Image courtesy of http://www.littlegooselakehaus.comIt was less than a year ago that I wrote about Zebra Cakes and my Grandma's strange fixation. Tonight as I prepare for Easter at my Aunt's, I am focusing my energies on a different kind of cake, the lamb cake.
Origins of this tasty treat are unclear, but I feel like I've been eating it forever. Grandma's best friend since forever had a really fancy, really heavy, cast iron lamb-shaped mold that was loaned to us every so often until Helen passed away several years ago. More recently, a cheaper, aluminum mold has had to make do, and it produced, at least last year, delicious results.
My personal experience with the cake has spanned three years. Two years ago I made it myself at my old abode, Chez Magnolia. As awesome as Magnolia was, we lacked quite a few major appliances including a hand mixer. No matter! thought I, ever intrepid baker. I will use a whisk. So I whisked and whisked and poured it in the mold. (Please note, mold is 3D). After baking it the allotted time, I removed it from the oven to find that the cake had not risen a whit. No matter! thought I again, and plopped it on a plate. It seemed a bit... heavy, but I didn't dwell on it. I took it safely to my Uncle's house and anxiously awaited dinner to be over so everyone could eat the deliciousness.
After dinner the cake was brought out. Everyone was a bit puzzled why it was flat instead of standing. I tried to assure them it was still quite delicious. We all took a slice and began to chew. A moment of silence passed... then another... then another. I looked up from my plate and around the table and everyone burst out laughing. It was the worst. cake. ever. Instead of a pound cake I had made a 5 pound cake. I kept a good game face on but I was crushed. Grandma took the mold back and assured me things would be better next year...
Last year I went to Grandma's a few days early. Being (mostly) unemployed had it's perks, after all. She showed me the essential trick: Crisco-ing the inside of the pan, both sides. I was super grossed out but watched her fill each nook and cranny with the nasty old pastry brush. We put the greased up little lamb in the oven, crossed our fingers, and waited.
The cake came out beautifully. It helped that we had a real live mixer, none of this silly whisking business. I think Grandma would be pleased to know that J replaced my frantic, only speed being freaky fast mixer with a more respectable Hamilton Beach model for Valentine's Day. (Boy knows the key to my heart!)
I don't really miss her as hard as I used to but Easter brings with it a slew of memories: Easter Vigil mass on Saturday night, lamb caking it up, watching the Golden Girls all weekend, showing off my Easter dress and sweater combo that I got for less than 12 bucks at the Salvation Army. It was only a few short days after Easter last year that she got sick for the first time, and things were downhill from there. This year I'll be remembering her laughing at me for being so squeamish about the Crisco, telling me stories about her past lamb cakes, and sending up to her all the love my heart can handle... hoping to make her proud with my solo attempt lamb cake.
