Making Angel Food Cake with Gramma

One afternoon, when I was about 9, Gramma was at our home, and she let me help her bake an angel food cake. Angel food cake was a highlight! It was made from scratch, using many eggs. It was a very exacting recipe, and it yielded an exceptional cake!

There was no “pinch of this, handful of that” for an angel food! Careful measurements, precise mixing times. One of the crucial times was adding sugar to the beaten egg whites. There was a cup of sugar, and tablespoons of it were added to the mix at exact intervals. The sugar had been measured into a tin measuring cup. The cup’s base was small, expanding up to the one cup rim, which reduced it’s stability. A tablespoon used to measure each amount sprinkled into the mix, laid over the side of the cup. My job was to hold the cup upright.

This is exactly what the cups looked like.

I kept both hands on the cup, because, now that it had that spoon in it, it was guaranteed to topple, spilling sugar across the table. But would it really fall? Gramma kept up her steady rhythm - purring electric mixer, sugar sprinkled over  top the fluffy white mix, more beating the egg whites. Now another tablespoon of sugar.

I was focused on the cup. Would it really fall over? I’d seen it stand upright on it’s own plenty of times. I liked the look of it when brown sugar was packed in. It was so smooth and solid. I liked it even more when it was turned over and the brown sugar plopped out, in perfect cup shape.

What about this white sugar? It didn’t look like it would hold its shape. But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t spill. I looked at Gramma. Her focus was on the batter and her mixing. Mix - sprinkle - mix. I had to know. I let go while the spoon was in the cup.

Crash! A tidal wave of sugar poured out across the table like an avalanche of snow. My eyes were glued to the scene. Then . . .

I can plainly see the kitchen table. It was clear and clean except for the baking equipment. The top was a grayish formica, with chrome trim. Typical 1960s furnishings. I was facing the two windows that looked out across the yard, past the two small trees to the driveway, and beyond. There is sunshine and leaves waving in the breeze. A cat is creeping across the gravel, stalking a bird perched on the fence post.

Most of all, I can hear the deathly stillness. Time stopped. Muscles froze. Blood ceased to flow. Breathing halted. My vision narrowed to an intense black tunnel with only the smallest speck of gray at the end.

It took all my effort to raise my eyes to her face. It was The Look. Gramma was well-known for her Look. She didn’t need to say a word. My body turned to water and I puddled to the floor.