I sing to the cakes.
That’s my secret.
I’ve never told anyone that before, because… well, I don’t know why. But it sounds silly. And when people tell me my cakes are the best in town, I try and think of what I do differently. And maybe that’s it.
Different types of cakes like different music. For red velvet, it must be seductive, sultry, classy. I can spot the red velvet lovers when they walk into the door; the sway of their hips, the splash of red lipstick. Everything is scarlet, even if they’re wearing all black.
The lemon drizzle is inspired by jaunty, simple tunes. I sang ‘Pop Goes the Weasel’ over and over to my best ever batch, the one I sent out to the bank when I needed a loan. It suits financial types, the slight bitterness, the craving for home and simplicity they all feel deep in their souls.
Chocolate is simple. There is very little anyone can do to improve chocolate. It’s heaven, but heaven doesn’t have chocolate, so I assume it’s actually hell in disguise.
The Oreos, cookies and cream, the trendy ones, like a few pop songs. But although the macaroons and whoopee pies are in now, you have to be careful. They don’t mix well to modern tunes, being old and noble lines of confectionery. The macaroons love Edith Piaf, quelle surprise, and the whoopee pies only respond to jazz.
So there you have it. My big revelation. Singing.
And my grandmother’s recipe book. How people used to talk about her. Ridiculous really. There’s no such thing. People were so superstitious, back then.