Patti Friday: Lemon Pucker Cake
Roman’s Lemon Pucker Weekend
Each August, simply because the solar started to dip a bit of decrease over Ottawa’s slate rooftops and the cicadas began sounding like they’d had one too many chilly drinks, Roman ready for what she referred to as Kissing Cousins Weekend—a sacred, syrupy ritual stitched into the very material of her life just like the embroidered lemon graphic tee she solely wore yearly.
Roman—named for her great-grandmother who apparently had a aptitude for dramatic naming and ironing tea towels—was the keeper of custom, tales, and tart desserts. She lived in a wee walk-up in Centretown with creaky flooring, breezy curtains, and a kitchen no wider than a canoe. Nonetheless, she made it work. Along with her lemon bowl taking pleasure of place on her countertop island (actually only a classic cupboard she wheeled into place), Roman had all the pieces she wanted: citrus, tales, and powerful opinions on cake texture.
The cousins—4 of them, all women, all loud in their very own manner—would arrive with in a single day luggage, scented physique sprays, tangled hair, and at the very least one story of heartache or nearly-getting-a-tattoo. “Kissing Cousins” wasn’t meant actually, although Roman as soon as needed to make clear that after a bewildered coworker raised an eyebrow. It was extra about both-cheek-kisses and cousin closeness, the sort solely women raised by loud aunties and braided childhoods may perceive.
Yearly, Roman cooked one thing cozy: one-pot pasta, garlicky bread torn by hand, a salad nobody ate as a result of they have been saving room. However the crown jewel was at all times her Lemon Pucker Cake—a skinny, shiny sheet pan creation with a puckered high and a vibrant, tongue-tingling glaze.
“You higher brace yourselves,” Roman would say, slicing it into wobbly squares. “This one bites again.”
And it did. Tart and gentle with a sugar crust that crackled simply sufficient, it was a cake that demanded consideration and made your eyes squint with pleasure.
They ate it barefoot on the balcony, ankles tucked up beneath them, espresso glasses sweating within the late summer time warmth. Roman at all times brewed it sturdy and iced it in jam jars with sweetened milk, the way in which their moms had on lengthy street journeys by way of the Valley.
They talked about exes and lipsticks and whether or not anybody nonetheless wore low-rise denims on goal. They cried as soon as, at all times as soon as, and laughed so onerous it damage, yearly with out fail.
One cousin, Frankie, swore the cake was cursed.
“Why cursed?” Roman requested, grinning.
“As a result of after I eat it, all the pieces tastes boring for 3 weeks. Together with my love life.”
Roman simply sipped her iced espresso, happy. That was the purpose. Life ought to pucker generally.
By Sunday morning, the lemon bowl can be empty, the sheet pan soaking within the sink, and the house filled with the form of sweetness that does not come from sugar.
And because the women left, Roman would stand within the doorway in her yellow shorts, arms crossed, hair wild, and shout,
“Similar time subsequent 12 months! Don’t neglect—carry your tales, not your boyfriends!”
As a result of in Roman’s little nook of town, lemon was legislation, love was messy, and cousins have been endlessly.
ORDER a wonderful artwork print of ‘Lemon Pucker Cake’ right here.
