Tea Time
Posted on June 7, 2015 by Ann Walters
The arrival of tea time every Sunday at 6:30 p.m. in our house was a special deal.
It was an extended family gathering and one of the affluent relatives would proudly arrive and hand my mother the fancy red box with yellow ribbons tied in a bow around it. “Oh you shouldn’t have!” my mother would say, as she placed it squarely on our counter. We all knew that it was a special cake. Although my mother was a great baker and any cake that she made was lighter, fresher and more real tasting, our tea time was always a special treat.
I hovered close to my mother’s elbow when it came to cutting the cake. I loved the ceremony of untying the ribbon (to save it for some other use), lifting the lid on the box and catching my first glimpse of the cake. My favorite bit was when my mother removed the cake from the clear plastic wrapper. As she cut the cake, I scraped my finger along the inside of the wrapper and scooped up any icing and crumbs that had stuck to it. Some icing tasted better than others. My mother sliced the cake in its entirety. The slices were carefully placed slightly overlapping on a fancy doily covered plate.
There was the strawberry layer and the more exotic pineapple layer; we never got the chocolate for some unknown reason. It had the sweetest butter cream and a slice dissolved easily in my mouth. There was even icing on the slices of these cakes, so that every piece was generously endowed. With this cake, there was a fight for the last piece, as it has a heel and a crust with excess icing that lodged during the cutting
When the visitors arrived, my mother prepared her trolley. This was a gold trolley, with two shelves, that had been a wedding gift. On the top shelf, she placed cups and saucers, a milk jug, sugar bowl and a plate of sandwiches, eggs and ham. On the bottom shelf was a plate of biscuits (cookies) in their green and orange foil wrappers, Cadbury chocolate fingers, Scottish shortbread, and the special cake. The laden trolley was wheeled into the dining room. She served her guests with a generous supper and several cups of tea in her silver teapot, which was also a wedding gift.
As children, we were told to keep our hands off the food until the guests were served. I sat on the arm of a chair and waited patiently. I tried to stay focused on the conversation buzzing around me and answered questions that were asked of me, but my eyes were drawn to the remaining slices of cake.
During a lull in the conversation, I started to tidy up. I placed all the dirty cups, saucers and the empty teapot back on the trolley and wheeled it into the kitchen. Disguising my greed, I volunteered to wash the dishes so that my mother could join her guests. My sisters were delighted to be relieved of washing up. As soon as the dining room door closed, I had the kitchen to myself. I pounced on my haul. I greedily gobbled the last slice of the cake before anyone could interrupt me. I made sure that I did not miss any of the icing. In haste, I ate it. For eating the slice of cake, I know had a sink full of dirty dishes to wash.