Mr and Mrs Rowland cutting the cake
You want to know about the cake? It was a two-tiered rich fruit cake with marzipan and royal icing in a simple, classical design, made for us by a local village bakery/cake shop. I remember it was quite a weight. Some of it was served to guests at the reception with champagne, some was cut up, boxed and sent to friends and relatives who weren't with us on the day, and some, as I mentioned earlier, sustained us though our house move and the following weeks. Had we known that our first child was going to be born almost nine months to the day after our wedding night, we might have saved some to celebrate that event as well (as used to be a custom, apparently).There have been other, very informative blogs this week about the whole history and tradition of wedding cakes from ancient Greek times onwards. They are well worth a read. I will just precis here. Originally they would have been made of bread (and you can see in the photograph above a bread wedding offering with a white ribbon that some friends brought back from Greece for us). Then 'bride cakes' as they were called went through a phase of being more like savoury pies in the 16th and 17th centuries before evolving into the sweet cake confections that have graced wedding receptions since Victorian times (below).
cutting the cake at a Victorian wedding reception
I assume the symbolism of the wedding cake, its cutting (usually jointly by bride and groom) and the sharing with family and friends, is all about good vibes for a happy and productive union and the sharing of signs of goodwill all round, rather than any show of ostentation, superiority or condescension on the part of the newlyweds or their families, though I am reminded of the maxim: 'More tiers, more tears.' Make of that what you will.For a poem this week, I've chosen something by Naomi Shihab Nye, a Palestinian-American poet of considerable repute. She's given me permission to reproduce 'Wedding Cake' here, thank you Naomi. It's from her 1998 collection, 'Fuel' (published by BOA Editions Ltd). If you like this beautifully constructed and resonant poem, I highly recommend you to check out her writings.
Wedding CakeOnce on a plane a woman asked me to hold her baby and disappeared. I figured it was safe, our being on a plane and all. How far could she go? She returned one hour later, having changed her clothes and washed her hair. I didn't recognize her. By this time the baby and I had examined each other's necks. We had cried a little. I had a silver bracelet and a watch. Gold studs glittered in the baby's ears. She wore a tiny white dress leafed with layers like a wedding cake. I did not want to give her back. The baby's curls coiled tightly against her scalp, another alphabet. I read new new new. My mother gets tired. I'll chew your hand. The baby left my skirt crumpled, my lap aching. Now I'm her secret guardian, the little nub of dream that rises slightly but won't come clear. As she grows, as she feels ill at ease, I'll bob my knee. What will she forget? Whom will she marry? He'd better check with me. I'll say once she flew dressed like a cake between two doilies of cloud. She could slip the card into a pocket, pull it out. Already she knew the small finger was funnier than the whole arm.
Naomi Shihab Nye
Thanks for reading, S ;-) Email ThisBlogThis!Share to XShare to Facebook