Flash Fiction


SOLSTICE CAKE by Fran Flett Hollinrake

My mother used to make Solstice cake. The recipe was never written down, because my grandmother, who gave it to her, couldn’t write.

Take dark brown sugar, the darkest there is. That’s for deepest winter. Then you need eggs from well-fed hens – they mean new life and make the cake rise high! A good pinch of saffron – the gold is like sunlight on a gloomy day. Some flour you’ve ground yourself, that’s next, and yellow butter - your cake needs fat to give it a lovely taste and keep it moist. It’s nice to use dried fruit; that sweetness is a memory of summers past. It goes well with the dandelion wine that you pour in slowly as you mix.

Everything needs a good stir - it helps if you’ve a man nearby. Pour the mixture into a deep tin, then place in a warm oven. Here, the magic will take place, your base ingredients transformed. Bake the cake until risen and brown, then take it out to cool. With a sharp knife, cut a slice for yourself, before inviting everyone else to share. Oh, and if you want the quantities for the ingredients, you’d better ask your own mother!

By Fran Flett Hollinrake, Copyright 2008. All rights reserved.





Flash Fiction