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Macy and I each took a recipe from Momma. Mine read, “Fig and Pear Loaf.” It called for ginger, fresh pears, and dried figs, among a host of other ingredients. I loved both pears and figs, so my mouth watered as I gathered the items from the pantry.
“This sounds delicious. Macy, what’s in your recipe?”
She read off some of the items on her list. “Mine has a tropical flair. It calls for dried pineapple and mango in addition to the usual fruits. It also has almonds and a dark chocolate drizzle icing along with a little rum. Sounds interesting.”
I popped my head up from studying my recipe. “Rum? I can’t believe Miss Betty Baptist over there is going to use a recipe with alcohol.” I grinned at Momma.
“Oh, posh. There’s only a tiny bit and it just gives it that little something extra. Besides, it all cooks out anyway,” Momma said, waving me off.
I grinned at Macy. This was gonna be an interesting afternoon. We preheated the ovens and got to work in our own stations of the large commercial kitchen.
“Momma, does everyone just bring their fruitcake to the contest and submit it?” I asked, pulling out a cutting board to chop the dried figs. “How can the judges be sure that the contestants actually baked it? It’s all just on the honor system?”
“Oh goodness no. There’s much more to it than that. This isn’t the county fair, Glory,” Momma said laughing. “Everyone bakes on site under the eyes of the judges.”
Macy smiled. “This sounds a lot like some of the tests I had to complete in culinary school. What are bakers judged on?”
“They’re judged in three categories: technical, presentation, and taste. The judges watch the bakers carefully and judge them on technical knowledge and ability. Then on Saturday, they will grade their presentation, and, of course, taste each cake. Taste counts fifty percent of the score with the other two categories counting twenty-five percent each.” Momma measured out her flour and added it to her bowl. “Martha Jean usually wins the appearance and technical parts of the competition, but Lavender always seems to win the tasting phase.”
“So that’s how Lavender keeps winning even though Martha Jean is probably the better baker. Lavender’s recipe just tastes better?” I raked the figs off into a bowl and began peeling the fresh pears.
Momma nodded. “Yes, and believe me, Lavender guards that recipe with her life. Nobody, and I mean nobody, has ever seen it. All I’ve ever seen is an old, worn, dark green recipe book. It must be an old secret family recipe or something.”
“How do all these people cook at the same time?” I couldn’t think of a place in town that would have enough kitchen space for all of this.
“The Home Economics department at the high school,” Momma said, wiping the flour off her hands on her apron front.
“I still have nightmares about Home Economics class!” I cringed thinking about the day I accidentally put salt into my cake instead of sugar. “We had to bake and sew, and we also painted ceramics. I sewed a purse out of an old pair of jeans, and I distinctly remember baking biscuits and cakes. Do kids still learn that stuff these days?”
“I think they call it Family and Consumer Science now, instead of Home Economics, but yes, those classes are still offered. Like I was saying, there are five cooking stations in the classroom. The first five contestants cook in the morning and the other five will cook Friday afternoon. All the cakes will be stored overnight, and judging will begin at 10:00 Saturday morning. Once the bakers leave on Friday night, no one is allowed back in the classroom until Saturday. Fruitcake is always better after it sits for a while. Most recipes involve soaking it in some type of liqueur or flavoring, and that’s why the judging is held the next day.”
“Okay, that makes sense.” I diced the last of the pears and dumped them in with the figs.
We all looked up as the back door to the kitchen opened and Hunt and Jake walked in.
“Afternoon, ladies,” Hunt said.
“Afternoon,” we all responded in unison.
“Got any coffee brewing?” Jake asked hopefully.
“I know Mom already cleaned the pots, but that was before we knew we were having a baking class. I was thinking about starting some,” Macy said. “I’ll be right back.” She wiped her hands and headed out into the shop.
Jake took a seat on one of the stainless prep stools and Hunt leaned against the wall next to the walk-in cooler, crossing his arms.
“Anything exciting going on around town?” I asked, as I gave my mix a good stir, poured it into the pan, and placed it in the oven.
