More than just a banana cake.
For as long as I can remember, my Dad has reminisced about his Mum's, my Nanna's, banana cake. In his mind, it is the best banana cake in the whole world. No other banana cake has ever come close to being as good as the one his Mum made. My Nanna passed away 22 years ago and since then, on many occasions, Mum has tried to replicate this cake for Dad, and (apparently) never quite succeeded.
It was his 60th Birthday earlier this year and he requested a banana cake for the party. As I knew no store-bought or ordered cake would ever come close to meeting his expectations, I volunteered to make it for him. With a new baby in the house, and no previous experience in baking large birthday cakes, this was going to be quite a task, but a challenge I was happy to take on none the less.
I picked Dadās brains for the secrets to success. Just what did Nanna do that made this cake so wonderful? He told me a couple of Nannaās tips which werenāt written in the recipe, and swore me to secrecy to never tell Mum, or anyone else for that matter. Of course, itās widely known that the success of any banana cake is in the bananas; Ā the black-er the better. I wasn't about to make a cake for 70 people without a test run, so I would make a practice cake, for him to taste, and give me the necessary feedback needed for the big birthday bake.
After studying Nanna's recipe closely, slowly interpreting her cursive scrawl, converting the measurements from pounds and ounces back to the metric scale, I gathered all of the ingredients together. It was time for the bananas. My 2kg of bananas just werenāt ripe enough. Green bananas were just not going to cut it. It seemed that the banana gods were looking down on me that day because on our local āBuy Swap and Sellā Facebook group, up popped someone giving away overripe bananas. Fate has a funny way of intervening, as Iād never before seen bananas on this site, and never since then either. I drove all over the western suburbs of Melbourne swapping my ripe bananas for over-ripe ones with strangers. After the baby was tucked safely in bed, I sifted, and measured, and mixed, and baked that practice cake in anticipation of his visit.
When he and Mum arrived, we made cups of tea and sat down for the tasting. I cut him a slice and he took a bite. And then, an enormous smile appeared on his face and he shed a tear. "That's it!" he said. It was perfect. In that moment, in that one bite of banana cake, he was taken back to a time long before I was even a glimmer in his eye, and his Mum was alive and cooking cake for him.
I learned many life lessons that day. Of course, firstly my āNigellaā moment was better than I ever couldāve imagined. I learned about the power of food. Sort of like how they speak of it on Masterchef (donāt judge). Food can be powerful; filled with emotion and heart. I learned that family is absolutely the most important thing in the world and that going out of your way to do something to make someone else happy is always worth it. And itāās the little things in life, the times and moments that money cannot buy, that will bring us the most joy.
One thing is for certain, after seeing how happy my Dad was after eating that cake, eating it will forever bring me the sweetest, most joyful, memories too.