I would like you to take a look at this picture of my mother. She is the redhead in the corner holding the (real) baby.
Honestly, this picture makes me a little ill. I asked her why she looked so angry, so sad. At 73, 60 years after that Christmas day, she remembers exactly what happened.
Her father was drunk. He'd promised to play a board game with her on Christmas day, and as this picture was snapped, he was lurching around the kitchen, acting like a drunken ass. Sad isn't it? To remember the keen, sharp feeling of disappointment so many years later? To have looked so forward to playing a game with your dad, only to see he cared far more about getting sauced than spending time with you. My aunt is holding the doll. She talks to me of how she'd leave every Friday when school got out to stay at her Aunt Bea's. She'd return Sunday night. As much as she loved her father, she just couldn't watch his weekend benders. She rages to this day, increasingly lost to Alzheimers. The youngest sister sits with her chin in her hands as if to say, "Well, isn't life just that way?" She's still kinda like that. (By the way, I got the pic from the baby in Mom's lap).
My mother never recovered from her childhood. She is a nice lady for sure, but narcissistic and unable for all of her life to stop being a victim. I love her anyway. I remember this father of hers, though he died when I was six years old. He was funny; a right jolly fat man. He loved us dearly, and my mother said he cried when she told him he couldn't play with us when he was drunk, that she just didn't want him around. One day, in his early fifties, he walked out on the porch and died in his boots. Now down to the third generation, many of his grandkids have "issues," or we consistently choose someone who has "issues," as if we cannot see a world where we aren't trying to fix something. I can honestly say most of us are incapable of true happiness. We just didn't learn how to do it. My chin holding auntie told me that once, and I regret it may be true. The children and grandchildren of alcoholics are either drunks themselves or exhausted by one. We don't know any other way. The great grandchildren are doing well. Only four generations to recover from one alcoholic. Not too shabby eh?
What does this maudlin crap have to do with Salalah you say? Welp, there has been a flurry of concern the last couple months because the majority of Omani community representatives voted to ban alcohol in Oman. This would result in a loss of 100 million rial a year to Oman in taxes. One friend said if drink were banned in Oman, he'd leave. I value my job way to much to give booze so much importance in my life, but there is no denying it's importance to a lot of people. Regular people too, the vast majority of casual drinkers who haven't any problems with excessive consumption. Nobody really thinks the law will pass; the Sultan would need to approve it for one, and most people think he won't.
Not so long ago, I went for shisha at one of the local hotels. Late that night, a punch up occured. A few locals got in a brawl after getting sloshed at the bar. I watched one man go arse over teakettle to the ground. I wondered if he fully realized the humiliation of his position as he fell face first in the dirt, a man from a race of people with prophets in their history. I wondered if this law might indeed pass after all. Omanis may decide that the social consequences of drinking are not worth the financial benefit, and that if the law follows what they believe to be correct, God will sort it out. It's complicated isn't it?
I guess we'll find out.
I think they vastly over estimated their appeal. I bet, though, my grandmother understood the sentiment.
So enough of all that. Onto the cake! It was Bob the Birder's birthday today, or rather Dr. Robert Tovey's birthday. He is a fellow blogger, and travels all over bloody Oman...well the world really...looking for birds. When not birding, he teaches English.
(yeah...this is a link to his blog)
2/3 cup white sugar
2/3 cup unsalted butter, room temp
3 eggs, room temperature
1 t. vanilla
1 cup all purpose flour
1 T baking powder
1 T instant coffee, dissolved in 1/4 cup very hot water
1/4 cup cocoa
Raspberry jam (optional)
Preheat the oven to 350/180. Grease and flour two 8 inch cake pans. I personally used greased baking paper in the bottom of my tins for this one. I don't trust cocoa.
Beat the sugar and butter until fluffy. Add the eggs one at a time, and mix well between each one. Add the vanilla. Mix the 1/4 cup cocoa in with the coffee mix and fold into the butter mix. Add the flour and baking powder and mix until incorporated.
Divide evenly between baking tins and bake about 12 minutes. These are not tall layers by the way.
Cool 10 minutes and invert to a wire rack to cool completely.
Icing:
1 cup room temp butter
4 cups (approx) confectioners sugar
1 t vanilla
1 T instant coffee dissolved by 1 T hot water
Beat the butter and two cups of sugar on high until blended. Add the vanilla and coffee. Slowly add about two more cups, whipping on high until light, fluffy, and creamy.
I generously scooped icing on the first layer and spread it. I put a thin layer of jam on the bottom or the other side. Next time I'd use more...just wasn't sure of the combo but it was brilliant.
I used all of the balance on the top. I did not ice the sides as the pic Bob sent me showed an "open" cake. His day.
Note the artistic bedspread backdrop. Stylin.
There ya go. Read his blog, dang it.
I hope my post doesn't put anyone in a tither. Other than me poor ma, it wasn't personal to anyone really. I've always been a thinker, and very emotional, but that doesn't make me right about every solid thing.
As the goofy announcer for a Maine news channel used to say after editorializing, "That's our opinion, we welcome yours."
Love,
Felicia El Aid
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