“Seem to be some new faces in town,” Hunt commented. “Been seeing quite a few out-of-state tags. Guess they’re all coming in for this big fruitcake shindig?” He looked over at Momma with a grin.
“There’ll be people coming from all over the south.” Momma poured her mixture of fruit, nuts and batter into her pan. “We have bakers entered from Louisiana, Mississippi, Tennessee and of course, Alabama. Lavender is from Georgia. Then we have the judges that should be arriving soon, too.” She slid her pan into the oven with mine and set the timer.
“Who’s judging this thing?” Jake asked, picking up a bite of dried mango from Macy’s station and popping it into his mouth.
“This thing,” Momma said, obviously taking offense to Jake’s flippant tone of voice, “will be judged by several very knowledgeable and respected professionals.” She cut him a look and he smiled apologetically. “We have four judges. Our new mayor, Teresa Parker, agreed to judge. I thought it would be a good way for her to get in front of the townspeople.”
In a very unexpected turn of events, our former mayor had recently been deemed unable to carry out his duties due to some unfortunate circumstances. The city council had appointed Mrs. Parker, a local businesswoman, as interim to finish out Mayor Towns’ term of office which was only about three more months. Then we would hold our regular election in the spring.
“The second judge is Scott Abels,” Momma continued. “He’s the owner of High Cotton, the restaurant going in at the new Pine Bluffs Resort. He owns several other successful restaurants around the state.”
“I’m really excited about the third judge!” Macy’s eyes lit up as she walked back into the kitchen and slapped the back of Jake’s hand as he reached for another bite of mango. “Tony contacted a friend of ours from culinary school who’s a well-known pastry chef in Birmingham now. His name is James Trent.” She slid the tropical cake into the oven with the other two cakes.
“And of course, the standing judge is always Paul London.” Momma explained. “He’s the owner of London Cake Company. His family business has been fruitcakes for fifty years and they sponsor the contest.”
“I assume most of these people will be staying at Lakeside Motel since that’s the only place in the area until Pine Bluffs opens in a few months,” Jake said. The new resort had been a huge bone of contention in the town awhile back. Some people even tried to stop it from going forward, but when all was said and done, everything turned out okay. I thought it was going to be a great addition to the lakefront tourist area.
“James is staying with Tony at his apartment.” Macy leaned against the prep table. “They’re old friends, so they’re looking forward to it.”
“All the bakers are staying at the motel,” Momma said. “Of course, Mayor Parker is local, and Scott Abels lives close enough to commute. I think I heard Paul London was planning to rent a home on the lake in the Upper End. I guess he’s too uppity to associate with the commoners. He’s easy on the eyes, but a little too big for his britches.” She waggled her eyebrows up and down and gave a sassy little grin.
The Upper End is how the locals referred to the north end of the lake where a lot of the wealthier townsfolk lived. There was a gated community called Sipsey Estates with massive homes built on huge lakefront lots with private boat docks. Some of the estates were summer homes for people who lived elsewhere, so they occasionally rented out their homes during the cooler months of the year for a pretty penny. The homeowners paid a lot of money to keep it exclusive, so all the bait shops and jet ski rentals were on the other end along with the Lakeside Motel, Lake Shore Café, and Golddiggers Bar.
Hunt walked over to where I was wiping up my prep space. “I know there’s no church supper tonight since it’s Christmas week, so I thought you might want to grab something with me at Moody’s.” His gray blue eyes twinkled when he smiled.
I looked up at the clock on the wall. It was 4:30. “We have one last choir practice at 6:30 for Sunday’s cantata, but I think I should have time. I’ll meet you at Moody’s in about twenty minutes?”
Hunt nodded. “I’ll take Jake back to the station and see you there.”
“Perfect.” I smiled and he and Jake walked out. I turned to Macy and Momma. “I probably should’ve cleared it with y’all before I agreed to go eat, but do you mind taking my cake out of the oven when it’s done?” I smiled and gave them both a pleading look.
“I suppose we can handle it, as long as it’s all in the name of love,” Macy said and they both giggled.