The Ritual
Lantern light glinted on stainless steel as the robed figures entered the kitchen. These figures had been my female relatives earlier that day, but now they were keepers of sacred knowledge.
“Flour,” I began.
“3 cups,” they chanted. I added it to the bowl.
“Eggs.”
“Four.”
I recited the ingredients my mother had taught me, and the group relayed the amounts. Fifteen minutes later, it was done. The secret of Great-Grandma Nelly’s chocolate cake had passed to another family member.
Years later, when I found the exact recipe in one of Nelly’s old cooking magazines, I didn’t say a word.
The Green-Walled Treehouse 
A wise silence. Nobody likes a smart-arse
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The secrets of the kitchen stay in the kitchen. Nice one, David.
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Haha! Fun idea!
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I have experience how old family recipes never turn out the way Gran done them. I put it down to how much the ingredients have possible changed, or was it just me? Great story that reminds me of some delicious cakes.
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An interesting use of the prompt. I liked it
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I think Anthony Bourdain would have really liked this. 🙂
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I love that–all the ritual and secrecy for a recipe published in an old magazine 🙂
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Dear David,
No one can take a story and flip it on its ear like you. Loved this ritual passing of the chocolate cake recipe. You made me laugh out loud.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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What a cute and human-hearted story.
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