Fairy Cake, York Station

Did you know that Goblins like fairy cakes? Baby goblins love their food, their mothers despair of their constant demands for cakes and pies, pastries and sweet things.

Satisfying goblin appetites isn't easy, obviously mother goblins can't cook in a regular kitchen. And have you ever seen a goblin shop? Of course not. The way goblins make fairy cakes is with magic.

I know a mother goblin who loves to cook more than anything. To her there is no greater joy than making perfect goblin food.

She has a cave where she creates cakes, and stews, and elaborate layered pancake fruit creations. Sometimes she makes pretty iced sugary novelties that can make even the grumpiest toddler-goblin smile.

As she wonders what to make, her whiskery ears twitch in anticipation. She closes her bulbous eyes and concentrates. She conjures up spots and stripes, and tricky fluffy swirling clouds, pink marzipan pigs, the softest sand, baby boots and rhododendron petals; she tops it all off with an old rowing boat on the river. This is the kind of cooking she loves. Then she tests it, and tastes it, usually it needs more seasoning. Her fingers fiddle then, prodding, squeezing, preening, pampering to ensure her creation is the best that it can be, before she'll finally declare it 'done'. The eating of her handwork is the final stage, but it almost feels the least important. Sometimes she'd be serving to guests, sometimes she'll savour it all alone, or....

"More!" Her baby called, "More cake."

Her little goblin pulled on her apron, unravelling it's bow. She tied it quickly again, patted him on the head, and wondered what to make for him to eat.

Fairy Cakes were his favourite. And a different sort of concentration was needed to make these. Butter and sugar and flour, each the right quantity exactly. He liked these cakes fluffy and light, she had to beat the mixture well.

Two brown eggs, fine flower, sugar sweet...

"Can I stir?" She always let him.

"Can I lick the bowl now?"

She tried to interest him in making the icing. A fun finale.

"We could do pink with blue spots?" she suggested, "Or blue with pink?"

"Are they ready yet? I'm hungry!"

Snow stars?

"Cherries on top?"

Or crystal daisy petals, dusted with a bridge reflected in a moorland river?

"I want cherries. Cherries now!"

She popped one in his open mouth. She smiled proudly as he swallowed it without chewing, without even a pause for breath, "Plums! I like sugared plums. And can we have treacle pudding and custard?"

She could feel the magic tingling. Snow stars with a sprinkle of old snow wall? A ladle of love lost on a holiday in Spain?

"Treacle pudding! Can't you hurry up?" She loved the way his spiky tail swished with arrogance.

"I'll ice the cakes, just a minute."

"I'm hungry now! I want cake. Can I have crisps too?"

To Goblin's food is everything. You might not be aware that the phrase 'You are what you eat' is derived from Goblin lore. Magic food will make magic creatures, young Goblin's grow big and strong, and then metamorphosise into creatures that reflect the food they eat.

This process fascinated the Goblin mother of course, she wanted her own little monster to be the best that he could be, and to her he was as perfect as a bittersweet day in April. She loved his tummy, fat and round from eating her round pies, his teeth brown and sticky from so much sugar, his wrinkly skin, salty and rough as corn snacks. And she could see the spark of magic growing within him as he ate the special cakes she conjured.

They'd once made sausage cars with roast potato wheels, and raced these through the air until they crashed, then gobbled up chunks of the hot broken meat as it fell into their laughing mouths.

She cooked for him all day long, fairy cakes and sweet pastries; cinnamon toast was another of his favourites. She'd cook cinnamon toast under the grill, and as she waited for it's sugar to bubble she'd make swirling head picnics for herself to pass the time. Pretty feasts of oak forests, and summer sparkles, and the musty smell of libraries, a good hand lost in poker, with just a teensy pinch of Birthday surprise. Cinnamon toast burnt easily, and couldn't be neglected. So she'd finish her magic head picnic as she cut up her Gobling's food, and as she tried to persuade him to eat the charred toast. Busy with her own feast she'd sometimes have to force scorching hot sugary squares into his screaming mouth. He'd shoot caramel scented breath at her then, and she'd admire the power of his cinnamon flames.

As he grew bigger she became practised at dodging these flames. Standing well clear she could be impressed by his firey breath, as strong as the smell of burnt sugar that filled the cave. She'd put up with singed fingers as she fed him, admire his aim as he shot his flames beside her head. She loved him, even as he made her baby-
lamb, waterfall, Morocco, disintegrate in a puff of smoke, which she quickly and cleverly moulded into a steaming fry-pan of his favourite apple doughnuts.

The breath that shot towards her half-closed eyes seemed deliberate, she fondly contemplated that he was as feisty as she'd been at his age. 'Monsters do as monsters do', her Mother had always said. She felt a tinge of sadness, as she thought of her mother, and the enchanted feasts she'd once made.

As her Goblin boy grew bigger he needed more nourishment, she worked harder than ever to fill his fat belly and fuel his ever-hotter flames. She tried her best to please him, and cooked trays and trays of fairy cakes for him. Still sometimes he shouted that she was neglecting him, and as he did a blast of his scorching anger would sometimes burn the whole batch. Then she'd have to start again, as he screamed at her, and hot tears filled his eyes, blinding him to the fact that she was already mixing another bowl.

She spent the days cooking to please him. One long day she thought he'd never have his fill. She was near exhausted when finally he belched, then yawned, and she knew he was satisfied at last. He fell asleep with his head rested on an arm that ached from so much stirring.

She was hungry. She knew she should make herself something to eat. But would it wake him if she did? She thought briefly of blue sky and an empty ocean, a quick and easy snack. Then he stirred in his sleep. Her head was instantly full of eggs and flour again, 40 ounces, so 10 eggs... But she hadn't the energy to stir cakes now, even if he'd let her use her arm. So if he woke what would she feed him? She decided she needed sleep. Some said goblins could feast on dreams.

When he woke her baby seemed bigger than ever. He towered over her, almost filling the cave. She knew she must cook.

"Cake" he roared.

"How about pancakes, my dear?"

Pancakes. Yes. Perhaps with lion mane, fluffy white spittle, sawdust and a smudge of blood in a muddy forest floor... She felt better when she'd eaten, but she was still hungry. Smashed china doll, a fist at a throat, gasoline, a speck of hate in a shadowed courtyard.

Her baby was hungry.

"I want cake."

Her whiskery ears twitched, her bulbous eyes closed. Rotten eggs, lumpy sugar, mealworms in flour, nettle oil margarine.

He gobbled it up.

"More."

She conjured a giant furnace, intending to cook him a huge cake, perhaps if she made it big enough it would fill him forever? The heat from the furnace filled the cave, so hot she could scarely breathe. He didn't mind the heat, his blood burned with fire now. He was quite a magnificent creature, but restless, unhappy. She was his mother, she knew. She worried. If she could make the right cake she knew he'd be satisfied.

Goblin lore said, "You are what you eat." She wondered when her job as cook would ever end...

Her baby looked at her, a look reminded her of a misty mealtime in Spring. She was proud of what he'd become, so big, and stong, and mean. He opened his huge mouth, teeth brown and sticky from too much sugar, opened it wide as if to kiss her. But monsters don't kiss, of course. There was only one thing on his mind, as it always was on hers...

"Monsters do as Monsters do", her wise old Mother had told her on that bittersweet day in April.

"I'm hungry," were the last words she heard, as she finally fulfilled her wish to make perfect goblin food.