Natalie Whatley

There’s a long-standing tradition at The Whatley Estate regarding birthdays. The honoree gets the home-cooked meal and dessert of his or her choice. Up until a couple of weeks ago when Jeff celebrated another turn through the calendar, the cuisine requested has been well within my culinary abilities. I guess he decided to take advantage of the fact that I’ve been in a mood to challenge myself lately.

I knew I was in trouble when he got a cookbook and started thumbing through it. For 18 years the man asked for cheesecake; the toppings varied, and there was a “turtle” rendition thrown in at some point, but it doesn’t get much easier than no-bake cheesecake. (Some people don’t do windows; I don’t do cheesecake that has to be cooked in a spring-form pan.)  “Oooh, this looks GOOD”, he said pointing to “Italian Cream Cake”.  “If that’s what you want,” I said having no idea what I’d just committed to.

I didn’t give it another thought until the next day when I read the recipe and made a list of what to buy at the store. I recognized all of the ingredients, but started worrying about the long and winding road that led to the finished product. It was quite possible I was in over my head.

The dear man in my life, who on a whim one day whipped up a lemon meringue pie fit to grace any magazine cover, broke out in a fit of hysterical laughter when I told him I needed an “egg separator”. (I wasn’t home when he made that pie, and I questioned witnesses to confirm it wasn’t store-bought.  When those witnesses started explaining how to make meringue, I accepted my inferior dessert-making rank.) “You don’t need a gadget to separate eggs”, the man who has a tool for everything snickered. Hmmpphh!  He stopped laughing long enough to give gadget-less egg-separating lessons. I wanted to crack the practice eggs on his head.  

The big day arrived, and I was confident in my new skill. Everything was creaming together quite nicely until I got to the part of beating five egg whites stiff. Fork in hand I whipped them for several minutes to the point of a blister on my middle finger and quivering muscles. Stopping for a needed break, I realized I didn’t know what stiff egg whites looked like. I searched images online and found plenty of examples. Mine weren’t nearly there yet, and I also noticed an electric appliance in many of the pictures.  I glanced at my blister, chuckled, and got the electric beater out. Wow! Stiff egg whites in seconds.

Things went well from there; three cake pans full of sweet goodness went in the oven. I should have taken a picture of the aftermath. Have you ever seen a kitchen where a three and five year-old “made breakfast for mommy”? Multiply that by 1,000, and you’ll be close to what my kitchen looked like. Unlike Mr. Meringue, I don’t clean as I cook. It looked like two bombs went off, and I was spattered with gooey shrapnel. 

Nearing Jeff’s arrival time, I pushed through fatigue and the wound on my finger to clear a small spot for icing. Butter, cream cheese, powdered sugar, vanilla, and chopped nuts: the tastiest concoction known to man.  Putting the fourth spoon-full in my mouth, I realized I needed to save some for the cake.

The three layers came out of the oven smelling divine; they cooled while I continued cleaning. With the kitchen down to a one-bomb-went-off level of cleanliness, I centered everything on the cake plate and finished my masterpiece. It looked pretty good! And in time we learned it tasted great.

Italian Cream Cake

 © 2009 Natalie Whatley

Tags: birthday cake, Birthdays