cake, christmas eve and determinism
on the day before Christmas Eve we are determined to spend a long time preparing it, almost the whole day. As we do so we carefully examine the anatomy of the bodies and heads of the (eggs, flour, butter, dark rich chocolate, sugar, ground almonds. such things across the multiverse), (let us minimally edit the details of the cake making,) the chocolate is grated, the eggs are separated and placed in a bowl beneath the kitchen aid to be beaten into shape. They are as expected the same here as they were there. The oven is turned on. the beaten egg white folded into the shiny mostly chocolate and almond mixture. She, her name is Astrid and she is a grey haired young-old human, the optical fibre cables running out of her head into the white box strapped to her body, is it sentient? or is it sentient because of her? nobody knows, empties the mixture into the cake tin. Tastes the mixture from the wooden spoon and smiles approvingly . He comes into the kitchen to see if there is anything she needs him to do, runs his finger over the bowl and tastes it. “nice.” He says. When the cake is cooking the subtle flavours will fill the kitchen and house, perhaps it will be a noble cake this year which will disclose the rich mixture of this sublimely decadent cake. Baked, as it cools the cake collapses and a crack appears. She turns the cooled cake over so the flat base is on top. She likes to think that across the multiverse millions of versions of herself are making this perfect cake. Later after slicing the cake into two equal pieces she spreads strawberry jam on the bottom slice, places the top piece back and spreads the chocolate and butter creme over the cake. Still the liquid creates a glossy skin that will set. she places almonds on the cake. She leaves it to set. Whilst she does this we contemplate the bombs falling… Her children, their partners and grandchildren arrive and waits impatiently, hungrily having arrived from London and the home counties, though none have come from as far as she has, the cake, like other elements of the christmas eve dinner is loved so much that it may be one of the reasons why the festival is celebrated by this atheistic family group. In the other room beside the artificial tree the presents are like uneating guests waiting to be engaged with after the main event whilst drinking dessert vodka, tea or alchohol free beer. But before this there are other courses, how many you can count; there is cured herring, blinis (made with a mix of eggs, salt, sugar, teast, warm milk, buckwheat flour plain flour), salads, pierogis (mushroom and curd cheese and pirato mixtures), fruit salad, parma ham, smoked salmon, bread sticks, the beetroot soup (which is everyone’s pretty niece in a deep red dress and black leggings, her running shoes in the hall waiting for her in case she needs to run, drinking a glass of sweet wine), the soup is placed in the centre of the table and carefully, to avoid drops and spills, ladled out into china bowls. And then at the end of meal as things are cleared away the cake is placed in the centre of the table, besides the fruit salad…Together, in a truthful gesture of rare solidarity we we we speak of its value, we are all praising it, and each singularity savours the fragrance, the taste alone, we linger over it as if the moment is unrepeatable. […] And then with the taste of the chocolate cake in our mouths, we join the presents in the other room and they are distributed by the youngest people to the receivers.
The next day, the remains of the cake has rested under cling film. Eating it with freshly made espresso with a small amount of frothy milk, made it even more delicious. What remains of the cake is placed in a metal and plastic container that is stored in the larder or eating over the next few days time This is all that remains of the cake Astrid made except perhaps for the molecules of delicious cake being exchanged between the local universes. We have nearly forgotten how implausible this seems to you the reader. and perhaps, equally, nothing more completely proves the impossible limits of the thing than that it is impossible to keep and repeat. Though in each universe in the multiverse she knows that each piece of cake this year is identical whilst next years and last years were different, the future is unknowable and irreversible, just as each instance of Astrid and he are identical. He idly stirs the coffee as it warms himself by the hob.
