Real Soup

On temperance

There are certain seasonal changes that occur so resoundingly, so abruptly and unequivocally that it seems to my visual mind that there is a cloaked messenger standing on the horizon somewhere near, applying a soft striker to an enormous sun shaped gong.

Then again, perhaps it is just my alarm clock, grimly set for the orderly routine of very early rise and hopefully reasonable bed time.

School has started.

Summer ended with that first dark, dream-twisting buzz, bringing all the sleepers hurtling, collectively, into the vague and chilly actuality of dawn.

Groaning, moaning, clunking, dragging around, mustering our diffused selves, we progress dutifully toward a day which will not wait for the many fatigued and worthy folk who love the wee hours and who must budget simple wandering time in the morning.

Eventually, gratefully, familiar formulae emerge.

We designate a breakfast sweater.

We remember to dole out vitamins.

We lure our charges back into sack lunches with little containers of chips and apples, with homemade cookies and then soon begin to tease them with the torment of neat little boxes of leftovers.

We collect quarters, the significant primary school coin.

We retake our position as the watchdogs for homework and relearn a lot of good information thereby.

Perhaps the best element of this new schedule is the fact that there is suddenly no time for television.

I do love rules.

In our household, for instance, if you don't say please - and tonal suggestion is accepted - you can get it yourself.

Also, whoever does the dishes gets to choose the music.

Plus, you have to write thank you notes and keep your dirty socks out of the living room.

Young or old, you have to explain your point of view in an argument.

You have to kiss your parents on their old withered cheeks on a regular basis.

You will sweep up your own hair immediately after haircuts.

And you will forego television on school nights.

This last is my favorite of all rules. It is an ultimate and transcending rule which means that my family will not be magnetized by a box of light that is mostly vapid and repressive and eats time.

Homework is not squeezed in or rushed. We talk to each other. My youngest smugly crushes all opponents in sprawling, cone-shaped games of Concentration.

I like being rigid regarding certain issues, so I enforce this rule wildly, and with the zeal of a nineteenth century sobriety advocate.

One whiff of a laugh track and I scream and stomp in full ravening conniption mode.

One dead body falling bloody and brainless into the living room and I invoke all the histrionic powers in my parental repertoire, declaring that I will get the hatchet and smash the intruder to smithereens if it doesn't instantly go off.

My children roll their eyes. Calm down, they transmit.

In fact, this rule is seldom challenged. I think it is accepted, albeit grudgingly at times, with a lovely feeling of relief because it makes us all feel free.

And this means, naturally, finding ourselves in the proper state of mind to bake a cake for one of the many birthday celebrations taking place during this month of perfect people.

How fitting, then, that I should at long last find my best recipe for Cherie's 14 Carat Cake, one that was, at one time, made professionally by my dear friend and whose dog, Mopsy, who looked just like a naughty boy in a dog suit, once licked clean of its frosting just before delivery. Resourceful Cherie, my dauntless friend.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. In a large bowl sift together:

2 1/2-3 C. flour

2 tsp. baking powder

1 tsp. salt

1 1/2 tsp. baking soda

2 tsp. cinnamon

In a second bowl, mix together and add to dry ingredients:

1 1/2 C. honey

1 1/4 C. oil

4 egg yolks

Add:

2 C. grated raw carrots

8 oz. crushed pineapple, drained

1 C. chopped nuts, walnuts or pecans

Beat egg whites until slightly stiff and fold in gently.

Bake 35 minutes in three 9" cake pans which have been greased and lightly floured.

For frosting, beat together until smooth:

1/2 C. soft butter

8 oz. cream cheese

1/2 C. sour cream

1 tsp. real vanilla

honey to taste (start with 1/2 C.)

Thin with drops of pineapple juice if necessary.

Double this recipe for a large sheet cake. It is moist and rich and satisfying to the palette.

And you have given it to someone you love, which is good employment for the soul.