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Snufkin could cook. He was an expert at preparing fish and made a mean stew if he said so himself. What Snufkin couldn’t do, however, was bake. After all, there was little means or need to bake on the road, so it was a skill he’d never bothered to acquire.
So why, by all the great stars that twinkled above him, did he suddenly want to bake for Moomintroll?
Perhaps it had to do with how the troll lit up when Moominmamma brought out a new tasty treat to enjoy with coffee. If he wanted to see Moomintroll smile at him like that, then what of it? It didn’t mean anything. Snufkin just happened to enjoy seeing his friend happy. He especially enjoyed being the source of that happiness.
How hard could baking really be, anyway? After all, he’d taught himself to cook, and baking wasn’t hugely different—both involved preparing and mixing various ingredients.
The biggest problem was the kitchen, but with Moominhouse permanently unlocked and welcoming, even that wasn’t really an issue. Finding time to use it while Moomintroll wasn’t about was the bigger hassle. The very early hours of the morning would be his best bet. Snufkin didn’t mind; he was used to getting up at all hours.
He’d have to speak to Moominmamma, of course. Not only because he wouldn’t want to worry her if she heard noises at two AM, but also because, while he didn’t want help, exactly, he did need advice. Or, at least, a recipe to follow.
Snufkin got his chance that evening while Moomintroll and Moominpappa went outside to chop wood with Little My’s ‘supervision’.
“I think it’s a lovely idea,” Moominmamma said. “And you’re quite sure you don’t want any help?”
“No, thank you, Mamma. I want to try and do it alone.”
“Of course,” Moominmamma said fondly. “Oh, Moomintroll will be so delighted. I just know it.”
Moominmamma led Snufkin into the kitchen, talking him through everything he’d need and where to find it. She helped him pick an easy but tasty recipe and insisted he wake her if he needed any help. Snufkin promised though they both knew he wouldn’t, not unless he messed up enough to set fire to the kitchen or something equally disastrous.
They had just enough time to cover the basics before the door opened, and Moomintroll was calling out.
“Oh, there you are, Snufkin!” the troll said, poking his head into the kitchen and offering a relieved smile. He’d clearly thought Snufkin had slipped away, and who could blame him? It was something Snufkin did a lot, he realised with guilt. Well, that was just another reason to surprise his friend with a nice gesture, such as cake.
“I just had Snufkin help me move something,” Mamma supplied an easy excuse.
“Mamma,” Moomintroll complained, “you should have asked me.”
“I don’t mind,” Snufkin said. “I’m always happy to help.”
“And we really appreciate you,” Mamma said, smiling. Moomins couldn’t wink, but Snufkin could hear in her tone that she would if she could. Fortunately, Moomintroll was as oblivious as ever.
Snufkin excused himself not long later, promising Moomintroll he’d see him tomorrow. He wanted an early night so that he could wake well before the sun to borrow the kitchen. The recipe they’d picked out was a simple Victoria sponge, which Mamma assured him was easy enough, but Snufkin wanted to give himself time for mistakes and go through each step slowly to try and prevent said mistakes.
He’d fished that morning, so back at camp, Snufkin prepared a quick dinner of grilled perch and crawled into his tent as the sun set. Snufkin had always been good at falling asleep—he guessed it was the mumrik in him. It didn’t matter that it was several hours earlier than he was used to sleeping; once he was in his sleeping bag, eyes closed, it didn’t take long to drift off.
He woke in the dead of night as planned—too early to acceptably call morning, even if it technically was. Snufkin took a moment to blink up at the bright stars as the last of the sleep left him. The sky was beautiful; it usually was above Moominvalley. The glorious clear sky didn’t come without a chill, though. Shivering into his coat, Snufkin hurried towards Moominhouse, letting himself inside as quietly as possible and practically tiptoeing towards the kitchen. His plan would be foiled before it even began if he woke Moomintroll with a misplaced step.
