After my last post, I let slip that I was getting a cake ready for All Souls’ Day. That cake was to be eaten in an evening class during a “snack period” (there are remarkable similarities between graduate studies and grade school, in the most odd ways). I was also planning on mystically producing another of the same species of cake for a Bake-Off at the institution where I do graduate theological studies, the Aquinas Institute of Theology (“Theology for Life!”) [I enjoy including the motto for dramatic effect].
However, the cake was brought last night for the class and readily consumed by all parties in the building. This posed me with a dilemna – how could I present the same cake as a submission for a bake-off a mere two days later? This could not be resolved by myself in any form of interior monologue, no matter how many zombies I killed at the same time. As a consequence, I girt my loins and proceeded to find a new recipe I could present at the bake-off, but which would be sufficiently similar to something I had already made in the past as not to present a very great challenge to my meager culinary talents.
I hit upon a snag, however. I had already purchased ingredients for yet another pumpkin carrot cake – the cream cheese, massively exaggerated quantities of pumpkin puree (enough to conciliate the palates of a regiment drawn from the equestrian class), and 8 ounces of chopped walnuts. I was, alas, in a quandary that required me to: either, give up on the idea of the bake-off (but this with a precious loss of self-respect and wasting the victuals I had in abeyance), or create a precisely tailored recipe of a radically different nature that would incorporate the aforementioned three components. Similarly, the recipe, if newly fashioned, would have to be intrinsically unique and unlike any probable other submission to the culinary fiasco.
The Muse Melete, nevertheless, shone upon my intellect and granted me knowledge of an esoteric variation upon the cake I had originally created – an English steamed pudding. Albeit the English’s lack of experience in the field, I find English steamed puddings to be at the apex of their achievements food-wise. A jolly Christmas pudding is a terrible thing, full and meet to a night before Candlemas or most other times of the year. On the same note, I attempted to make a steamed pumpkin cream cheese pudding. It boiled for about 2 hours in a steamer (well-improvised from stove-covers and a bunt cake pan), which allowed me to dispose readily of class readings for the next week as well as two episodes of Stargate Universe.
Tomorrow, if I feel readily disposed, I shall grant unto thee both insight into how the pudding fared at the bake-off as well as a linguistic enumeration of its quiddity (for those from Alabama, that’s the recipe).
Yours in Christ,
Br. James Dominic, OP