It's the eve before the eve. This has been, as always, an overwhelming time in my life. The holidays although a joyous occasion can also be a stressful one as well. There is running around to get presents bought before the stroke of Christmas Eve midnight, wrapped perfectly and delivered on time. There are birthdays to celebrate and children to spoil. There is a Christmas countdown to keep vigil of Santa's arrival and of course the importance of remembering the true meaning of the holiday. There is the need to keep a balance of happy all while dealing with the depression of becoming one year older (my birthday lands two days before Christmas) and the delight of not being able to fit into your clothes because you've eaten one too many cookies/cakes/chocolates/lollipops/cannoli. All the while, I am on "vacation" while running, tending, cooking, cleaning, baking and simultaneously feeling as if I am battling a stomach virus. The dark cloud of returning to work is looming on the horizon as well and I besides the fact that I will miss waking up with my daughter in the late morning, I actually am looking forward to being back on my teacher schedule and seeing my students.
But, I digress, the true reason I am writing this blog is all because of a recipe.
In Greek tradition, we ring in the New Year with a cake called a 'Vasilopita'. I don't know much about its true origins or meanings and instead hold fast to the meaning it represents to me. Every year my mother bakes a massive amount of sweet breads and pies to help ring in the New Year. The first cake we cut is extra special because it is normally reserved for the immediate family to cut and share. Within the cake is a hidden silver coin. Whoever lands this coin in their slice is guaranteed to have a fantastic year. Being that I have received this coin on several occasions, I can attest to its marvel. I've often found that the years where I had this coin I did indeed feel 'lucky' and so, I always yearn to be the receiver of this prize. And so, as I yearn, so do the other members of my family as well. We all sit around eagerly watching my mother cutting into the cake, hoping and wishing that the luck falls into our hands for the forthcoming year.
And so, here I am, on the eve of the eve. I am now a mother myself, and a wife as well, and a happy part-time homemaker. I decided that in addition to the wonderment of my mother's own cake, I would make my own cake to help ring in the New Year. I haphazardly searched for a 'vasilopita' recipe on Pinterest and just clicked on the first one. The picture was appealing enough and the recipe seemed simple enough. I bypassed asking my mother for a recipe, because although her recipe is delicious and can be vouched for by numerous family members, I just needed to make my own cake, something that belonged to me (albeit, via a recipe I found online...).
I began to gather my ingredients and found myself rather excited to begin my project. Suddenly, I felt a swell of pride and for lack of an accurate description, a feeling of being grown up. I glanced quickly at the list of ingredients and smiled as I mentally checked off the ten ingredients that I knew for sure were in my cupboards. With a pep in my step, I began to gather the first of the ingredients and read the first step off the directions: separate four eggs into a bowl. Okay, sounded simple enough. I began to separate the eggs and quickly realized I had only one bowl. With one hand soaked in egg white and the other trying to rummage through my cupboard for a secondary bowl, I realized that perhaps I should have prepared myself better. I quickly finished the task of separating the eggs and ran over to my iPad for the next direction/ingredient. I'm not sure if it was my excitement or my overzealous need to prove that I could make my own pie, that I began to assemble my ingredients failing to pay attention to the very crucial steps needed to make a pie: beat egg whites to a creamy fluff; juice 2 oranges (thank goodness I had just bought some!); add one teaspoon of orange zest (how the heck do I "zest" an orange without a zester?!); add baking powder (got it) and baking soda (literally, just bought a new one for my fridge to stay fresh!) Suddenly, I became a pie making tornado, whipping around the kitchen searching for a whisk, tossing together flour and egg whites and preparing a bake pan (do I even have one of those???). I grabbed a glass mixing bowl (only to see a chip on the rim) and I began to feel flustered and angry as I folded in my ingredients one at a time. I desperately tried to ignore the small black dot that had somehow landed in my mixture as my daughter wailed in the background while my husband reprimanded her for something or other. I continued running back and forth and searching for any available counter space to set down my tools or a mixing bowl or an orange rind. My kitchen looked like a disaster and I was inwardly scolding myself:
'Look at this! You should have read the directions thoroughly before beginning! Always in a rush!'
'I'm sure this will taste terrible.'
'Way to start the New Year...'
And then it clicked. I was starting the New Year. This was more than just making a cake. This was a symbol of creating something for my family, for our new year and I wanted to not only make it with my hands, but make it with my heart. If I wanted something more out of this cake, this moment or even this year, I had to do something about it and I had to find it from within. So what if my bowl was chipped...or if the ingredients didn't come together as easily as I thought they should? (it leaves more of a lasting memory when you remember the blunders) So what if an extra ingredient from which we are unsure of its origin has landed in the mix? (maybe it will taste better) So what if my kitchen became a mess (it's more gratifying to clean up) or if my oven doesn't work as it should and might take an hour more to cook than the recipe calls for (at least I'm guaranteed not to burn it). Just like the snafu's of my cake, are the snafus in life. So, maybe I could expect the forthcoming year to be less than perfect. Perhaps I would need to clean up a few messes, multi-task a few items and fight endlessly with myself to stay calm. But if all of my efforts produce a delicious cake, then it will be all worth it in the end.
I set my spatula down and looked down at my bowl and smiled. I took a deep breath and continued to fold my ingredients together.
Happy 2014.
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