when I was small
to small to see over
the tabletop, my aunt
taught me to make God's Food
she gave me lessons
in baking, in alchemy
I stood on stool,
so I could mix the
ginger powder,
flour and eggs in
the big old green
mixing bowl
with a big wooden
spoon, half as tall as me
I wore an apron and had
one of my poppa's hanky's
tied over my hair...
My Auntie Barb,
poured over my dry mix
hot melted butter,golden syrup
and brown sugar, with careful
hands and then briskly mixed
it through, a glorious batter
was made.
together my hands
covered by hers,
soft comfort and calluses
would pour the batter into
old rectangle loaf tins,
paper and greased,
then into an oven
to bake and spread
the scent of ginger, cinnamon
and caramel, throughout the old
weatherboard house....
I would happily lick the spoon
and scrape every last bit of gooey batter
from the old palmolive green mixing bowl
as we waited for the baking alchemy to occur
Roughly forty minutes later,
the oven door would be opened
and loaf of gingered goodness
would appear, the kettle would be
placed on the hob to boil, tea in the ***
cups, plates and cutlery on the table
sugar,milk and butter too
Then her voice, would call
gingerbread is up, and all
would come, interrupting
footaball, a good book,
an afternoon nap,
or the tv program
nothing stopped one
coming for gingerbread
The loaf would be sliced
still warm and thick
almost overwhelming
all that warm ginger
so very exotic, then
it would be lathered
with butter, that would melt
almost on contact.....
and that was a such a feast
There was magic in that kitchen
even though I make ginger bread
the same way, something is missing
perhaps the warmth of the old oven
or some little pinch of salt or nutmeg
or perhaps the ginger has changed
Or it might be just nostalgia....
for simpler times..when my biggest
responsibility was mixing ginger bread batter
