Operation Cake. Chocolate. Cake.

Normally when I’m presented with a problem I most likely go into engineering mode. Only after I have assessed the urgency of the problem do I analyze the psychology of the situation. I’m a little slow when someone needs some hand holding because I’m too absorbed in making the problem go away. I think Mrs. F needed a bit of both. Lucky my friend, Lisa, suggested that baking a cake is the next best thing to saying, “There, there. I’m sorry you’re a crab apple.” Well. I can do cake.

The balcony fiasco of the summer ended Tuesday between Mrs. F and I. It wasn’t easy. I took several tries at her door on different occasions before she peered out and let out another heave of horror, “It’s happened to me AGAIN!!” Of course by again she meant dirt and this time I admittedly was the direct cause. The previous rainy Saturday I scrubbed the balcony floor with all the domestic tools I could find: mop, cloth, even a spent toothbrush.

The balcony was indeed filthy with pollen and other fine particles that come with living in the city. By the time I was done the tiles were shining and grime free. It made sense that she would encounter a speck or two on her level. I can’t stop gravity. I told her that I also freed the rain gutter. Things should get better. Let’s all be happy and have cake.

She almost didn’t want to take my peace offering. She had to tell Alex and I about the good ol’ days when this stuff never happened to her. She invented stories of all the things we were doing wrong, each one we negated. She suggested we invite the owner of the building to have a look. Fine with us. We asked her to cut us some slack but she wasn’t budging. She finally puffed that it is forbidden to have plants on the window sill, Alex looked at her sternly and said, “Show us where that is written then we’ll take them down.”

All of this in my mind was totally reasonable to listen to from an old woman. But it would have been murder if she refused my chocolate cake. That has to be against old lady code. Already being a foreigner in Bavaria, I was way out of my territory. She needed to play along, dog so help me.

Luckily it didn’t come to this. Two days later she returned our plate and told me that my cake was gegönnt. I later learned that she meant it was a treat. She also did her own investigation during a rain storm. The rain gutter to our balcony system is the only one flowing. Who knew she had an engineering mode too. I think she believes me now.

So my chocolate cake recipe is gleaned from Seattle Bon Vivant. I’m feeling extraordinarily lazy so my version is the photograph above. Feel free to use it to ward off spirited old ladies.

Like

Unlike

cake, elements, home  Print This Post 4 comments