Moominmamma had been kind enough to leave everything he’d need out, so all Snufkin really had to do was follow the instructions. Easy enough. Nothing he couldn’t handle—he’d faced the wrath of park keepers and come out on top; baking would be a stroll through their park while they licked their wounds in comparison.
Snufkin read the recipe carefully, trying to commit each step to memory. He wanted the process to go as smoothly as possible. It seemed simple enough, and Moominmamma knocked out cakes practically in her sleep. He’d be fine.
…Snufkin was not fine.
He’d already managed to get flour everywhere, not expecting the fine powder to float like a puff of smoke as he attempted to measure the right amount. Then, as he’d wiped white dust from his face, he’d remembered that, first, he was meant to be beating egg and sugar together anyway. Leaving the flour to the side, Snufkin instead focused his attention on carefully weighing out the butter and adding it to a bowl. To begin with, it fought his attempts of trying to stir it together with the sugar, the fine granules just clumping to it and not doing what he knew they were supposed to. His arm quickly began to ache, and only when Snufkin switched to his non-dominant paw to give it a break did the two ingredients start to combine. Once they began to blend, it became easier, and after switching paws again, with a newfound flourish, Snufkin whisked the mixture with his wooden spoon until it was light and fluffy.
Satisfied, he turned away to collect the flour he’d already measured and froze, eyes drifting back to the bowl. A sense of dread filled him, and he curled his paws into fists, taking a deep breath in hopes of calming his rapidly racing heart.
Please no.
His eyes drifted to the container he’d just mixed in with the butter. Sugar.
Please let it be sugar.
Which of the two similar jars had Moominmamma said the sugar was in, though? The one with blue flowers, or the one with an orange rim?
Reluctantly, Snufkin returned to the bowl, dipping a finger in to scrape the side. He scrutinised the mixture, glaring at it as if he could scare it into being right. With a sigh that suggested he already knew what to expect, Snufkin plonked his battered finger into his mouth.
Snufkin didn’t like to swear, but there was a word on the tip of his tongue that he couldn’t quite bring himself to spit out with the salt.
Tears of frustration brimmed in his eyes as he stared at the ruined batter. Why had he thought this was a good idea? Why hadn’t he stuck with what he was good at and invited Moomintroll for dinner at his campsite? Now, he was overwhelmed, running out of time and would have to start all over again.
Such an amateur mistake. Never mind that he was an amateur.
Stubborn to a fault, Snufkin disposed of the ruined mixture, rinsed the bowl and began again.
“Hrumph!” He glared at the butter as it resisted him again. Sugar was much coarser than salt—Snufkin was embarrassed he hadn’t realised at the time—and that seemed to make it even harder to beat into submission. Still, he persevered, and one throbbing arm later, he once again had a light concoction ready for him to add flour and eggs to.
Snufkin realised he should have sieved the flour when he noticed air pockets filled with clumps of it, but, eventually, he ended up with a smooth mixture that he was ninety-seven per cent sure was free of eggshells.
He made a mess pouring the sticky mixture into the pans, but licking his paws clean afterwards, Snufkin determined it tasted nice enough. He just hoped it would cook okay.
It was still raw inside the first time he tested it, the knife he slid into the middle coming out gunky. Snufkin gave it another ten minutes, burning his paw with a yelp as he realised ten minutes was too long and frantically pulled it out to see both sponges charred around the edge. He could work with that, though—they seemed to have risen at the very least.
Once Snufkin turned back to the cooling sponges after running his throbbing paw under cold water, he was horrified to find they had both sunk in the middle, losing their height. He stared dejectedly at the sunken, sorry-looking cakes, frustration and disappointment tugging him this way and that. He’d really wanted to make something special, and this was the result.
Maybe he should just throw it away and pretend it had never happened. Perhaps he would have had he not felt so guilty for using up so much of Mamma’s ingredients. Instead, with a sigh, he turned his attention to preparing the buttercream that would line the middle with the jam. Maybe it wouldn’t be pretty, but that didn’t necessarily mean it wouldn’t taste good.
