Bundting

Today I had a slice of lemon pound cake, which reminds me of Mrs. Schoenig.

Mrs. Schoenig was a friend of my grandparents who lived in Massapequa. When my grandparents were living with my dad and me, I often would come home after school and find Grandma, Grandpa, and Mrs. Schoenig sitting at the kitchen table in our yellow kitchen.

Mrs. Schoenig had a thick accent. She had short, curly blonde hair and a wide Cheshire smile.

"Ellllleeka," she would say. "How vare you, sveetheart."

My standard answer, then and now: "fine."

That was the extent of our conversation. I would immediately start looking for her lemon pound cake.

She made the cake in bundt formation -- a high arched O with scalloped sides. The outside of the cake was a perfect honey brown adorned with a sprinkle of powdered sugar. The cake was slightly crispy when you cut into it, but as the knife went deeper it would sink in lushly. My grandmother would hand me a nice thick wedge on a paper plate. The inside of the cake was pale yellow and lightly spongey.

Coming closer, I could smell a hint of lemon. I would get a little powdered sugar on my nose. I would take a big, big bite.