The
Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake
By Aimee Bender
292 pages, Doubleday, 2010
Originally
posted on The Chocolate Bunny on August 22nd, 2011 and edited for
style and content.
The ParticularSadness of Lemon Cake was one of those
books that I came upon accidentally at the store. The greenish-blue cover,
quirky title font, and, of course, the title and the striking slice of
triple-layer cake caught my eye as I was skimming the shelves, looking for Kate
Atkinson’s latest novel. I had never heard of Aimee Bender, but after reading
her book’s synopsis, I was too intrigued to leave it behind. And I’m very glad
I took it home.
The novel’s narrator, Rose, is a happy, carefree
nine-year-old girl at the beginning of the novel. The first scene is the kind
of childhood memory everyone either cherishes or would like to have: she comes
home from school to her smiling mother, who is just about to start baking her a
birthday cake. But after one bite, Rose realizes something is very wrong:
although the cake is objectively delicious and made from quality ingredients,
she can taste something else in it, too. Hollowness, emptiness. Her mother’s mal-de-vivre.
Rose soon discovers,
much to her despair, that, no matter what she eats, she can now taste the
emotions of the person who prepared the food – even in something as basic as a
sandwich. Imagine eating a bakery cookie and tasting the boredom and
frustration of the person who made it. Or, even worse, discovering your
mother’s deep, dark secrets by way of her roast beef.
The novel follows Rose through the years, as she deals with
this gift/curse. The focus is also on her family, who appears fairly average,
in that dysfunctional way that is so frequent in contemporary novels: her
father, a pragmatic lawyer who seems to have achieved most of his personal
ambitions, and who remains a distant figure most of the time; her mother, who
struggles to discover what she wants in life and hides her inner void as best
as she can; and her older brother, Joseph, a reclusive teen genius who grows up
to be an even more reclusive young adult, with, as it turns out, a gift of his
own.
The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake, despite its title and premise, is much less about food than it
is about human relations. Descriptions of food revolve more around feelings than
flavours, which may disappoint foodies looking for mouth-watering depictions,
but which can also lead the imagination to wander towards interesting places:
what would depression, joy, infatuation, or excitement taste like?
Ultimately, the novel is about how people navigate around
and with each other – a fairly common theme, but a seemingly infinite one.
Rose’s problem is that, no matter how much she would like to shut the world
out, she can’t: she has to eat, and although she relies as much as possible on anonymous
vending machine snacks and factory-made food, she can’t forever avoid tasting
other people’s feelings and having to deal with them. Her circumstances are
unique, but she remains a relatable protagonist in that way: most people can
understand how it feels to be thrust against the world against your will. It
also helps that, although her chipper personality takes a sarcastic turn after
she discovers her gift, she never resorts to whining about her condition, and
remains stoic, almost wise at times. I also very much liked Rose’s father,
despite his complacency: he too, in his own way, is at heart someone trying to
find his place. The character of Joseph was harder for me to enjoy (although you’d
think I would relate to an antisocial nerd who insists on reading at the dinner
table), in part because his gift, which I won’t spoil here, seemed to come out
of nowhere – although it does make sense as a metaphor.
Despite the book’s many qualities, or perhaps because of them, I closed
it with a feeling of emptiness – perhaps like the one Rose tasted in that
fateful birthday cake. It left me wanting more. Or rather, more accurately, it
left me in need of guidance, as though I had rediscovered loss within myself.
In short, it left me wanting answers. But this may very well have been Bender’s
intention: some questions can only be answered by oneself. Ultimately, this
remains a charming and original novel which I still remember fondly to this day.
Although the title lemon cake is explicitly a round cake,
iced with chocolate, I took this as an opportunity to revisit an old favourite:
lemon pound cake. My father-in-law gave me this recipe, and, although it is a
classic, it’s still delectable.
The syrup at the end
is all-important, as it gives the cake its lovely moisture and terrific lemon
flavour. I’m told the recipe works best with margarine, but I can’t bring
myself to try baking with anything other than butter, because I simply prefer
the taste. Also, over the many times I’ve made this cake, I discovered the
importance of using fresh baking soda, as I’ve ended up with a syrupy brick at
least once. I also have no idea why it came out brown the last time – it was
definitely not overbaked, nor burnt. But you can put those variations on my
shaky skills as a baker, not the recipe.
Lemon Pound Cake
From my father-in-law’s kitchen (possibly taken from
somewhere else)
Yields one 22 by 11 cm (8.5 by 4.5 inch) cake
250g (2 1/2 sticks, 9 oz) unsalted butter or margarine,
softened
250g (1 1/3 cup, 9 oz) granulated sugar
5 whole eggs, beaten
The zest of two lemons, grated
250g (1 3/4 cup, 9 oz) flour
2 tsp baking soda
Pinch of salt
For the syrup:
The juice of 4 lemons
100g (3/4 cup, 3.5 oz) confectioner’s sugar
Preheat oven to 180ºC (350ºF).
In a large mixing bowl, cream the soft butter with the
sugar, until pale yellow in colour. Gradually beat in the eggs and lemon zest.
Combine the flour, baking powder, and salt in a medium bowl, and gradually stir
the dry ingredients into the butter and egg mixture.
Butter a 22 by 11 cm (8.5 by 4.5 inch) cake mould. Pour the
batter into the mould, place it on a baking sheet, and bake for 60 to 65
minutes. The cake is ready when a knife inserted into the center comes out
clean.
Meanwhile, make the syrup: gradually stir the confectioner’s
sugar into the lemon juice, until all the sugar is dissolved.
When the cake is baked, unmold it and prick its top and
sides with a fork while it is still very warm, and brush with syrup, until most
or all of the syrup is absorbed. Let cool on a rack. Store at room temperature,
wrapped in plastic wrap.
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