Gary and friends, Thank you Patti for correcting me on Wards song, “BIMBO”. And, sending me the words! I thought of the name was B-i-n-g-o-it The Jim Metcalfe cousins were always teaching, sharing neat stuff!
Anthony Family Story # 8
“Farm Cookin for Ward & Annie”
My sisters and I learned how to cook from “scratch”. Nothing came from a box. I thought, “cakes from a box were made by other people”. Our mother allowed us to experiment in the kitchen, from whatever was in the cellar or cupboards. We tried everything, from main dishes to pies, cookies and candies. Our maternal aunt, Aunt Priscilla introduced us to the first boxed food we ate, Chef Boy-R-Dee. Pizza. We made and ate that as a special meal sometimes before Gun Smoke on Saturday nights.
My parents taught me how to savor “good food” and the love of sharing a meal with special people. Like many neighbors, the unspoken rule was, If any one came at any meal time, another setting was placed at the table and they were invited to share a meal with the family.
Nancy was the first to try her hand at cooking. Prior to that, we were mostly meat, potatoes, and a vegetable with a dessert family. Nancy introduced our family to spaghetti and tossed salads and was free to try all sorts of cooking. She even baked the family bread one summer, 14 loaves every Monday for her home ec project, taught by ?Mrs. Suko. My parents were quite content to let her experiment. And she became an excellent baker.
Then, I came along. I the out door kid, I was not a natural baker. The spring of 1962, I, proudly baked my first cake, all by myself! After I dried the dinner dishes, I went the garden and pulled the rhubarb. Then washed and cut up it up, setting it aside. Creamed the home churned butter with the sugar, added farm eggs. Carefully, mixed in the dry ingredients;the flour, salt, baking powder. Then, folded that ruby red rhubarb in. I had pre-heated the combination electric-wood stove as advised, greased and floured my pan, gently scraped the bowl, put it in the oven and baked it for the allotted time.
So perfect! I stuck to the No licken rule! I know I did not taste my fingers, spoon or a bowl. I was going to make this cake to perfection. I was careful not to peek so it did not fall. Watching the clock I timed it right. Oh, it was a beauty to behold! And. it sat cooling where I could look at it now and then, while I helped mom with the rest of the meal.
In came the men, Ward and Dad from fencing. We sat down and ate supper. And, I proudly said, “I made Rhubarb Cake for dessert. Ward said, “That’s my favorite!” I had cut the pieces and put on serving plates. Dad took one bite, pushed the plate aside, then said, ahem” It’s good but, I don’t believe I can eat any more. I ate too much for supper.”
My sisters took bites and said “YUCK”. My spirits sagged. Mom tasted and said, “How much salt did you put in?” I replied, “I followed the recipe and put in what was on the card, 2 teaspoons.” Mom said, “The recipe say’s 1/2 teaspoon”. Of course, the sister began to laugh. My face fell. The only person with a straight face and silent was Ward. He didn’t’ say a word but continued to eat that cake. When he finished that piece, he said, ” This is the best rhubarb cake! Could I have more?” I proudly served him another. But later, even the dogs, cats, chickens and pigs refused to eat the rest of the cake.
I learned 2 things from this lesson of baking . I was no longer afraid of Ward. He had saved my dignity, was so very kind, seeing my hurt my feelings. And the secret to a good cake: Always test taste the scraper, spoon and bowl, as much as possible! If it’s not of good flavour, throw it out! Of course, unlike my sisters I never did excel in Home Ec.
I did not give up baking or honing my skills. Years later, I baked Mrs. Anthony a perfect, homemade angel food from scratch, for her January birthday . Dad delivered the cake on the Ski-doo. Returning, Dad brought me home a gift from Annie, a pink depression glass cake plate!
No I’m not a collector of antiques.
I am a collector of stories about people I am fond of, and every now and again, I happen to receive a surprise, a treasure, that belonged to a person whose story I never wish to forget. I look into my treasure cupboard and see that plate and I remember with fondness, Annie Anthony.
Metcalfe Family Tales, Vickie Winter 2011
