FLOUR, noun

A powder obtained by grinding grain, typically wheat, and used to make bread, cakes, and pastry
ORIGIN Middle English: a specific use of flower in the sense ‘the best part’, used originally to mean ‘the finest quality of ground wheat’. The spelling flower remained in use alongside flour until the early 19th century.
Willst du einen Kucken backen musst du haben sieben Sachen…. Butter und Schmalz, Zucker und Salz, Eier und Mehl, Safran macht den Kuchen geeeehl. Remember? My Tata Nin used to make me recite that. Along with Eia Popeia, and Bim Bam Biren… remember those, fellow Luxembourgers? Much too gruesome to be in my innocent little blog…
For those who did not know, I love making and sharing cakes…
CAKE MAKING. The messiness is great. First thing: I turn on the oven. I like assembling all ingredients, gathering them on the kitchen workbench. If you do not care to get first class ingredients, do not even bother to start. Here, the chickens are very kind (and happily walking around in the courtyard, with a caring rooster that gets upset if they make it over the fence, but not back again – they are good chickens but they are not very clever). They provide really healthy eggs without stress hormones, antibiotics, and the results of 24-hour artificial lighting. Those egg yolks are as yellow as it gets. The vagueness of recipes that do not really exist but in your head is something fitting with my philosophy of cooking. I had an argument with my high school chemistry teacher, who insisted cooking was a science. I still disagree, although I think I could take his point now without getting in a fight, quietly. You pour the wet things, the dry things and it mainly takes the will to improvise and use your powers of quick decision. The decision of mixing either with a fork or with a machine depends on what you want to prepare. As in most things I do, I do them impulsively-fast and without any show of patience and delicacy (though the intention might be present…). I may not know what I am doing but it is a lot of fun. I usually need a security radius of three metres, because I spill, the sugar leaks, and the flour scatters (here I wanted to write ‘poofs’, because this is what it does, but I was afraid of being misunderstood. Where are verbs like stëppsen when you need them in the rich English language?) in all directions, and I accidentally turn the mixer on maximum, spraying the cupboards with a snowy sweet substance. Then, after staining my front with flour, egg white and doughy stuff, I can finally get my hands dirty. I knead the dough and decide whether it is still too wet, taste briefly what it may need in addition, grease the pan quickly, and then put the mass of cholesterol-laden deliciousness into the shape, proceeding depending on the kind of cake you are making: layers, bottom, all-mixed-together kind. Let it get some heat (not too much at once, it will burn on the outside and be somewhat liquidy on the inside – not a pretty ending for a cake), and set your alarm clock. Go away and do not peer into the oven every three minutes. Cakes need their privacy. After your alarm has rung, you can go poke the golden sunrise with a knife. When ready, do not serve immediately, you fool. You will get sick, all your teeth will fall out, and you will miss out on the full enjoyment.
A WORD OF WARNING. When I was seventeen and on exchange in Australia, I wanted to impress everyone by making a cake. I found all kinds of ingredients in large, unlabelled glass jars. I mixed, worked, stirred, and tasted the ready dough. Damn. Salty as hell. How come? After a few more failed attempts, my hostmum came home from work, found a very messy kitchen and a desperate, stubborn teenager, and asked what on earth I was trying to do. I weakly offered to make something for the dogs out of the dough (stupid idea). Then she introduced me to one of the secrets of her household (or maybe of Australia – I cannot be so sure at the moment). Here sugar was brown, not white. Everything that was white was, in fact, salt. Yeah! A cake with 100 pinches of salt… yummy! So be sure what you are using is safe… or you will end up like that baker Mulles Mieltuut who was baking Mourekäpp on one of the Fausti tapes. He became paranoid they might contain washingpowder (Sääfepollefer), and tasted them one by one, until he became a huge Mourekapp himself… not a happy ending!
CAKE SHARING. It is an essential part of my research methodology. People give me all kinds of things: interviews, tuica, cheese, apples, time, laughs, coffee. I give them cakes in return. It is the least I can do. Cakes may also be given away as entirely free gifts, of course, and not only on birthdays. I miss my anthropology and history office and campus mates to give cakes to (of course only expecting kindness in return…).
OTHER REASONS FOR MAKING CAKES. It is a fun creative effort and takes less than an afternoon. Great for procrastinating, because it keeps your mind occupied and you will not have feelings of guilt in the process. Quick results, too, much unlike PhDs…
FINAL REMARKS. Of course I am resistant to bribes, but propositions welcome. Maybe I will be seduced, who knows, after all I live in a country where bribing is part of the deal (of course, only until they joined the EU… wait a moment… never mind). Should you ever wish to make a cake for me, be aware that chocolate cake is not really my favourite. In fact, I have had my decade of chocolate already. I am in the decade of cheese, just in case you were wondering. Here, given all the apples in the basement, I also deal with fruits. After that I will be ready to move on to something else. Life is full of surprises.
06.04.07