For the longest time, Bangalore in my memories had an aroma. It had the alluring smell of rich hot chocolate cake.
My first visit to Bangalore was during one cold December, to the house of my mother’s friend. Having slept off in the bus en route, I had woken up hours later to the smell of baking cakes. We had reached Achamma aunty’s house.
Aunty was a good cook and an expert in making cakes. For the first time, I tasted hot, home baked chocolate cake. It was soft and warm and made my taste buds jump with joy. The cool Bangalore atmosphere, combined with hot chocolate cake. It was ethereal. Aunty indulged me and I hogged cake day and night, fighting tooth and nail with my siblings who demanded their share.
The visit colored the memories of a six-year-old girl about Bangalore, permanently with the aroma of hot chocolate cake.
Years later, my husband was transferred to Bangalore, and we came with our three-year-old son. This time my mind’s eye, partial to the flavor of chocolate, commanded that I experiment with baking. Off I went, and purchased a ready-to-bake chocolate mix from the near-by super market. The cake was ready soon.
My taste buds protested...NO...NO...Not anywhere close!!
My son declared..”Eee..it is tasteless”.
Sunshine came in the form of Achamma Aunty and she gave me the recipe for her famous chocolate cake.
“Use borosil bowls to bake. It will help keep the cake uniformly cooked and healthy,” she advised.
Eggs, curd, milk, cocoa powder, baking powder, butter, vanilla essence, flour…I had a host of things to purchase. Dropping my son at school, I rushed through the shopping and returned home to bake.
The whole procedure was a battle with the five senses, especially taste and sight. The ingredients well mixed and ready-to-bake tempted me. A war between my self-control and the dark –sweet-creamy- chocolaty batter with the faint whiff of vanilla essence began, the moment I poured it into the transparent borosil-mixing bowl. Only the glare of the light reflecting on the glass told me of the presence of a barrier to my 3-D temptation, making my stomach growl.
“Two or three spoons of cake batter is not going to do anything to your already damaged figure, lady..Come on..Try Me!” screamed the temptress.
I obeyed. No...I didn’t stop at two..Nor at three. I stopped after a few more spoons full, remembering the expectations of my toddler, who would arrive hungry. One who would howl like a baby monster if mummy monster didn't fulfill her promise of hot chocolate cake.
Keeping the bowl inside the pre-heated oven, I watched it turn. I too joined the jig, turning and swaying in glee. Setting the timer, I went to pick my son from school, which was just a stone’s throw away from our house.
Entering the house again, my heart flipped with happiness. In a blink, I went on a time travel down a cake scented memory lane. My house smelled like the Bangalore of my memories. The aroma of hot chocolate was wafting out from the kitchen.
“It smells yummy..Yay..chocolate,” chirped my happy son and together we waited for the oven to chime announcing that the cake was done. A toothpick inserted came out clean and taking the bowl out, we waited with our mouth open to allow the cake to cool down.
“Is it not cool yet..?” enquiries came every second from my son and my mind. I transferred the uniformly cooked cake into a transparent Borosil serving plate. Nothing should hinder the beauty of my dusky beauty.
We cut the cake together.
“Is it my birthday again?” he asked and I said ‘Yes Dear”
The warm inside of the chocolate cake when we cut into it, made me drool, tantalized me to touch and feel. The texture was just perfect. It was soft like silk.
We dug into it together. No..No..this time there was no need for mummy to feed him. He could eat it alone. After all, he was now three years old. Quite grown up, and smart enough to notice that mummy was eating more than he was. And to ban her from touching the plate again.
Don’t judge me people, if I confess that I sneaked off the best portion and hid it in a casserole, this time opaque, when he became engrossed in a problem Mickey mouse was trying to solve on television.
When my husband came home that day, the transparent serving plate from borosil was back on the dining table, inviting him, charming him, to taste the delicious, moist and rich chocolate cake, which oozed (*I insisted*) with my love for him.
This post is written as part of My beautiful food, a contest organised my Indiblogger and myborosil.com