Traditional Irish Date Cake with Whipping Cream.

Sticky cake clings to the edge of the plate. Clinging tight, refusing to let go.

“You missed a spot,” the youngest sister notices. French porcelain thin, hangs fragile in her hands. The rose-covered plate moves back towards the dish-filled sink.

“It’s a poor dish dryer that can’t help the dish washer,” the older sister reminds, elbows deep in bubbles.
Inherited bone china, held quiet, between them now.

Side-by-side sisters, sleeves rolled and cuffed clearing the mess left behind. Together in the mess; this time cups and saucers, stacked and balancing high on the counter. Beside the dessert forks and plates, cleared and bouncing in the soap.

Discovered and placed before her now, one sister scratches off the stubborn speck. The other follows. She dusts with a towel soft, the forgotten. On the finished pile it lands, rubbed clean, never having hit the water again.

Years forward, a lifetime of dishes and days gone by, a hurried mother calls to her children, “Get your shoes on.”

Summer hot beats down on their tanned feet bare. Shoed now and scrambling for the car they file in, one by one. Brother, then sister and sister, all in the back seat. Windows down, air humid presses in while two girls exchange harsh words over a hair ribbon taken not borrowed, nor shared.

“Children, do you love each other? Are you always kind and true? Do you do to others as you’d have them do to you?” sung familiar from the front seat. The rule’s golden notes passed mouth to ear. A mother’s command not question for answer.

In silence and in reverse they back down the long sloped drive over the ditch. Meeting the road they make their way pausing at the tracks marked bright with lilies. Riveted strong tank cars stand, weathered orange in wait.

Moving fast now on the freeway down into the steel valley. A mill’s stack below sputters smoke slow. Up and up to the sky blue above the houses perched precarious at ridge’s edge. Little eyes take notice of the steep walls and trees held lose in earth with roots exposed.

Breeze blows gentle. Turning the white house trimmed with green comes into view, its large front porch empty. Pushing away wind-scattered hair from her eyes a granddaughter shouts, “Great Grandma’s not out. She must be inside.”

“Let’s go round back, Mom,” suggests her daughter grand with hair wrapped neat in ribbon red. Down the alley behind the house the car full lands. Stopped before the old garage. Door flung wide, girls and boy run inpatient across the yard, up the steps into the back of the house.

A date cake and woman in the tight kitchen welcome warm. On crystal pedestal high, a round dessert sits familiar. “Grandma it’s not Christmas Eve. It’s the middle of July and much too hot to bake,” the motherless daughter who mothers smiles. Its sweetness embraces her heart wounded with loss.

“Do unto others. It’s what to do”, replies the grandmother heart held well. Goodbyes came early at eight days new. Her mother lost during Love’s labor hard. Mother unknown, but always beholden. The circle of a mother’s love never-ending remains. Carried forward ever faithful, unbroken chain. Arms circle tight. Older sister called to mother sister younger is comforted strong.

Children run wild. Laughing free and loud. Screen door creaks. Out the door they fly. Nestled safe in picket fence. Summer sun shines bright. Children play and inside two mothers cling hearts tied tight with invisible string.

* * * * * * * * * * *

This cake is enjoyed by of all my men. I must admit I was surprised when my pickiest eater gobbled it right up. Traditionally we serve this dessert on Christmas Eve topped high with whipping cream. But recently I’ve brought it to events at school and it has been enjoyed by a crowd. As a result, I’ve started making it throughout the year. It’s an old recipe that’s as tasty as it is unique. This was a cake my Great Grandmother would use at the holidays for gift giving. She’d wrap and tie it with a bright ribbon, hand-delivering it to folks around town. My mom continues on with her Grandmother’s gift-giving tradition. What a gift it is! This rich, moist cake is wonderful. It’s deliciously dense and sweet in an earthy way. Dates and walnuts are packed with nutrition. Almost makes you not feel too bad when you head back to the kitchen for a second piece.

Great Grandma’s Irish Date Cake

Ingredients:
1 10-ounce package dates, pitted and chopped
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 cup boiling water
1 cup dark brown sugar
5 tablespoons margarine, melted and cooled slightly
1 egg
1 ½ cups flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup walnuts, coarsely chopped

Grease fluted Bundt pan well and set aside. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Cut up dates and place in Pyrex bowl. Sprinkle dates with baking soda. Pour boiling water over mixture. Let stand.

Cream brown sugar and melted margarine. Add egg, flour, baking powder and vanilla. Mix well. Scrape down sides of bowl and add date mixture. Mix well. Next fold in chopped walnuts. Pour batter into prepared Bundt pan. Place in center of preheated oven and bake for 45 minutes or until knife comes out clean. Let cake cool on wire rack before removing. Serve cake with whipping cream. A cup of milk and sugar tea is lovely along-side, if desired.

Place Chopped, Pitted Dates in Pyrex Bowl

Sprinkle Dates with Baking Soda

Pour Boiling Water over Dates

Combine Brown Sugar and Melted Butter

Fold in Flour, Baking Powder, Egg & Vanilla

Fold in Chopped Walnuts

Pour Batter into Greased Fluted Bundt Pan