MY WIFE’S CHOCOLATE CAKE by David Berger

 Print This Post

“How’s the chocolate cake?” my wife Audra asked me a few years ago, shortly after we got married.

“Great,” I said.

“How great?” she asked.

“Well, I can only think of three things that might be greater than your chocolate cake.”

“And what would they be?”

“Well, how about the Great Pyramid of Cheops, the Tibetan Book of the Dead and Einstein’s General Theory of Relativity?”

“Really?” she said.

“Well…” I said.

“Well what?” she asked.

“Well…” I said.

“Well, I’ll have you know that my chocolate cake is greater than The Great Pyramid, The Tibetan Book of the Dead, and Einstein’s General Theory of Relativity.”

“Now listen, Sweetheart…”

“Don’t Sweetheart me…”

“Well…”

“Well, what?”

“Well…”

“Well,” she said. “I guess I’ll have to teach you a lesson.”

With that, she turned to her computer and face-timed someone.

A voice came on the phone as the face of a young man wearing a keffiyeh appeared and said something in Arabic.

“.هذا هو مكتب الرئيس (Adha hu maktab alrayiys).” [TRANSLATION: The President’s office.]

My wife replied in fluently in that language, which I didn’t know she spoke.

”.هذا هو أودرا بيرغر. هل يمكنني التحدث إلى الرئيس؟ (Hadha hu ‘awdara biarghir. hal yumkinuni altahaduth ‘iilaa alrayiys?) [TRANSLATION: This is Audra Berger. May I speak to the President?]

“Of course, Mrs. Berger. Just a moment,” the young man replied in English.

Within a few seconds, the face of the President of Egypt appeared on the screen.

“Madame Audra, how may I serve you?” the President asked.

We noticed that the President was eating something.

“Can you tell me what you are eating, Mr. President?”

“Oh, a slice of chocolate cake, Madame.”

“Using my recipe, Mr. President?”

“Of course, Madame. Who else’s would I use? Let me ask you a question.”

“Anything, Mr. President.”

“Is it true that you derived the recipe from hitherto unknown frescos in the Grand Gallery of The Great Pyramid?”

“Yes, Mr. President. However, I added certain twists of my own to the ingredients.”

“In that case, I must declare that your chocolate cake recipe is greater than The Great Pyramid itself!”

“Thank you, Mr. President.”

“Will you come to my birthday party in April?” the President asked. “And will you bake your cake?”

“Of course I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it,” my wife said. “And I’ll certainly bake my cake for you. Until then.”

“مع السلامه, (Mae alsalamih),” the President said. [TRANSLATION: Goodbye.]

“See,” she said to me after the screen went blank. “Greater than The Pyramid.”

“That’s not much proof,” I said. “But how did he know about you?”

“I did my PhD in Archaeology in Egypt. We met then, and I used to visit and bake him and his wife chocolate cake. We’ve stayed in touch ever since.”

“I didn’t know you had a degree in archaeology,” I said.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she said.

“Well how about the Tibetan Book of the Dead?”

Audra sighed.

“Must I?” she said as she started dialing again.

Within a few seconds, the face of a young Buddhist monk appeared on the screen.

“यह दलाई लामा का कार्यालय है। मैं आपकी कैसे सेवा कर सकता हूं? (Ah dalaee laama ka kaaryaalay hai. main aapakee kaise seva kar sakata hoon?)” [TRANSLATION: This is the office of the Dalai Lama.]

Again, my wife replied fluently.

“क्या मैं परम पावन से बात कर सकता हूँ? (kya main param paavan se baat kar sakata hoon?) [TRANSLATION: May I speak to His Holiness?]

Within a few seconds, the screen changed, and the familiar, smiling face of the Dalai Lama appeared.

“Ah, Daughter Audra, how are you?”

“I am well, Your Holiness. But what is it that you’re eating? That’s not brown rice gruel.”

“No, Daughter. I confess it is not.”

“Is that…?”

“It is, Daughter. I restrict myself to one piece on the night of the full moon. Tonight is my lucky night.”

“So I see, Your Holiness.”

“As it is said in The Great Liberation by Hearing in the Intermediate States, which Westerners insist on calling The Tibetan Book of the Dead:

“‘As for the substances to be used for the ritual deception of the malevolent forces [which cause death], create substitutes which may be made either of red minium clay, or else from dough, which is then painted.’” [The Tibetan Book of the Dead, published in London, 2006, page 188.]

