The Wizard

(by Connie Meyer)

Author's reading

The first sip of Tiger’s Milk is the worst. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try not to taste the vile concoction as it slips over my tongue, and my mind only faintly registers my mother’s faith that this will fortify my bones and my skinny nine-year-old frame. Inspired by her bible, Adele Davis’s Eat Right to Keep Fit, Mother whips up this breakfast staple in her new Waring blender. I wonder briefly if she gags as she swallows her own glass of orange gooey sludge.

1. Empty 1 can of frozen orange juice into the blender.

2. Add 4 cups of water and 1 1/2 cups non-fat powdered milk.

3. Add 1 cup of brewer’s yeast and a little lecithin powder.

I didn’t find out until I had a sleepover at my friend Linda’s house that this liquid torture wasn't normal breakfast food in 1956, and I much preferred the Rice Krispies with heaping spoonfuls of sugar and hot chocolate with marshmallows that were the morning fare at her house.

Years later, I realized I had inherited something else from my mother that extended beyond the protein, vitamins, and minerals in that breakfast drink: a steadfast faith that if I tough it out, hold my nose, and do what is difficult, it will yield something valuable.

I attribute Tiger’s Milk to leaving a well-paying, soul-sucking job to start my own business. Perhaps it played a role in signing up for the triathlon team on my 65^th birthday or reinventing myself after divorcing my husband, whom I could no longer trust. On and on, I see the choices that were hard but ultimately strengthened my spirit. 

In her kitchen wizardry, my mother left me with what I think now was the greatest gift of all.

One day, an ordinary day, no one's birthday or holiday, she invited me into the kitchen to help her make a new dessert recipe that she wanted to try. Either because of or in spite of her college major in home ec, she already had a reputation in our family for ruining anything that might have been tasty. Whole-wheat flour in cakes, pie crusts, and doughnuts, cutting the sugar amount in half or thirds, and adding flaxseed, wheat germ, and dry milk powder to everything were her more common recipe adaptations. But I was her helper in the kitchen, gradually taking over making the family dinner when Mother started working, and my siblings trusted me to whip up uncontaminated brownies and cookies.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. The baking process started with making a sheet pan of dark chocolate brownies. Real brownies: Baker's chocolate melting over a double boiler, lots of butter, full sugar, white flour brownies. This alone was shocking.

My sisters and brothers now streamed into the kitchen, full of hope over experience, as the deliciousness of chocolate wafted through the air.

As the brownies cooled, we took turns whipping egg whites to a shiny froth with cream of tartar and sugar.

Next, my mother slid a half-gallon block of Breyer’s Neapolitan ice cream onto the brownie foundation. I helped her seal it all in the gooey egg white foam, complete with peaks and flourishes.

As she opened the oven door to slide in the whole strange and magnificent concoction, the 500-degree heat hit our faces. Now we were worried. Mother was ruining something that had so much promise. We all waited nervously as the timer clicked 120 seconds.   

When it emerged from this treatment, it was the most astonishing dessert I had ever experienced. The warm, toasted meringue, the slightly softened ice cream, and the dark chocolate still linger on my tongue, 70 years later, and immediately transport me to our hundred-year-old farmhouse in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, where the family is gathered around the table in pure joy.

 (I'm in the middle.)

Joy strengthens; joy nourishes. She left me with the knowledge of how essential it is to break out of rigid ideas and habits and do something outrageous and joyous, like make Baked Alaska on an ordinary afternoon. 

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Connie Meyer turned to her passion for writing after 40 years as a management consultant. She can be found on Substack at Dispatch From Planet Earth.

Baked Alaska

For the brownies:

2/3 c. butter

4 oz. Baker’s unsweetened chocolate

1 1/3 c. all-purpose flour

1 t. baking powder

1/2 t. salt

4 eggs

2 c. white sugar

2 t. vanilla

For the meringue:

6 large egg whites, at room temperature

1/4 t. cream of tartar

1 c. granulated sugar

1/2 gal. Neapolitan premium ice cream

Preheat oven to 350 F and place rack in middle of the oven.

Grease a 9×13 pan with butter or cooking spray or line with aluminum foil.

In a double boiler, melt butter and chocolate. Allow to cool slightly.

Combine flour, baking powder, and salt in another small bowl.

In a large mixing bowl, beat eggs thoroughly with a whisk.

Gradually beat in sugar.

Blend chocolate mixture and vanilla into egg/sugar mixture.

Add flour mixture and stir well.

Spread in pan and bake for 25 - 30 minutes.

Cool for 25 minutes and then loosen sides and turn upside down.

(The baked, cooled brownie can be tightly wrapped in plastic wrap and refrigerated for 1 day in advance.)

Raise oven temperature to 500 F.

Place egg whites in a large clean bowl.

Add cream of tartar and beat on medium-high speed until foamy, 1 - 2 minutes.

Increase speed to high and gradually add sugar.

Beat until the meringue is glossy and forms stiff peaks, 2 - 3 minutes.

Remove ice cream from freezer and invert onto the brownie layer.

Using a spatula, spread meringue over the entire cake and ice cream.

Use the tip of the spatula to create tall peaks in the meringue that will brown in the oven.

Set on the middle rack of the oven and bake just until the meringue begins to brown, about 2 minutes.

Slice and serve immediately.