1
The Preparation

Mother’s Date Nut Torte was a fruitcake or bread,
rather than a torte.
That misnomer foreshadowed other duplicitous aspects
regarding the “dessert.”

Mom worked like a warrior to prepare the dish, a recipe
that predated food processors.
She peeled and pitted dozens of dates into a large bowl
resting on her lap.
Then she placed the waxy blobs on the table and with a
hammer pounded them into submission.
Next she sliced, diced, and chopped them.
Dry ingredients, eggs, spices, and nuts were added, but the
dates, like whittled bark, held center stage.

2
I loathed Mother’s Date Nut Torte.

I disliked the “torte’s” waxiness, its dark brown color,
and its strange aroma
And my distaste wasn’t due to being a picky eater.
Years of exposure and an occasional foray into consumption
only intensified my aversion.

I thoroughly appreciated, though, the effort that went into
Mom’s dish.
The whole family did.
“The Date Nut Torte is amazing, but it’s so much work!”
they hopelessly hinted.
Mother beamed.
Meanwhile, no one asked for seconds.

You would assume that a dollop of whipped cream would
have mitigated the so-called torte.
But the sweet cream cowered and withered in the shadow
of the offending mass.

3
Lingering Questions

Why didn’t anyone tell Mom the truth about her Date Nut Torte?
Why did we go along with the charade?
Why does the Date Nut Torte hold such enduring significance?

And finally,
Why do I miss it so much?