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| my famous beer cake |
Once upon a time...
I once sat in the backyard with a bunch of women at a
typical Aussie barbeque. The men were busy throwing sausages, meat patties and
steaks on to the grill while drinking cans of beer. The topic of their
conversation in those days, we are in the mid-1970s, would have included anything
but the exchange of cooking recipes. Contrary to the women, who discussed
issues concerning children, school interaction, tuck shop incidents, fashion,
and gastronomy. Probably inspired by observing the males in their active
participation of who could deplete the supply of beer the fastest, one lady,
whose name I have long since forgotten, was raving about a failsafe recipe that
involved one can of beer. She was most adamant that it had to be XXXX. Well,
out came the proverbial envelope to write the process onto the back of it for
something that was to create its own history.
The Parcel
Over the years this Beer Cake had never failed me. Unlike some of my other creations which on more occasions than I care to number, turned out so different to the images in the glossy pictures. The Beer Cake has always been easy to make and yummy to tase. I never deviated from using XXXX, and, no, I do not have any shares in that brewery. My son Markus is quite partial to XXXX. He had lived in Melbourne in early 2000 in a street with the house number 38. Knowing how he missed his XXXX beer in Victoria, I decided to make him my Beer Cake, post it, and surprise him for his birthday.
With gusto I applied myself to the task on Monday morning. Satisfied, as usual with the outcome, I wrapped the cake after cooling into alfoil and sticky taped an envelope with a $50 note to the top. At the Post Office I placed my cargo into a box that I purchased and handed it over. The lady behind the counter assured me that it would arrive by Wednesday in Melbourne.
By Thursday evening I still had no word from Markus, so I rang him and enquired about what was no longer an intended surprise. No, he hadn’t received my parcel. Yes, he could have done with $50 and yes, he would have liked the cake. Bummer, typical unreliable Australian Post, someone is enjoying what was meant to be for my son! Yes, I was terribly upset.
Saturday morning Markus rang.
“Mum, you wouldn’t believe it. I went to my mate’s place up the road for a Friday night sundowner. After a few drinks, he told me that he had received a parcel the day before with a cake in it. He was puzzled why anybody would send him a cake. But that didn’t stop him from eating some. Because you told me about it, I asked him if the package also had $50. He wondered how I knew. Well, we eventually figured it out. It’s been raining like cats and dogs this week and the parcel was quite soaked. The ink on the label had blurred the address. Anyway, he lives in number 8, so we figured that the 3 must have smudged off and the name really was quite illegible. It’s a wonder the Postie got the street right. He did an amazing job, really, when you think about it. Taking the trouble to decipher all those smears.”
“Did you get any of the cake? And the money?”
“Sure did. Luckily, you wrapped it well in the alfoil and luckily, my mate is not so greedy to eat it all at once. There was plenty left, I’ve got it in my fridge now. Thanks for the 50 bucks and, oh, before I forget, the cake is deeliicious!”
I no longer indulge in my old habit of using ink to write addresses and, yes, well, Australia Post did a great job.
The Housewarming
Some years ago, we lived at the top of Mt Tamborine. We moved there because I was doing my Honours degree. You see, in those days, one of my favourite means of procrastination involving assignment due dates was to look for real estate, preferably close to the beach. I found that the thrill of this chase eased my anxiety about my academic research. So, I dragged my poor husband Geoff to places from Mullumbimby in New South Wales up to the Noosa Hinterland in Queensland. How he must have dreaded my never-ending My darling, guess what I just found.
While Mt Tamborine, where we eventually moved, is by no means close to the beach, we could see the ocean and enjoy a vista from Coolangatta to Stradbroke Island. With global warming we felt quite safe on this top. One of our neighbours was a well-known singer on the next mountain ledge to our left but out of our view. The different ridges had the same outlook, the minute difference being that he had the whole ridge; we had to share ours with a hamlet of neighbours. He had a house about twelve times bigger than ours and a helicopter pad, which we did not.
Having settled into our third, this is finally it home, we decided to have a housewarming dinner party and invited six friends. After much deliberation, we decided on a menu, and I prepared a scroll listing the evening's menu. As entrée we would have either Prosecco or beer with hor dóeuvres in the form of Angels on Horseback and the traditional nibbles like nuts, cheeses and cracker biscuits. For the mains, we had Beef Rouladen accompanied by Crispy Kipfler Potatoes and Roasted Baby Carrots with either a glass of Pepperjack Malbec or Petaluma Hanlin Hill Riesling. We chose Tiramisu with a glass of Coopers Stout or De Bortoli Botrytis Semillon for dessert. Coffee or tea was accompanied by, you guessed it, my famous Beer Cake. Since this oldie but goodie had always served me well, I decided to feature it prominently on top of a stand underneath the windows. Normally a pot plant sat in its place. Below its glass dome the Beer Cake would stand proudly and deliciously inviting. All was set for a perfect evening of fine wining and dining in our new abode.
As if on cue the guests, except for Rob and Dianne who had booked themselves into the Canungra Hotel at the bottom of the mountain, arrived almost simultaneously. Claudi, our long-haired miniature Dachshund, could barely control his excitement. He fussed over visitors, he yelped excitedly, turned circles, waved his tail and did not stop until he was patted.
A tour of the house was appreciated. Deb and Paul loved it. I think all were impressed with the location and the panorama as we stood on the deck witnessing the moon rise over the Pacific Ocean. The surroundings were absolutely stunning, words used by Peter and Lynne. An already purplish-blue sky darkened to allow the twinkling of lights in the distance. Even the high rises at Surfers Paradise lost their incongruous protrusion and faded into the water as the first stars lit up.
