Zimmer: Annie Dillard, Flushed Cheeks & Ginger & Pear Cake

18

Amelia had a simple breakfast that morning of blackberry jam and toast with an espresso. The professor had promised an arrangement of ferns for her so that the maidenhead fern looked a little less lonely in her lounge. In exchange, she’d offered to make lunch at his. So there was no time to waste that morning as she had to head in to town for the ingredients. A chill in the air, she wrapped herself up warmly in her cream vintage cardigan and slipped on her plimsolls with a pair of denims. Ailuros was still lazing in bed as she leant down to gently kiss the sleepy feline on the head before leaving home. There it was. She’d thought it. Home. She pondered on this happily for a brief moment, then grabbed her car keys.

Ingredients secured from the local fishmongers and butchers, she was at the professor by eleven o’clock, knocking on his old brass seahorse knocker. Expecting to see Jack, a stranger opened the door, catching Amelia completely off guard.

“Oh, hello! I’m Jack’s friend, Amelia.”

“Come on in, Amelia. My dad’s been singing your praises all morning. I feel I know you already. Jonathan by the way.”

“Oh, thank you, yes, I know. Jack gifted me the most beautiful piece of yours. You’re so talented. It’s a prized possession in my home.”

Towering over her, she imagined Jonathan to be a good head taller than his lanky father. She thought on Fevvers with wings of an albatross in Carter’s Nights at the Circus. Surely his arms stretched a good two metres across. He was casually but handsomely dressed in a charcoal v-neck and black slim fit jeans.

“Amelia, is that you?” she heard the professor call out. Amelia in turn called out her hello. “Oh so glad you’re here. Splendid, splendid. Come on down! I have something utterly delightful for you!”

Once again, Amelia made her way down the professor’s treacherous staircase, stepping carefully. Komorebi met her at the base of the stairs, sniffing Ailuros on her and mixing her own scent on Amelia’s jeans. Amelia made her way first to the kitchen to refrigerate the ingredients for lunch, then went out to the garden where she was sure she would find the professor.

“How lovely to see you!” the professor gushed as he embraced the little Amelia in a bear hold of a hug, the more tentative pleasantries of mere acquaintances long gone. “Ferns of course to follow, but first I have a most enchanting specimen for you! A flame lily, or even more fitting, Gloriosa superba, for truly I find myself hard-pressed to think on a more glorious flower! Wide-spread in tropical and southern Africa, thriving on sparse savannah woodlands, sand dunes and grasslands, this perennial can reach a height of about 3 metres, rambling oh so splendidly over neighbouring plants with its ingenuous tendrils. The national flower of Zimbabwe it’s a pride and joy in any garden.”

“Oh, professor, it’s fantastic. Thank you ever so. You’re really far too kind.”

“Nonsense, dear, anything for a novice gardener. Isn’t it just as Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, that the earth laughs in flowers. And what better a reward when Spring is in the air and life begins anew.”

“Is he boring you with botanical ramblings, old codger that he is,” Jonathan had come outdoors and interrupted his father, giving Amelia a sideways grin, clearly teasing a man he adored.

“How could he ever?” Amelia rose to the professor’s defence in a mock display of chivalry. She had to admit though, something in this brief conspiratorial moment, she felt a flush to her cheeks and hoped that it went unnoticed by all parties present.

“Dad, aren’t you forgetting Amelia’s gift though... Not of the plant variety but perhaps more befitting a woman of her literary talents.”

“Literary talents?” Amelia was puzzled.

“Well, of course, Amelia! Tal was here a little earlier collecting seedlings and he regaled us with a tale of your literary prowess in the realm of a children’s book you’ve been brewing so very sneakily.”

“Interesting character that one. And yes, from what we’ve heard you’re a skill to be reckoned with in your own right,” Jonathan added. Again Amelia felt a flush rising on her cheeks.

“Oh well, it’s just an idea, for a competition, maybe, right now. We’ll see,” Amelia longed for the conversation to shift from her at its centre, feeling insecure in the face of their praise. She would certainly have to admonish Tal when she next saw him. Though Tal, with his good natured way was hardly one you could easily admonish on any subject, let alone attempting to pay a compliment, however shy it made her feel.

“Anyway, Dad... As I was saying... Amelia’s gift?”

