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snippet 5

2007-03-05

Ronnie ran back to the camp site to get a hatchet. Once he returned, he deftly cut the things head off, expertly timing the blow between a couple of the fish’s violent gyrations. “I’m eating that myself.” Ronnie said. I was done cleaning all three bass before Ronnie had made a dent in filleting that pike which was all muscle and bone.

He asked for some pointers but it looked to me like he was going about it exactly as I would have. “Just be patient,” I told him, You’re doing fine. It’s just a bitch.”

In the end Ronnie came up with two decent sized, if ragged looking filets, and allowed each of us a taste of the pike, which was very good, better than the bass really.

Todd had done the cooking in a larger pan than we’d ever had before, a birthday gift from his parents a few weeks earlier. He’d probably allowed the pan to get too hot and he overcooked the fish a little and was freer with the salt than I’d have been, but still, it was delicious.

Yeti had been yacking all day amid the fun that he was going to make the best desert we’d ever had, and after cleaning the pan took a boxed yellow cake mix out of his duffle and held it up as though it was the holy grail. “Stand back gentlemen,” he ordered and ripped open the box. He poured the powder right into the large skillet and then added water, butter and some powdered egg. He stirred a little and put the thing over the heat. Handing me me the spoon, he told me to stir the mixture slowly. He then pulled five hershey bars out of his bag, opened them and, as he broke each one, dropped them into the pan. “Lift the pan off the fire a minute,” he commanded. “Don’t want it to get too hot.”

For the next twenty minutes amid derisive comments from the rest of us, Yeti, who’d taken the spoon back from me, alternated between slowly stirring the mess and moving the big pan on and off the coals, seeking a temperature hot enough to cook, but not so hot he’d scorch the batter, which slowly became pudding like, then thicker still, till stirring was impossible. He took a little on the spoon, tasted it and smiled.

He handed me the spoon and I took a mouthful. Great. It was definitely a cake in texture, albeit a very moist one. “It’ll keep cooking for a minute or two as we eat it.” Yeti said, a proud papa. And we dug in.

“Where did you learn this one?” I asked him, talking with my mouth full.

“I tried it at home a few weeks ago late one night. I had the munchies.”

It was very good, and it became a staple we’d eat exactly once each trip. Eventually there’d be stir-cakes - his term for them -  not only with chocolate, but with marshmallows, nuts, cherries, raisins, even various bits of different cookies and other candies. It became Yeti’s stamp on the trips, and he’d eventually refer to the weekends based on the sort of stir-cake he’d made. “Wasn’t that on the peanut butter and banana weekend on the White?” or, “Oh I remember that. That was on the Muskegon, the currant and saffron trip... Remember? We tried your Grandma’s recipe?”

It worked too. There were many weekend trips, but I don’t think he ever made exactly the same cake twice. We’d make suggestions, which he’d consider, but we never knew what was coming out of that duffle and going into that pan until we’d eaten, and Yeti did his schtick. I once made the mistake of bringing some pecans that I pulled out and gave to Yeti when he was starting to add the ingredients. He used them, but I could see he didn’t like it, and I never did it again. This wasn’t a potluck; this was his little thing, which certainly didn’t seem too much to ask.

I remember calling Chris in his dorm the Monday evening we got home after that first weekend and telling him about the cake, and how good it was. He was really disappointed not to have been there. “I can just see him,” Chris said, speaking of Yeti, “He must have been in his glory.” Aptly put I think.

That night though, when we’d finished eating and we sat around the fire, each of us wrapped in our sleeping bag; the temperature had dropped significantly; I felt good for the first time since Alma had died.

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Hardcore_Pyro (2007-03-07)
Good times.....

Spirited Minikin (2007-03-05)
Excellent story...loved it...and now all I can think about is cake...cake...CAKE!

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