The drinks were chilled, the Angels on Horseback were a success, and our visitors were impressed. Now and again we could perceive music, sounding very much like a rehearsal for The Pirates of Penzance, drifting over from the singer’s place who must have had a big party. The conversation flowed and I felt sure, to have made the right decision by moving away from the city.
Thirty minutes after savouring the first sip of bubbles, Rob and Dianne arrived, which was unusually late for them. Rob was hardly through the door announcing:
“You wouldn’t believe it; we were held up by a police car check and got searched on the Beaudesert Nerang Road.”
The Why’s and What for’s arose from everybody.
“There’s been an escape from Palen Creek Correctional Centre. Two prisoners bolted and now there are roadblocks everywhere out of Palen Creek. The roads are chockers with police and dogs.”
Wow, really was mixed with how come?
Geoff’s voice rose above all: “This calls for drinks.”
Discussions concerning the prisoner escape incident and the ubiquitous topic relating to the panorama followed. I showed Dianne what I had already shown the others. And she, like them, liked what she saw.
Sufficiently and happily lubricated we directed our friends to the big round dining table. I had placed eight flickering candles into the middle. We settled down for the main course. There was so much to discuss, the prison escape, our new environment, the view, the movies, gossip about people we knew personally, gossip about politicians we didn’t know personally. In between was the inevitable joke, sometimes funny, sometimes not. And of course, because Rob, Peter and Geoff had been friends since they were called up for National Service, there were anecdotes about guns and rifles during their training in those days. Rob was the only one of this group who had fought in Vietnam.
We had finished our mains and started on the Tiramisu. The males settled for the Stout while the ladies partook in the Botrytis. The tranquil candle-lit atmosphere of murmured yums and delicious came to an abrupt halt. Sounds of explosions filled the air. Rob leapt off his chair: “Quick, down, down! Under the table! Gunshots! I know gunshots when I hear them! Get down now! Heads down! Quick!”
Dianne’s whimpering: “Oh, no, the escapees, they’ll take us hostage. They’ve come up the mountain. They’ll get us!” did nothing to ease the tension of the moment. In panic we crawled under the table, eyes shut, while the gunfire raged. “Move, Claudi, get out of the way!” He thought it was Christmas, this was great fun, everybody coming down to his level wanting to play with him. In the rush and confusion Deb had lost her bracelet, it was very precious to her. She could not wait, bugger the gunshots. She opened her eyes to search for it: “Ha ha, quick, you dopes! I can see fireworks!”
A few heads bumped against the underside of the tabletop bringing on a choice array of Aussie slang. Claudi was in between all of us. Everybody rushed to the deck, confusion reigned. “The fireworks are awesome Peter, get the camera! Hurry before it stops!” Lynne was excited.
“Where’s my camera?” Peter rushed back inside. “Urgh! Nooo!”
Craaash! Another explosion! Only this time inside our house!
Lynne could not control herself: “You clumsy idiot! Why didn’t you watch where you were going?!” So that’s what she thought of him! Well, under the circumstances and in the heat of the moment, she was forgiven.
Outdoors, the sky was alight with the blues, reds, and silver of the fireworks. Indoors, the floor was littered with the thousand sparkling blue, red, and silver glass splinters of my glass dome, which had, until very recently, sat on top of the pot plant stand prominently displaying my never-failing Beer Cake. Of course, this never-failing Beer Cake did not envisage a smashing knockover during a stampede.
Have you ever tried to keep a low-ground dog away from a cake that was strategically arranged on the floor just for him? I can assure you it is a difficult task, especially if the animal has been spoiled in the past with such treats. Add thousands of glass shards to this, and you will have the picture. Geoff graciously cleaned up the war-torn Beer Cake and the glass splinters. Our guests lingered a little bit longer and then left together. They enjoyed the evening but bemoaned missing out on tasting my highly praised and advertised Beer Cake. They all arrived safely at their accommodation.
In those days, I was publicly listed to perform duties
as a Justice of the Peace. A few days after our housewarming, a knock was on the door. To my surprise, it was the singer. He asked me to witness his
signature. Not a problem, that’s what I had committed myself to do when I took
on those duties. After the official part of this transaction, he said: “I hope
we were not too noisy the other night. It was my wife’s birthday. A milestone! So we
celebrated with fireworks.”
“Ah, really? No, not at all, it was lovely, we really enjoyed it.”
"I brought you a little piece of the birthday cake from that night.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t have, really.”
“Think nothing of it; it is just a little left over from our celebration.”
“Well, thank you very much.”
I looked at the piece of cake. It looked amazingly like my war-torn Beer Cake but was about twelve times smaller. I decided it best to keep the episode of that debacle to myself and guided my newly acquainted neighbour to the door.
PS I was awarded Honours Class 1.
The Beer Cake Recipe
Ingredients:
½ lb of butter or margarine, 1 cup of brown sugar – packed firmly, 2 eggs, 1 cup chopped walnuts, 1 cup chopped dates, 3 cups of plain flour, 2 tbs of bicarb of soda, 1 tsp cinnamon, 1 tsp powdered cloves, ½ tsp mixed spices, 2 cups of XXXX beer
Method:
Cream the butter with the brown sugar.
Beat in the eggs, one at a time.
Fold in the walnuts and the dates.
Sift in the flour with the bicarb of soda, and all the spices.
Fold in the flour and the beer, starting with flour and ending with flour.
Bake:
20 cm round baking tin in moderate oven (180) for one hour or until skewer comes out clean.
Optional:
Top with yoghurt.
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