Baking Hot

It has been a stunningly warm June and not just ‘British Hot’ as Josie calls it laughingly but ‘Aussie Global Warming Hot’. White legs and arms are turning pink everywhere you look and the world is a happier place, as it always is when the sun shines.

Across Chorlton, the pub gardens are blooming and cheeks are getting rosier as everyone enjoys a little alfresco tipple in the glorious sunshine.

So I can understand my mother’s angst when she calls me and pleads, ‘Please come and get her, my house is like Hades’ Sauna.’

My daughter has taken up ‘baking residence’ in Mum’s double oven and is spending every evening practising her recipes. Mum was very keen to begin with – after all multiple cakes were at stake – but the heatwave has made even the freebies unattractive.

When I arrive there is a type of science-fiction haze around the back door. It looks just like the special effects they used on Star Trek when they put up that cloaking shield thing; I didn’t pay much attention when Alan was glued to it. Why is it that there are definitely ‘men’s programmes’ and ‘women’s programmes’ and they’re pretty much universally consistent? I’m not sure a woman would invent a programme about spaceships, but I could be wrong.

Anyway, as I ponder, I walk into the haze and the heat hits me.

‘Woah,’ I say braving the inferno, ‘how are you surviving this without protective clothing?’

My daughter looks up from her latest creation and adds it to a table laden with carbohydrates. If you’d been on the Atkins or Dukan diets recently, this place would be an absolute heaven or hell depending on your inclination to ditch it or stick to it.

‘Where’s Gran?’ I ask.

I’m told she’s upstairs, so go in search and find her sitting on the loo wearing her nightie and reading a magazine with a Chardonnay cooling in the sink.

I don’t need to ask why: this is the coolest room in the house. I make myself comfy on the edge of the bath and take a slug from her glass.

‘What are we going to do about her?’ asks Mum, ‘Amanda’s a professional chef; all the others might be too, she’s never going to win.’

It will break her heart to be beaten by Amanda, but I know my daughter and there is no way that she will back out now.

‘We’re going to have to help somehow.’ I drain her glass and get up. ‘Come on then before you take roots; you know Catherine the Great died on the loo don’t you?’

Downstairs there lies every type of pastry known to womankind (as I imagine we can name more varieties than mankind). We all sit down to survey the bounty, some pieces looking more shipwrecked than others.

‘I’ve tried everything and I just don’t know what to go with,’ sighs Zoe, although that much is obvious.

Mum starts sampling each one.

‘OK then, let’s get practical,’ I say. ‘What are the competition categories?’

Zoe digs out a flour-covered sheet which lists them: Pastry King or Queen, Lord of the Flans – you get the picture. I skim down the list and wonder which category Amanda will enter as it would be best if they weren’t up against each other.

‘How are your crumbles?’ I ask looking at the Duchess of Desserts category.

‘They’re OK but I’m not going to win with an apple crumble, am I?’ says Zoe.

‘This one’s nice,’ chirps up Mum and we’ll have to take her word for it as it’s gone.

‘And pray, what was it?’ I ask.

‘Key Lime Pie,’ answers Zoe, ‘I made it with a slug of margarita to give it a bit of a kick.’

‘Maybe we should go for this one then,’ I say pointing at the list.

‘Tomorrow’s Trendsetters; it sounds like quite a youthful category and you could probably make anything you like. Now, what’s trendy? Those macaroon things?’

‘So 2014,’ Zoe shakes her head.

‘Thank goodness for that,’ mumbles Mum who, by the way, is still sitting in the background eating her way through the table.

‘I couldn’t understand all that fuss; they’re only chewy biscuits in different colours.’

‘How about taking your Lime Pie idea and making a cocktail cabinet of cakes? Like a Black Russian Chocolate Cake,’ I suggest.

Zoe starts looking up cake trends online.

‘Baking with spirits has been done,’ she tells us. ‘The next big thing is going to be baking with herbs according to this, like dark chocolate with basil. Maybe I could do a herb garden?’

‘Sounds good,’ I say, ‘we’ve got the category but I still think we should give both ideas a go. Cocktails may be passé in professional circles but adding the word artisan might make them go down very well here. You research herb cakes and I’ll do the boozy ones then we’ll pitch our ideas to each other and see which one we think would win. We could ask Patty and Mum to be the judges.’

‘They’re going to pick the ones with the most alcohol in,’ counsels Zoe, ‘which is not necessarily what the judges will choose.’

‘Then let’s invite Charlie and Peter, too; Peter is very discerning. It’ll be like Dragons’ Den,’ I say.

‘Great, next Sunday, the Dragons’ Doughnuts.’ Zoe shakes my hand competitively; my daughter even wants to win this stage.

* * *

As the month ploughs on, the sweltering heat does nothing for bookings. ‘Staycations’ became popular during the recession when everyone decided to stay at home for their holidays. They would also justify it on environmental grounds at first, but their desire to save the planet was soon beaten down by the British weather and theme park prices. It’s often cheaper to go abroad.

Nevertheless, when the long-range forecast is for more heat and potential drought, there is little incentive to book something just to get some sunshine. Our customers don’t tend to travel during the school holidays or if they do, it’s as a babysitting resource on their family package trips.

The Mercury Travel Club is about more than weather, so I spend the week going through our customer lists sending them details of short breaks and activities which might tempt them out of their summer hibernation. Our business plan forecasts bear no resemblance to reality at the moment.

Charlie is working on Patty’s cruise trip.

‘Some of these tributes are fabulous,’ he says. ‘In fact, I have no idea how she managed to wangle her way on to this line-up.’

I suspect having a friend who can get bums on seats has helped but I’m still impressed by the list of bands taking part. I reflect that if you’re current, you take up residency in Vegas and if you’re retro you live life on the ocean wave.

Charlie adds a little fantasy of his own to the trip: for Mercury Club members, we’ll be hosting his little pool-side party à la Tom Cruise before showing the film Cocktail; living the dream.

We assemble the publicity shots into an email and send it to everyone we know. The response is pretty good with customers copying each other saying, ‘Now this looks like fun.’

A group of four books up instantly and others ask for more information.

‘I never thought I’d ever say these words,’ I say to Charlie, ‘but Patty might just save the day.’