Last Saturday marked my late father's birthday. Though he is no longer with us, my siblings and I make it a point to honor these special dates, no matter where we are. Baking something from scratch would have been the most fitting tribute, considering my father’s love for baking after retirement. But at that moment, I wasn't quite up to the task. Instead, I ordered a lovely carrot cake from a local bakeshop for delivery. It arrived slightly smooshed on one side - perhaps from the box tilting during transport. I didn't mind. A slightly misshapen cake is still a good cake, and it tasted just as wonderful.
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| Birthday carrot cake. Photos are from Flickr/Jep. |
My father’s signature recipe was an orange butter cake. He baked it for special occasions, gifted it to friends and family, and brought it to church gatherings. Interestingly, the recipe first belonged to my mother, though I’m unsure of its exact origins. In our household, we had a treasured tin box (possibly an old butter cookie container) filled with meticulously typed recipes. My father had lovingly compiled them for my mother over the years, gathering recipes from magazines, newspaper clippings, grocery packaging, and cookbooks. These weren’t traditional family recipes passed down through generations but became part of our family’s story. If we ever felt like trying something new, we could simply rummage through the box, sifting through index cards of various colors, each holding a different possibility. I can almost hear the rhythmic pounding of my father’s fingers on his mechanical typewriter as he carefully transcribed each one.
The box itself evolved over time. It started as the aforementioned cookie tin and later became a wooden felt-lined box - ironically, a school project of mine from woodworking class. That box sums up my entire skill set in woodworking, which, admittedly, wasn't much. When asked to create a project that exemplified everything I'd learned from that course, I decided to make a box.
Looking back, I realize that my passion for cooking and baking likely comes from my mother. But my curiosity, the willingness to experiment and try new things, is a gift from my father. He always found joy in whipping up something unexpected whenever he had time, whether or not it turned out as planned. His creations were sometimes a hit, sometimes a miss, but they were always made with enthusiasm and love.
Happy birthday Tatay!
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