“Of course. I’ll be back in two shakes.” He disappeared into his study, returning with a book.

“If any writer can serve as a source of whimsical inspiration it is the impish spirit that is Anne Dillard with the Pulitzer Prize winning classic of the 70’s, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. Now let me think on Valerie’s favourite quote... I go my way, and my left foot says Glory and my right foot says Amen: in and out of Shadow Creek, upstream and down, exultant, in a daze, dancing to the twin silver trumpets of praise! How Valerie and I used to marvel at her prose. And for good reason!

“When Dillard was a child of no more than six or seven, she used to take a penny from her precious pocket money and hide it cradled in the root of a nearby sycamore or in a hole left by a chipped off piece of sidewalk and mark arrows for passersby to follow until they found its nesting place. Once she had learned how to write she even marked the arrows, ‘Surprise Ahead’ or ‘Money this way!’ If that isn’t a spectacular declaration on the generosity of childlike wonder we should all remember to forever cultivate, then I don’t know what is.

“And for some reason, I sense the childlike wonder in you, Amelia. Though perhaps a little unsung for a while... I think you and Dillard will make fabulous friends and I do so hope she inspires you on this wonderful new venture in the literary sphere!

“Now if you’ll allow this old man to boast a bit about his son, fetch your eyes on his latest offering for me! Isn’t it bloody marvellous?” The professor lifted up a black and white from its resting place against the wall. It was a breathtaking shot of a gleaming white lighthouse set against a sky of grey and white cottonwool clouds. Amelia recognised the lighthouse from a beach shore close by where she used to take her grandfather for picnics on his better days.

“Oh, gosh, Jonathan, I don’t think your father could boast enough! But now, professor, Jonathan, allow me to disappear into the kitchen for a spell... I do believe, Jack, you’ve spoilt me downright rotten and it’s time for me to keep up my end of the bargain.”

The kitchen, like the rest of Jack’s home, was filled to every nook and cranny with a charming eccentricity.

She unwrapped the smoked pancetta and sliced it into cubes on the butcher’s block. Grabbing a pan from overhead, she began to fry them up, letting the fat sizzle and pop as the cubes began to crisp up, greasing the pan in their lard. Next, she diced up the monkfish into chunks and dusted with a coating of seasoning and smoky paprika.

Once the fat had all but rendered from the pancetta, she added the fish to the pan, allowing it to cook for a further 10 minutes, turning the pieces every once in a while with a wooden spatula.

Pouring in a cup of white vermouth, she let it come to a simmering gentle boil before adding the clams as the final pièce de résistance to the day’s lunch. She covered it all with a lid for a while until checking later that all the clam shells had opened and lunch was ready for the plating.

“Jack! Jonathan! Lunch is served!” She called to the boys mucking about in the garden.

Over lunch the conversation turned to a film club that Jonathan had started.

“Tomorrow is our open air screening of the classic, To Catch a Thief. Would you like to come, Amelia? I’m all too happy to comp you a ticket by way of thanks for this delicious lunch, really...?”

For the third time that day, Amelia felt a flush to her cheeks this time accompanied by a fluttering in the pit of her stomach in spite of the hearty meal they’d just had. Mustering all her efforts, she attempted to play it as cool as possible in the face of her racing heartbeat.

Jonathan in the company of his father in the glaring light of day was one thing. But this tall and enigmatic talent all on his own... Those unnerving hazel eyes that locked her gaze whenever she spoke, with such unabashed candour... That tousled mop on his head that led your fingers itching to run through the curls... But best she not get ahead of herself. For all she knew there’d be a bunch of them. Him and his friends. And he was simply being polite.

“Um... Ok...Yeah, that sounds groovy.” Gawd. Did people still use the word ‘groovy’? But Jonathan didn’t leave her long to think or question her retort.

“Great, I’ll pick you up around seven? That work for you?”

“Sure.” Monosyllabic was all she trusted herself with for the time being, her cheeks still burning.

The professor meanwhile was sitting back with a broad and knowing grin on his face, making her feel all the more self-conscious. Best to make for a swift exit, she resolved, before she gave anymore away in front of Jonathan and the professor. At least at a film, she could fix her eyes on the screen and she’d have the surrounding darkness of starry skies to conceal any micro expressions or a rosy face.

