KAFFEE KUCHEN

Jenny liked Tuesday, the day when Mother baked bread best of all. Right after breakfast Mother would mix the bread dough in the big blue bowl, getting her hands and apron white with flour. Next she would set the dough in a warm place to rise until it made a rounded mound that rose above the top of the bowl. Jenny thought it looked like the stomach of a fat giant. Then she would dump it onto the bread board and punch it down and it made little squeaks as she broke the air bubbles. Next she would knead the dough, folding it over and over again until it became springy. With a sharp knife Mother would cut the dough into four portions. She would shape three of them into loaves and she would roll the fourth section flat and spread on softened butter and sprinkle with cinnamon and would roll it into a long cylinder and cut it into cinnamon rolls or leave it flat for coffee cake. Today it was coffee cake, Jenny’s favorite. Mother then placed them on the warming oven to rise while she tidied up the kitchen and prepared the noon meal.

The very best part came in the afternoon when the bread was about to be taken out of the oven. Mother also did the ironing on Tuesdays and Jenny thought this was pleasant. She liked seeing the newly ironed clothing, towels and pillow cases. It was so much better than the smells and clutter of yesterday’s laundry. The bread smelled so good as it was baking. Jenny danced about excitedly as Mother took out the fat loaves which had turned from white to golden brown. The coffee cake had risen and baked and Jenny thought about how good it was going to taste.

“If you’re a good girl,” Mother said, “pretty soon you can have some Kaffee Kuchen.” She said the words in German because it tickled Jenny to hear it that way. Both of Mother’s parents were second generation German immigrants and spoke both high and low German fluently.

She let the thick coffee cake cool for a few minutes so that it wouldn’t be too doughy to cut, and then took the bread knife and cut a warm slice for Jenny and spread butter on it.

Jenny took the coffee cake outside with her as Mother had said she might. Someone else had smelled the coffee cake. Trixie, the exuberant amber colored farm dog, followed Jenny closely, with his tail wagging and saliva dripping off his tongue. Jenny held the coffee cake as high
as she could reach, but alas, Trixie could jump higher than that.

“Chomp! Glub! Gulp!” and the coffee cake was gone. Jenny felt humiliated. Awful things always seemed to happen to her. She stumbled into the house sobbing, “Trixie got my coffee cake.”

“Well, goodness sake, you mustn’t let him do that. You have to show him who is boss. Slap him on the nose and scold him and don’t hold it where he can get it.”

Mother cut another piece and handed it to Jenny and Jenny went outside again. Along came Trixie. Jenny began to run and Trixie began to run. Jenny hit at him and said, “bad dog,” but he neatly grabbed the delicacy, thinking, no doubt, that this was a fine game. More tears for Jenny. Humiliation added to humiliation. Mother had seen it all from the window.

“Come on in the house Jenny. You’ll just have to eat in here.“

Mother cut and buttered a third slice. Jenny perched on a chair in the calm and security of the kitchen and at last got to eat a whole big piece of yummy coffee cake. As she brushed it against the corners of her mouth, a stream of warm yellow butter trickled slowly down her chin.