The Queen, the Cake, and the Pimento Panic

The Queen, the Cake, and the Pimento Panic

Lizzie Henley had lived in Alabama for precisely three months, two weeks, and 5 afternoons, and she or he nonetheless wasn’t certain whether or not “fixin’ to” meant about to do one thing or threatening to.

Again house in Surrey, “picnics” meant gingham blankets, light banter, and a pleasant Victoria Sponge if the climate held. In her new Southern neighborhood, picnics had been full-blown catered affairs with pimento cheese in crystal bowls, coconut muffins that would double as wedding ceremony centerpieces, and monogrammed coolers sufficiently big to accommodate a medium-sized pony.

At present’s occasion was the “Preppy Picnic,” held below the weeping willow by the river, hosted by the Women Auxiliary and coordinated by Mrs. Trudy Pickens — a lady with a bouffant so excessive Lizzie was pretty sure it had its personal barometric stress.

Desirous to contribute, Lizzie baked her greatest Victoria Sponge: two golden rounds, mild as a sigh, sandwiched with raspberry jam and whipped cream, dusted with icing sugar and dignity. She nestled it in her wicker basket and braved the warmth, mosquitoes, and suspicious glances from a person who seemed personally offended by her straw hat.

On the picnic, lengthy folding tables bowed below the burden of Southern classics. There have been deviled eggs in formation, congealed salads in each shade of pastel, and no fewer than 4 coconut muffins, every taller than a toddler and glistening like snow on a damp afternoon.

Lizzie cleared her throat and positioned her cake delicately between a stack of cheese straws and one thing labeled “Peach Pretzel Shock.”

“Whatcha acquired there, hon?” requested Mrs. Pickens, eyeing the cake prefer it had a British passport and questionable intentions.

“It’s a Victoria Sponge,” Lizzie replied together with her most cheerful tone. “Very conventional. Little bit of a British traditional.”

Mrs. Pickens blinked. “Properly isn’t that… refined.” She mentioned it like one may say “off-brand” or “too many cats.”

The ladies mingled. The pimento cheese was worshipped. Somebody sang a hymn whereas slicing lemon squares. Lizzie stood by her cake like a debutante at her first ball, smiling politely whereas everybody walked straight previous her sponge in favor of issues topped with crushed pecans or suspicious gelatin.

Then a small hand reached up.

“I would like that one,” mentioned Betsy Lou, age 5, wearing head-to-toe prep and a tutu.

She took one chew, froze dramatically, and shouted, “IT’S LIKE EATING A CLOUD FILLED WITH LOVE!”

You could possibly’ve heard a deviled egg drop.

Quickly, forks flew. Slices vanished. The sponge was declared “delicate, but sassy” by one girl who had by no means earlier than mentioned something sort about European desserts.

Mrs. Pickens took a dainty chew, nodded as soon as, and mentioned, “Properly. That’ll do.”

Which, in Southern, was a standing ovation.

And from that day on, Lizzie was not the British woman who introduced that pale cake. She was Miss Victoria Sponge. (Betsy Lou referred to as her Queen Victoria!)

And honey, you higher consider she was invited to each picnic after that.

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