The Secret Ingredient

Their usually immaculate kitchen (courtesy of a wife who was a professional baker and who had it drilled into her the importance of a clean working space) now looked like it had survived a small tornado. Dirty, sticky bowls filled the sink, chocolate dripped off the edge of the marble island and there was a cloud of flour in the air. Jamie found his wife in the middle of this chaos, herself covered in bits of batter and sugar, her hair falling out of its bun and framing her frantic face. She was flipping through an old recipe book and didn’t even seem to hear him walk in.

“Hi darling’, he said to her with a bit of concern in his voice. She jumped slightly and looked up. “Jamie! When did you get home?”

He held her to him for a few seconds and then moved her away slightly by her shoulders, examining her expression more closely. Emma was usually poised and level; years of training under the best chefs had given her a strong sense of focus and control. To see her like this was new, and just a tiny bit terrifying.

“Emma, is everything okay?” he asked, still holding her in his arms. For a moment she didn’t say anything and just leaned her cheek against his chest, sighing softly. Then seemingly pulling herself together, she stepped back and brushed some of the sugar off of her. Redoing her hair, said “Here, try these and tell me what you think”. Amongst all the disarray, Jamie hadn’t noticed three gorgeously decorated chocolate cake slices in the middle of the island. “Oh my, is this your special chocolate cake?” he exclaimed, his eyes shining. Emma had been in the baking industry for over ten years now, and had created uncountable delicious desserts, but his favorite had always been the chocolate cake she had baked for him on their first anniversary. There is something to be said about classics; everyone always assumes they are simple and basic, but simple and basic things are always the hardest to perfect. To Jamie, a simple dessert done just right beat those experimental (though admittedly often impressive) concoctions, and Emma’s chocolate cake was, excuse the cliché, to die for.

“Just have a taste and tell me what you think?” she said, pushing the plates closer to him and handing him a fork. He put a small forkful of the closest slice into his mouth and an explosion of gooey, chocolatey decadence hit his tongue. As expected, it was delicious. But there was something different about it. This wasn’t her usual cake. Emma was looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to react. “Darling, it's absolutely delicious, but did you change the recipe?” he enquired, already ready to take a bite from the second slice. “I’m trying out some new recipes,” Emma replied, indicating he should try the next one. He tried slice two and three, and while they were all delicious, even his amateur palate could tell there was something missing, that one little thing that would take it from great to unforgettable.

Emma could tell from his expressions what he seemed to be thinking. To Jamie’s utter bewilderment, she started tearing up and before he could react, she was sobbing into her hands. For a moment he could only stare, completely taken aback. Then he gathered her into his arms again and ran one hand softly up and down her back, not quite sure what else he should do to console her.

They stood there like that for a couple minutes and eventually Emma’s sobs subsided and once more she stepped back, now rubbing her eyes, looking slightly embarrassed. “Emma, please tell me what's wrong,” said Jamie, watching her as she started tidying up the mess. She simply said, “My mother’s chocolate cake”, and Jamie understood.

Emma’s love for baking (as it so often does) had come from her mother, who had been magic in the kitchen. Emma had spent a major part of her childhood helping her mother out in the kitchen, starting as a mixing assistant and moving on to learn all the nifty little tips and tricks of the home baker. This was the starting point to her very successful career in the world of pastry and she often said she had her mother to thank for it. Every year, for as long as she could remember, her mother had baked her a chocolate cake for her birthday, the same cake, year after year, made all the more special because that was the only ever time she made it. It was Emma’s special treat, something just for her, and she looked forward to her birthday not just for all the presents and the attention, but for the once-a-year slice of heaven that was her mother’s cake. It was the one recipe her mother never taught her, always claiming it had a secret ingredient that she would tell Emma about some day, when it was time for Emma to make it for someone special. Unfortunately, her mother passed away when she was only twelve, and Emma never found out what that secret ingredient was. Over the years, she had often tried to look for the recipe and figure out exactly what it was that went in that cake, but to her, nothing she tried ever compared. She had always laughed it off and said her own chocolate cake will just have to do, so to see her now, this emotional because she couldn’t get it right, was disconcerting to Jamie.

“Emma, these cakes are all incredible. Your mother would be proud,” he said to her, still not fully sure what had triggered this in her today. “But it's not the same,” she muttered, furiously scrubbing at the counter.

Jamie went up to her and gently tugged the sponge from her hand. “The cleaning can wait,” he said, leading her out of the kitchen and to their couch. “I’ll take care of it, come, let's sit down for a bit.”

She sank down on the couch next to him, suddenly exhausted. He put her feet in his lap and started rubbing them, eliciting a soft, contented moan from her. “Now tell me Emma, why is it so important for you to figure it out today?” he said, nodding toward the kitchen.

She looked at him, suddenly looking so much younger and so much more vulnerable, and he could see fear and uncertainty in her eyes. “Mother always said someday I should make the cake for someone special,” said Emma, tears filling her eyes again. “That day is almost here and I still don’t know how to make it!”

He was confused. Before he could question her further, she disappeared into their bedroom and came back holding something. She handed it to him silently. It was a pregnancy test with two lines on it. He looked up in disbelief. “You’re pregnant?” he exclaimed, and when she simply nodded, he laughed ecstatically, and lifted her up, twirling her around. She couldn’t help but laugh then too; his obvious joy was almost infectious. He couldn’t stop beaming and kissing her. When he finally put her down and had had time to catch his breath, he asked all the necessary questions; how she was feeling, when did she find out, when they should go see a doctor. He couldn’t quite believe it still. They had been trying for a little while but to no luck and had been considering other options. But to get this news now! Everything was perfect. And yet, Emma still seemed uncertain and scared.

“Jamie, we’ve been waiting for so long and I’m so so happy,” she said now. “But I’m also terrified. How do I do this without my mother?” He finally got it now, her desperate need to figure out that recipe.

“Emma, your mother would be so incredibly thrilled for you if she were here,” he said to her softly. “She was an amazing woman who raised an amazing daughter, a daughter who can take on anything. Look at what you have achieved professionally, look at this great home you have built. You are going to be just as amazing a mother to our child, and a chocolate cake recipe won’t change that.”

Emma appreciated what he was saying, and she really hoped it was true. But she just couldn’t, wouldn’t be able to shake off this feeling till she figured out that secret ingredient. Jamie could already see the wheels turning in her head, and he just shook his, knowing nothing could change her mind when she’d made it up. “Come on then,” he said, pulling her off the couch. “Into the kitchen for try number four!”