The Wedding Cake

The Wedding Cake

Princess Sarasvati was due to be married within the month. All efforts were being made to create a feast of most scrumptious delight. Bakers had been brought in from all over the kingdom and no stone was left unturned to find the most exotic of all recipes—Persian jeweled rice with lime, coconut and cilantro coulis, saffron-infused buns coated with almond, lemon and nutmeg cream, melon bowls overpouring with fruit delicacies from Japan and more alluring and intoxicating flavours for the main dishes than ever had been seen: Soups bedecked with angel hair pasta and star anise, vegetable pilaf laced with the most bedazzling golden curries and a main entrée glazed with a macadamia nut, honey and fig roux, the smell of which alone was said to make the gardener, standing outside the kitchen door, faint in a swoon.

In the garden, roses of every colour adorned the trellis under which the bride and groom were to be married and the bridal tent was decorated with silk brocade, velvet and satin fabrics hung in lush bundles from corners and ceilings. The hall had been strung with dazzling lights set to emulate the night sky and banquet tables were being prepared with the finest linens, porcelain and silver settings and centerpieces made of roses, lilies and jasmine in hues of pink and scarlet. A band of minstrels was preparing a festive music scene, set to stir even the most sequestered of hearts.

Inside the palace walls, the palace tailor had begun to weave a dress of the finest mulberry silk while his wife and daughter sat day in and day out, hand-embroidering the wedding veil with glittering jewels, ribbons, sequins and bows to emulate Sarasvati’s favourite pastoral scenes, complete with swans, butterflies and floral bouquets. Sarasvati herself would hardly leave her chambers, so certain was she of being called for a fitting or a rehearsal of her elaborate vows.

Just as everything seemed to be off to a great start and the wedding guests had replied with their intentions to attend, disaster struck. The palace’s most exalted and illustrious pastry chef, assigned with the task of making the hand-painted, fondant-covered, cream-filled, faux-velvet, multi-tiered wedding cake, fell from his bicycle and was rushed to the hospital, to be declared “out of action” for the next few weeks. The queen was summoned immediately and all the staff assembled.

“Whatever will we do?” cried all and sundry. Hands were rung, tongues wagged and heads hung in despair. Days and nights passed until finally one of the courtiers came forward with a splendid suggestion.

“Your majesty,” said the lad, “Why don’t we hold a competition to see who can make the finest cake in the land? The winner will be asked to make the royal wedding cake and all our guests will be happy.”

“A clever idea,” responded the queen. “We will do it! Call the palace couriers. Every cook in the kingdom shall be told of this splendid culinary challenge and we will find our chef-to-be!”

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In a remote corner of the village, tucked beneath the shade of a Keora tree, lay a dwelling chiseled from mud and crowned with a thatched roof. Here the beautiful Amalina, who had been left to fend for herself after the death of her parents, filled her days. Some years before, a kind shaman, who passed the hut regularly on his way to the forest, had noticed the lonely girl and taken her under his wing; filled with a profound knowledge of forest lore and the magic of the spirits therein, he had taught her everything he knew. Plucking tiny flowers and herbs ever so carefully, he showed her the plants that could heal diseases, leaves and flowers for creating pungent curries, berries and seeds to live on during drought, moss for curing colds, fungi for fevers, herbs for aphrodisiacs and sleeping potions, remedies to raise the dead, cure the sick, heal the wicked. But more importantly, he taught his charge to acquaint herself with the spirits of the forests and to speak to them in a way they could understand. So Amalina learned to communicate with each and every creature in the natural world, from the animals to the plants to even the smallest insect; she could hear their call and understand the lessons they were teaching her. Even the inanimate objects spoke to her of the secret mysteries of earth and sky.

When the time came, the Shaman bade his farewell, but by this time, Amalina had learned so much about her forest home that she was able to go about her days in solitude and happiness, in harmony with the world around her. Young, strong and resourceful, she had a knack for scavenging for mountain berries and woodland herbs and these she would bring to the market and sell, along with milk from her trusted goat and the vegetables that she grew in her garden.

As the days went by, Amalina began to record her observations, for she knew that these wou

ld be important. The kind Shaman had most graciously not only taught her the secrets of the ancient and natural worlds, but also the skills needed for modern times: She could write, read, use arithmetic and even describe the chemical compounds of the plants she studied, from their carbon structures to their active constituents. Taking out the little. black notebook the Shaman had left her, Amalina wrote down all the Shaman had shared: The exact depth in which to put the seed of each species, the amount and temperature of the water, the type of terrain and whether the plant liked direct sun or shade. She also noted the width and colour of the stem, the serrations of the leaves, the insects they attracted and repelled, and then she would draw perfect reproductions of each and every plant she loved. Little by little, she would fill her little black book with her notations, until at long last, after so many years of drawing and copying, the book had become nearly full.