“I find in these great words, Daughter Audra, a direct reference to your chocolate cake. The cake itself is the dough, and the icing is the paint. Since your chocolate cake, my Daughter, is capable of deceiving the malevolent forces that cause death, in and of itself, I must declare it to be a part of The Great Liberation, equal to The Great Liberation, and even so, greater than The Great Liberation itself.”

The Dalai Lama smiled and bowed slightly toward my wife, who bowed back.

“Will you come to me this summer? I will be teaching on the Jātaka Tales. Your presence would be most welcome, my Daughter.” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jataka_tales)

“I will be there, Holiness.”

The Dalai Lama held up his hands in the famous prayer position.

My wife did the same, and the screen faded.

“You know him?” I asked.

“Of course. When I studied samatha meditation in the Himalayas for three years, he was my teacher.”

I was stunned. But like a fool, I said, “Well how about Einstein’s General Theory of Relativity?”

She looked at me with the kind of weary impatience that she used occasionally to reduce me to a puddle on the floor. And then she made another call. Within a minute or so, a familiar face came into view and a familiar voice issued out:

“Hello… Audra… how… are… you?”

It was Stephen Hawking.

“I’m fine Stephen. How are you?” she asked him.

“As… fine… as… can… be… expected.”

Just then, Hawking’s attendant fed him something.

“What are you eating, Stephen?” my wife asked.

“My… dessert,” the professor said.

“What is it?”

“What… it… always… is… on… Friday… your… chocolate… cake.”

“What’s your estimate of the value of my recipe?”

“Well… given… that… I… based… my… later… notions… of… black… holes… on… the… structure… of… your… cake… I… would… say… that… it… surpasses… in… importance… Einstein’s… General… Theory… of… Relativity.”

“Well, thanks for that, Stephen? I won’t keep you from your goodies.”

“Okay… but… will… you… be… attending… my… seminar… on… the… latest… developments… in… no… boundary… theory… next… year?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, Stevie. Bye now.”

The screen cleared.

“How do you know Professor Hawking?” I asked.

“He mentored me when I took my doctoral in Astrophysics at Cambridge. He offered me a position, but I can’t stand British food. But we keep in touch. Gotta go pee,” she said and bounded out of the room.

I sat there, quietly, contemplating the extraordinariness of my wife. Then, her computer screen came alive as a face-time call came in. On the screen appeared a strange, green, insect-like visage.

“HELLO,” came a weird, metallic voice from the green face, which seemed to have no mouth but was able to talk.

“Hello,” I said.

“MAY I SPEAK TO EMPRESS AUDRA VI?”

“Uhh, she’s indisposed at the moment.”

“WELL PERHAPS YOU CAN HELP US.”

“Perhaps, I said.”

“OUR UNIVERSAL COMPUTER HAS BEEN DAMAGED BY AN ULTRA-NOVA. AND ONE OF OUR MOST IMPORTANT DOCUMENTS HAS BEEN DESTROYED. WE MUST HAVE IT TO MAINTAIN THE BALANCE OF THE COSMOS.”

“My goodness,” I said. “What is this document?”

“SAVE THE MULTIVERSE FROM IMMINENT DESTRUCTION!” the green face somehow said.

“Yes, I will,” I said. But how?”

“SEND US THE RECIPE FOR HER HIGHNESS AUDRA VI’S CHOCOLATE CAKE.”

“Uhh, I said.”

Just then, my wife came back from the john and looked over my shoulder.

“What the hell do you want, Mulcraw?” she yelled at the screen.

“THE RECIPE, EMPRESS. WE MUST HAVE THE RECIPE TO SAVE ALL EXISTENCE.”

“Nice try, Mulcraw,” my dear wife said. “But I’ve heard that one before. Several times.”

“EMPRESS, PLEASE.”

“Not a chance, Mulcraw.”

With that, my wife turned off her computer.

“You want another slice?” she asked.

“Yes, please,” I said.

==========

AUTHOR BIO:

David Berger is a 79-year old New Yorker, living in Manhattan with his wife of 29 years: the finest jazz singer in NYC. He’s a father, with two sons and six grandkids. He’s been a caseworker, construction worker, letter carrier, teacher, proofreader and currently a union organizer and a writer. David loves life, his wife and the world. He hopes to help us all escape destruction.

==========

WHY WE CHOSE TO PUBLISH “My Wife’s Chocolate Cake”:

What a wonderfully amusing story! Just when you think it’s done, you find there’s one more aspect to it. Author David Berger turns a chocolate cake into an adventure. We loved the various languages integrated into the piece. He also captured Stephen Hawking’s voice so well.

In the end, we found this to be a totally delightful and unexpected piece of writing.