By Liam Ehlert
Country of Origin: North America
Ingredients:
1 1/2 cups of flour
1 Tbsp Baking powder
1 cup of Sugar
3/4 cups melted butter
1 1/2 cups of milk
1 Tbsp vanilla extract
1 cup Blueberries
2 Tbsp powdered sugar
2 cups of heavy cream
It was snowing on my 14th birthday. During that year the days blended together, a dull repetition of the same day. Nothing stood out. The night before my mom had waited up. She stood in the dimly lit kitchen and mixed flour, baking powder and sugar together into a bowl. Whisking them into a fine powder before preheating the oven to 320 degrees.
Once the dry ingredients were combined she put the butter in a dish. She puts it in the microwave for around two minutes, I always let the sound of popping and the scent of movie theaters tell me when it's done. When the butter is melted she takes it out and places the hot bowl gently on the counter top. She's always more careful than me when it comes to cooking. Less than a year prior I had put butter in that bowl. Setting the microwave to four minutes then returning to the recipe. The butter had melted within two minutes and by the third it had bubbled over like a geyser and coated the glass turntable.
With the butter sitting safely on the counter, The comforting aroma enveloping the kitchen, she adds the milk. Pouring together the bowls,Stirring with a rubber spatula until combined. This batter has a lumpy appearance, a consistency that bakes out.
The flavor changes every time this cake is made. On this night my mom added a cup of fresh blueberries and vanilla extract. I had developed a love for blueberry muffins that year. Having to wake up early for in person school robbed me of breakfast for many years. That year I got the opportunity to make myself blueberry muffins. There was nothing extraordinary about them, in fact I can’t place why I liked them so much but I did.
After she poured it into a mold she put the pan in the oven and set a timer for 42 minutes. While waiting for it to bake, In the warm glow cast from the oven she takes out a carton of heavy whipping cream. She pours around two cups into a stand mixer. Letting the machine softly spin and whir tell the whisk creates small white waves.
When she served it that morning, in small squares with dollops of the whipped melting down into it, she called it a loaf. So I could eat it throughout the day. As a reminder that day was special.