour in. Sticks of butter and eggs would pile on the table. Dad left them out overnight, then in the morning he made magic happen with butter, sugar and eggs. We filled the large plastic bowl with flour, a pinch of this and a dash of that. My dad put in the hand mixer and let the whipping begin; he even let me hold it for a twirl. I knew a baking delight was coming within an hour or two, but that mattered none. I was holding out for something much grander, more sweet and instantly delectable. There was no need to wait an hour when I could have the spoon, bowl and mixing spatulas to lick that sweet combination of ingredients that once sat bored in solidarity on the table. Cake batter!

James Brown and Parliament were among the top plays in his theme music. By the age of five I could glide across the floor, twiddle my feet and do a cold spin before I dipped to the floor in a split. The dance breaks in between the cooking brought joy to the heart, especially when my dad threw on his hat and tipped it forward, put his hands behind his back as he hunched forward and slide across the floor with one leg cocked in the air. He did it with so much soul. Cake batter!

I have since grown from that admiring youngster and moved far away from my dad's stove and the holiday filled kitchen. As the years passed, so did sad times and good times. My dad experienced life and all of its peaks and valleys. I came to know life and all of its harshness and prosperity. Even so, cooking holds its therapeutic stance. When the holidays come around I must cut and dice, stir and mix, flip and fry in my own kitchen. The recipes and ingredients remain, and my playlist is quite reminiscent of a youth before my birth. A little James Brown, some Al Green, a little Bootsy, P-funk and the like to get my spatulas spinning. No matter where I am or how old I get, I will never forget those times. My home will share in that same joy to the tunes, to the gastronomic delicacies of my roots. Cake batter!