When mother made gateau for someone’s birthdays
I beat the cream using a steel whisker. Boring work
before the cream thickened and could be spread on
the cake, but it was worth it, as I got to lick the bowl.
I thought of this as a tempest whipped the sea into
a froth. In the galley, I had a mix-master and could
whisk up cream in no time, only I didn’t have the real
stuff, had to use condensed milk but I didn’t feel
inclined to lick its residue. The tempest blew into
storm, the ship was jumping about like an untrained
colt refusing to have a rider on its back. Life boats
smashed, ship railings too, we only hoped she could
ride out the storm. In Hamburg, I walked ashore and
ate a piece of Black Forest Gateau, awe-inspiring...
And to sit in a coffee shop that didn’t throw me off
my chair like demented colt.
