During my second year of 4-H, I joined a cooking club. I was already a member of a sewing and dairy cattle club, so cooking seemed like the next step. I was very fortunate to have a banner year in cooking as I won a rosette and had my picture in the newspaper.
A week or so after the fair, I was spending the day with one of my grandparents, Grandma and Grandpa S. That particular day we were having company for lunch. I was not bothered by this and I helped Grandma prepare the meal. She asked me if I would like to make my prize-winning dessert. Sure! She was a little skeptical, though, because I did not have the recipe with me. No worries – I had made this enough times I could do it in my sleep. Soon it was time for the company to arrive. I had heard my grandparents talk about them, but had never met them. They were somehow related, but I do not remember how.
As soon as they walked onto the back porch, my 10 year old self dropped my shoulders, lowered my head, and I am positive I did an eye roll. Thelma (and her husband Bob) had arrived! She was a short woman, but what she lacked in stature she more than made up for in vocal tone! The abrasive pitch of her voice sounded like a bleating goat stuck in a fence. My Grandma introduced me to her and Thelma’s first words to me were ‘well, you don’t look nearly as fat as you do in that newspaper clipping’. I am a 10 year old girl!!! I was horrified, embarrassed, and wanted to run away. My Grandma was shell-shocked and didn’t know what to say (good thing Grandpa wasn’t in yet because I’m pretty sure he would have had something to say) so I just replied ‘umm thanks?’.
Lunch was served and I had to continue to listen to Billy Goat Gruff go on and on about anything and everything. Then it was time for dessert. Grandma told them that I had made my winning dessert for them today. Thelma asked what it was called. I hesitated and told her Caramel Pudding. The recipe came from my other grandparents family and was a generational loved dessert that family, friends, and neighbors called ‘Stuff’. But, Thelma was not my friend, neighbor, and definitely not my close family. Grandpa raved about it. Grandma bragged on me. Then came Thelma’s words that I dreaded: “You will have to give me that recipe”. Again, Grandma was speechless, but being raised to be polite to those that didn’t deserve it, I said okay.
After the dishes were cleared, Grandma gave me an index card to write the recipe on. I titled it Caramel Pudding because she was not ‘Stuff’-worthy. Thelma kept squealing like a piglet and asking me questions while I was trying to recite the recipe. Once finished, I handed it to her and did not receive a thank you.
After they left, Grandma apologized for Thelma’s behavior. It wasn’t her place to apologize, but it felt good that someone recognized the horror of what I had been through. As we were washing the dishes, I had this funny feeling…an intuitive feeling…and then it hit me. That recipe – the one I had made multiple times – that I could create with my eyes closed and hands tied behind my back – I left out an ingredient!! Not just any ingredient. I left out the baking powder which was crucial for the dough to rise and be enveloped by the luscious liquid caramel. I felt like I was going to faint. I told Grandma what I just realized I had done – and even though ole Billy Goat Gruff probably had it coming – it was truly an innocent mistake! Remember, I was 10! Grandma told me not to worry about it. She didn’t think Thelma would make it anyways. Later that evening when I told my parents about my day with Thelma, they were outraged about her comment about my weight, but laughed until they cried when they heard about the missing ingredient. The tale of Thelma and the Missing Baking Powder is a story that has been told many times and will never be forgotten. It always makes me shake my head and giggle out loud.
Every family seems to have a Thelma. If yours doesn’t…well…I’m happy for you. I learned two lessons that day: some people will always find something unkind to say, and sometimes karma shows up disguised as missing baking powder.
Until next time,
-Molly