While not exploring the politics of what is in a name I have actually been quite busy baking
. The process of making a cake, one from my '70's childhood no less, to celebrate the fast approaching winter solstice has been an eye opening one. For once it was not an exploration of gluttony (as say the absolute *need* once in a while to flambe some bananas with butter, sugar and brandy) but of ritual, nostalgia and a homage to my fast fading mother. I also got a bizarre kick out of acting into the role of an organised cook; washing my hands, clearing the surface, donning an apron and arranging all the ingredients. No short cuts.
While baking a fruit cake will not reverse her cognitive decline, even so many kilometres away just making the cake has linked me back to my best experiences of being mothered.
Some people love a fruit cake, I myself can take it or leave it but nostalgia is something I will happily consume in large slabs. After all, the soul needs a little feeding too from time to time.
Have you made your solstice cake