“I must be off,” she announced after clearing the plates with Jonathan insisting he’d do the dishes. “I’m trying to practise my painting and this flame lily will do wonderfully for a subject. Thanks ever so for this and the ferns.” She lifted the box with her plants but Jonathan quickly intercepted and briefly their hands touched as he shooed her from carrying the brunt of it, placing it carefully in the trunk of her old fiat.

Feeling restless when she arrived home, Amelia went to go rest on her bed with Pilgrim at Tinker’s Creek. She soon drifted off, Ailuros sleeping peacefully on the pillow beside her, and began to dream. This time her mother was on a trapeze above a widespread net. Again in a scandalous leotard all but nude for the sparkles around the groin, her wild auburn hair flowing freely as she swung to and fro on the trapeze, reaching for Amelia, herself on a trapeze swinging towards and away from her mother. But try as she might she could not muster the courage to grip onto her mother and relinquish her fast hold on the trapeze bar.

“It’s alright, love,” her mother kept coaxing. “I’ve got you. Just let go.”

Finally she tried but lost her grip and began falling infinitely spiralling downwards with no end in sight, the safety net vanished. Suddenly she awoke, catching herself in her bed as if she were still falling, falling, falling.

Still restless and anxious and now flustered and sweaty from her dream, Amelia got up to have a cold shower. Once out she wrapped herself in her mother’s kimono robe, feeling comforted, as if closer somehow to her mother for wearing it. There was nothing for it now than to put some music on the stereo and to bake. She plucked out Morcheeba’s The Big Calm from amongst her collection. That seemed appropriate given her unrest. If anything could steady her, she hoped baking would do it. Something softly sweet and soothing to nibble on later with a warm milky cup of tea.

Paging through Bellamy’s book, she halted on a recipe for a pear and ginger cake. Wasn’t there just such a restorative balm as the mild sweetness of a ripe pear and the warmth of ginger. She quickly scanned the ingredients to make sure she had everything at hand for this Italian speciality, Bellamy boasting it to be a sumptuously buttery and moist dessert treat.

200g unsalted butter

175g caster sugar

175g self raising flour, sifted

3 teaspoons of ginger

3 eggs, beaten

450g ripened pears, cored and thinly sliced

1 tablespoon of dark, brown sugar

Cream to serve

A quick nip off to the bodega and she was back with the pears in hand. Focussing her attention on the task at hand, Amelia found herself feeling centred again, the fretting over her movie date with Jonathan and the sensation of falling endlessly in her dream all but forgotten.

Lightly she greased the base of a deep cake tin. Using a whisk, she combined 175g of the butter with the sugar, sifted flour, ginger and eggs and mixed it to form a smooth batter. Spooning it into the prepared tin, she levelled the surface tenderly and arranged the pear slices on top. She sprinkled with the brown sugar and dotted with the remaining butter, popping it into the oven and setting the timer for the allotted 40 minutes.

Finally, she was feeling like painting again while she waited, preparing her paper for the watercolours and setting her new flame lily front and centre on the patio table as the perfect still life, so brightly coloured with such vibrant hues of orange and yellow as it was. The aromas of the baking cake meanwhile wafted out the kitchen onto the back courtyard, and even Ailuros was stirred by it, meowing at Amelia’s feet and placing a paw against her jeans for attention.

She bent down to scratch the cat beneath her chin before returning to her art and lost to it, the timer seemed to buzz only moments later, the cake golden brown.

Whisking some cream, she set aside a slice on side plate with one of her Nana’s silver cake forks and tucked in, instantly transported by the cake and the tea to feelings of nothing but security as a young child in her Nana’s kitchen eating coconut ice squares or any other variety of treats, from shortbread to imported liquorice, another firm staple in their house as in her mother’s.

She missed her Nana in that moment, and looking down on her precious grandchild, Portia Young knew just how she felt. But that said, the ever sagacious Portia knew too that her Amelia was only just beginning to blossom, so like the delicate white and pink blossoms of her river indigo cascading over the water fountain of bolder hyacinths. Her time would come soon enough. And as she’d always told her dear Amelia, time and time again, it was always just fine to bloom late than never at all.

(If you would like to support this humble labour of love resplendent with recipes, you can do so here: https://www.amazon.com.au/Zimmer-Jocelyn-Fryer-ebook/dp/B09BCTYG9T)

Pear by Stuart Dunkel