Old Friends and German Chocolate Cake

I recently made made my grandmother's German Chocolate Cake for the Husband to take to work. As a child, this was my favorite cake. My grandmother (who passed away more than a decade ago) made it for my birthday every year. It has now become a favorite of my Husband's. Although I have baked this cake several times over the past few years, it had been awhile since I last made it. I began making the cake late at night due to overwhelming work commitments that kept me occupied until the wee hours. Once I began, I realized that baking this cake was more complicated than I had remembered -- sifting, melting, creaming, buttermilk, and separating eggs. (Even basic baking tasks like measuring flour seem complicated when you are tired and sleep deprived, as I was.) About thirty minutes into the process, my arm started aching from creaming the sugar and butter. Naturally, I started asking myself why I had agreed to make this cake when I had no time. "Making a cake at 3am, you are just crazy," my inner voice said. I started beating the cake faster, trying to be done quickly. But, just as my inner voice was about to delve into a lecture on the perils of being overextended and under-rested, my grandmother's voice took over. Her lovingly judgmental admonishments filled the back of my mind as I was stirring rapidly-- "you can't rush it, baby" she'd say, "you can tell when a cake has just been 'thrown' together...and you know better than to do that. Just, slow down. Don't be in a hurry." Deliberately, I slowed down, following her recipe and her pace -- step by step. Making the icing was no easier. As I turned to this portion of the recipe, I was soon reminded that the icing requires slow work over low stove heat. By now, my feet were hurting from standing on the brick floor of my kitchen for an hour after walking in high heels for 12 hours prior. But, again, my grandmother's stern voice overpowered any other voice that I may have been tempted to listen to as I stirred. "This is very easy to burn," she'd say "be careful - do not ruin it now." Nervously, I deliberately stirred and stirred trying not to burn the topping, listing to my grandmother's stern command to "slow down." At almost the edge of exasperation, I saw the sugar finally melt into the walnut-laded coconut angel flake. A perfect melt. No burning. No grainy sugar. There it was -- Perfection at 4am. As I spread the creamy coconut icing over the rich chocolate cake from my youth, I became transported for a moment back to a time when everyone I had ever loved was still alive. I placed my cake on my favorite cake plate and, as I slowly iced the cake in the first hours of the morning, I was reminded that sometimes making an old recipe is like meeting an old friend. And, for this early morning meeting, I was grateful.