Over time, Amalina became known for her knowledge and often the villagers would come to see her with their ailments. First, they came themselves, and then with time, would return with their children, their elders, their neighbours and even their animals. Soon Amalina’s fame as a shaman, a healer and a. spiritualist grew far and wide. She was sought all over the kingdom and many were healed by her understanding of the forces and effects of nature.

One day, while she was bent over her small, black book, she heard a noise outside the wall: Someone was calling her. Quickly she tucked the precious notebook in her apron pocket and rushed to the gate near the road. There a strange sight befell her: One of the court’s messengers was standing in front of her, reading a decree.

“The Queen has requested all those who have skills in making cakes to please participate in the upcoming competition to be the creator of Princess Sarasvati’s divine wedding cake. The winner will receive a prize of 20 gold pieces, worth $1000 dollars each, and the opportunity to recreate the cake at the Princess’s wedding at the end of the month.”

Amalina sighed. She had never heard of, nor even imagined, an amount of money such as this. She hardly could think what such an amount might mean, but she knew she needed a new notebook as soon as possible, and she would like to build a larger stable for her herd of cows. And thinking about it, she could even use a spade for the garden. And yet, it wasn’t the money that called her. She somehow knew that what she could do here was to help out in a crisis, for she knew she had the skills and the plants to make a cake more enticing, more intriguing and more divine than any known to humankind. So, she turned to the Princess’s courier and whispered, “I will bring a cake. Please tell me the day and time I must arrive.” After exchanging a few important details, such as the exact rules of the competition (the princess did not like Marzipan), a map and a few other important details, the Princess’s courier moved on and Amalina returned to her garden, her mind filled with thoughts of exquisite recipes and tasty.

Over the days that followed, Amalina leafed through her beloved black book, the pages until she found all the recipes and ingredients that she could think of.

The bottom layer would be a honeycomb toffee, the colour of the golden sun, using the rich nectar of the forest bees and representing abundance and prosperity.

The next layer would be from the night-blooming jasmine to bring love, beauty and sensuality. The scent of this flower alone would create a most evocative perfume for partakers.

Then, she would use wild strawberries for the third, a symbol of passion, good health and modesty.

For the fourth layer, she found mints of every variety, symbolizing hospitality, wisdom and virtue and healing energy.

White begonia, the symbol of purity and gratitude, would make up the fifth layer.

For the sixth, Amalina chose white marigold flower, the nectar of which could take away sorrow and create harmony.

For the seventh and last layer, Amalina chose a golden honeysuckle as the symbol of everlasting happiness.

At last, Amalina’s cake was done. Before she started her journey, however, she called on all the mystical spirits of the forest. “Let us enbue this cake with all the divine energy we know, for we will wish Sarasvati and her husband a most happy life.” The forest kingdom responded and the cake was infused with the magic of the natural world, and so Amalina started on her way. Aided by her friends in the village, she was able to borrow a cart and at long last, she arrived at the palace.

The competition was about to begin. All the stewards stood before the palace court and many villagers also were assembled. The king and queen were seated on the dais, watching and noting the proceedings. The cake-tasting was about to begin. Many eyes were on Amalina, for the scent of her multi-coloured cake wafted throughout the court even before she had set it down on the table. Decorated with flowers, herbs, delicate vines and leaves and infused with the magic of the forest, it looked like something straight from a fairytale. One by one, the grand taste-mistress approached the cakes, dipping her fork carefully and savouring the bite she took for so many moments that it seemed an eternity. At last, she reached Amalina’s cake and dipping her fork every so gently, she extracted a piece from the bottommost layer. Stunned by what she tasted, she could not move on, but tried a bite from the second layer, the layer of love and fertility.

“How beautiful this is,” she called to the assembled masses.

The third layer stunned her again, with the energy and passion it created, and by the time she got to the fourth and fifth, she could no longer speak, but only dip her fork again and again.

“I think Amalina has won the cake-making competition,” cried the queen, for she saw the look of praise and incredulity in the chief taste-mistress’s eyes. Amalina blushed the deep blush of the forest dwellers, who find their bliss in solitude. Bells were rung, praises were sung, children were summoned to see the amazing cake made from nature. Amalina received her prize money and was able to continue making notes about her forest friends and Sarasvati and her husband, married at last, lived in bliss for the rest of their days.

The End