Her arrival at our house was always a
signal for me to plant myself near the kitchen, where everything that
took place could be observed and, incidentally, admired. It was always
her first task to bake a tree-cake on a spit. She kept a record of all
the tree-cakes she baked, and when the number reached a thousand the
housewives of Swinemuende gave her a well-deserved feast in celebration
of the achievement. To be sure, tree-cakes are to be had even today,
but they are degenerations, weak, spongy, and pale-cheeked, whereas in
those days they had a happy firmness, which in the most successful
specimens rose to crispness, accompanied by a scale of colors running
from the darkest ocher to the brightest yellow. It always gave me
great pleasure to watch a tree-cake come into being. Toward the back
wall of a huge fireplace stood a low half-dome, built of bricks, the
top projecting forward like a roof, the bottom slanting toward the
back. Along this slanting part was built a narrow charcoal fire about
four feet long and by it were placed two small iron supports, upon
which a roasting spit was laid, with a contrivance for turning it.
However, the spit resting upon the supports proved to be something
more than a mere rod. In fact the spit itself was run lengthwise
through a hollow wooden cone, which had a covering of greased paper
over its outer surface, and the purpose of which was to form a core
for the tree-cake. Then, with a tin spoon fastened upon a long stick,
the cook began to pour on a thin batter, which at first dripped off in
a way that made the method of application appear futile, and this
continued for a considerable length of time.
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