An Irish Soda Bread to Remember

This post is part of the Vocal Cooks Collaborative! This is a great new way to share recipes through stories and experiences.

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Mollie was making Irish Soda Bread for her school’s Cultural Awareness Day tomorrow; her grandmother, Mam, was supposed to help her—if she’d ever get there. Mollie couldn’t wait any longer so she started getting out all the ingredients. She put the cold items (buttermilk, eggs, half a stick of butter) on the counter with some miscellaneous measuring glasses and the dry items (baking soda, flour, sugar, salt, raisins) on top of the stove and went to the bathroom to wash her hands. Just then, Mollie heard the door knob shake down the hall and her grandmother’s heavy footsteps.

Mam walked into the kitchen wearing her favorite white dress and laid her matching shawl out on the back of a chair. She gave her granddaughter a big hug, remarked on how much taller she had grown in a month, and preheated the oven. Mollie slid a large glass bowl between them, and they immediately tossed in four coffee mugs full of flour and a sprinkle of salt.

“Mam, how much sugar do I add?”

“As much as feels right dear- but not too much! There, that’s good.”

The overloaded tablespoon clanged against the edge of the bowl.

“And how much baking soda do I-"

“Try hard to remember, dear. If you don’t add just the right amount of baking soda, it loses its special touch.” Mollie carefully added one perfectly measured tablespoon of baking soda. Then she dropped the butter in the batter and took two butter knives from the silverware draw to her left and started cutting the butter in. Mam passed her the half eaten bag of raisins; Mollie shook it a few times into the bowl and watched as the raisins got sucked under.

“More than that, dear.” Mollie dumped the whole bag in.

Next, Mam started to pound the center of the dough in. Meanwhile, Mollie whisked two eggs together with a fork, fishing out the white gooey remnant of the shell, and filled up the Red Sox glass Mam always used when making soda bread, up to the top of the “B” in the logo with buttermilk. She poured the milk and the eggs into the well in the dough at the same time and then mixed it with a wooden spoon until it was really stiff and sticky.

Mollie plunged her hands into a bag labeled Kneading Flower and covered her hands with the powder. She dumped some on Mam’s hands too, which were white as a ghost’s, and spread the rest around on the counter. Mam stepped aside to let Mollie place the dough in the flower on the counter and roll it into a large, sticky ball, then lightly sprayed some cooking oil on a nearby iron pan and placed it on the top of the stove for Mollie. Mam’s frosty white hair piled up next to the pan as he leaned forward.

“Are you alright, Mam?” Mollie asked gently.

“Yes, I’m alright Mollie. I just got another kidney stone, that’s all.” She lifted her head up and helped Mollie put the dough ball in the pan. Then, she quickly cut a deep X into the dough and opened the oven. Mollie pulled at a cooking rack out with a red pot holder and slid the pan in the oven, closing the door gently. As soon as Mollie put on the timer for half an hour, Mam turned down the hall toward the bathroom saying, “Don’t worry dear, I won’t be gone long.” Then she disappeared. Just then, Mollie heard the door knob shake down the hall and her mother’s heavy footsteps.

“Hi, Mom!”

“Hello, dear. Mollie, what’s that smell?” she smiled, “It smells like Mam’s soda bread…” She looked confused, like she was missing something.

“Remember…tomorrow…It’s Cultural Awareness Day at school…”

“Mollie…Mol, that’s just what I wanted to talk to you about. Mam is dead. She passed away two hours ago…”

“No…no. She’s here. She’s here!” Mollie ran down the hall. The bathroom was just the way she had left it twenty minutes ago. No one was in there. Mollie ran back into the kitchen, “No-No, her shawl! She left it here!” But there was no shawl.

“Honey, I know it’s hard to take. She had another kidney stone and it blocked her kidneys. That’s it, that’s the-“

Beep!

The clock on the oven flashed--

“END. END. END.”

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Click here for an index of all story-recipes.

Previous posts in this series include:

Special Meal by Dawn Salois

and

Déjà Vu All Over Again! by The Creative Chimera