Running out of time—how had it taken this long?!—Snufkin iced the cake too early, goopy buttercream dripping down the sides, making the already sad-looking cake even more miserable. He tried to fix it with an uneven sprinkle of icing sugar and then sat at the table, glaring at the finished product until he heard movement from upstairs.
He was sure it would be Moominmamma; she was always the first to rise in Moominhouse. Maybe she could help him fix his disaster, though he didn’t see how.
Did he still have time to hide the evidence and slip out the door? The creaking on the steps suggested no, so Snufkin buried his face into his arms instead, cheek planting the cool wood of the table, cooling the miserable flush of his cheeks.
“Snufkin?”
Snufkin’s shoulders tensed, and he dared not lift his head. That wasn’t Moominmamma’s voice. What was Moomintroll doing up first? It wasn’t supposed to happen like this—Moominmamma was meant to offer advice and console him before he had to face Moomintroll covered in flour and sinking in despair.
“Snuff, are you asleep?” Moomintroll asked gently, not wanting to wake him if he was. Snufkin didn’t deserve such a lovely moomin in his life. Not when he was such a failure.
Snufkin grunted to let his friend know he was alive. Unfortunately.
“Have you been baking?” Moomintroll asked in awe. “This looks fantastic!” That got Snufkin to raise his head. He stared at his friend, wondering if his eyes were so clogged with sleep he couldn’t see properly. But no, Moomintroll’s brilliant blue eyes looked clear and genuine.
“It’s a disaster!” Snufkin groaned.
“I don’t think so,” Moomintroll said. “It’s got character.”
“That’s a nice way of saying it looks bad.” Snufkin considered burying his face again. If he couldn’t see the cake or Moomintroll, maybe he could pretend they didn’t exist.
“No, it’s not,” Moomintroll argued. “I think it looks wonderful. What’s the occasion?”
Snufkin could lie. He could say he made it for himself, or the Mymble or… “I wanted to make you a cake,” he said before he could stop himself.
“For me?” Moomintroll repeated, surprised. Touched.
Snufkin felt his cheeks warmth. “Don’t get too excited,” he grumbled, “It probably tastes as bad as it looks.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Moomintroll had a knife and was cutting into the cake before Snufkin could move to toss it out the window. He buried his face again, too scared to watch, his tail swishing nervously behind him.
“Snuff,” Moomintroll said between a mouthful of cake, his words muffled. “This is great!” He was being nice. Snufkin knew it was a disaster. Even if it was no longer the salt mixture, there was no way that sorry excuse for a cake tasted anything but awful. “Try it, go on!”
Left with little choice, Snufkin accepted the slice thrust his way, reluctantly popping it into his mouth. Huh. It wasn’t light and fluffy like Moominmamma’s cakes, but it wasn’t bad. Perhaps a bit stodgy, not enough air having been folded into the sponge. Dense, Snufkin thought was the word.
“You like it too!” Moomintroll said triumphantly. “See, I told you.” And there it was, that smile that had made him want to attempt such a foolish thing as baking. That smile made it all worth it.
Snufkin smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “You better enjoy it. It’s the last one I’m ever making.”
“Aw no, don’t say that.” Moomintroll seemed far too disappointed considering, while edible, his cake was nothing great. “These things take practice.”
“I don’t want to practice.”
“Maybe we could make one together?” Moomintroll asked hopefully. Snufkin bit back his groan; he was going to have to bake again, wasn’t he?
Maybe it would be more fun if they did it together. Less stressful, certainly.
“I’d like that,” he said.
Moomintroll smiled and ate another slice of cake, staring at it like it was the greatest thing he’d ever eaten. “Honestly, Snuf, this is amazing. Thank you.”
Flushing, Snufkin lowered the rim of his hat so Moomintroll wouldn’t see just how wide his smile had grown.
It may have been stressful and overwhelming and made him briefly contemplate seppuku, but the result was so worth it that Snufkin would gladly suffer the torment of baking again.