I often tell people that I was the Big Bad Wolf, and I was. But I don’t often mention that I was also the Gingerbread Man.
My first job as a 16-year-old high school student in New Hampshire was at a tourist-oriented children’s theme park. Families would walk the trails and get to feed Mary’s little lambs, or tour Robinson Crusoe’s cave on an island in the middle of a gingerbread-man-shaped pond, or sit on Old King Cole’s throne. They got to watch Peter Rabbit in the garden and see the three billy goats gruff tease the troll.
In this pantheon of fantasy, I dressed as the Big Bad Wolf, in a fiberglass head covered in faux orange fur and a 4-foot fuzzy tail, or as the Gingerbread Man in a loose brown velour onesie with a cookie-shaped head and a candy cane. Red Riding Hood was really cute; we bickered often, but she became a good friend. I had a crush on Little Bo Peep; Red Riding Hood’s sister was Pinocchio; the series of Cinderellas were very nice. Old King Cole had one of the more comfortable outfits and Mike the Cowboy got to drive the World War II-era Army surplus Jeep around the park.
At the entrance to this world was an ice cream parlor — the Gingerbread House. It featured make-your-own sundaes; I learned to make a frappe there.
And it had, as one might expect, the best gingerbread. It used twice the molasses and half the sugar of the gingerbread my mother baked. The result was a dark, dense cake, almost a cross in texture between cake and a brownie. The molasses, paired with the ginger, was intense. And it was best served under a scoop of French vanilla ice cream.
The fantasy world met reality more than 40 years ago, now, and the only reminder that park ever existed is the artificial gingerbread-man-shaped pond. I haven’t talked with any of my colleagues since then. I ponder sometimes if they ever attained their dreams, to be a musician, or an actor. I wonder if they have the same thoughts, and kept their skills. (My wife tells me that my many voices, like my face, are well-suited to cartoons.)
I recreated the gingerbread recipe years ago. What I had then in New Hampshire is very similar in idea to English gingerbread served, I suspect, in Hampshire. I prefer fresh ginger to that dried, ginger-scented powder you’ll find in the spice aisle, and there are variants with whole milk instead of buttermilk.
Each time I have it, I think of those people and those experiences.
Then I wonder if I’m perhaps being a bit of a cannibal.
DOUBLE DARK GINGERBREAD
1 1/4 c. all-purpose flour
2 tsp. fresh ginger, grated
1 1/4 tsp. ground cinnamon
3/4 tsp. baking soda
1/4 tsp. salt
1/2 cup packed dark brown sugar
1/2 cup buttermilk
1/2 cup dark or blackstrap molasses
1/3 cup butter, melted
1 large egg, lightly beaten
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Spray an 8-inch square pan or a 9-inch cake pan with nonstick cooking spray.
In a bowl, whisk together flour, ginger, cinnamon, baking soda and salt. In another bowl, whisk together the brown sugar, buttermilk, molasses, melted butter and egg. Stir the flour mixture into the sugar and molasses mix. Pour batter into your prepared pan.
Bake in a 350 degree oven for about 30 to 35 minutes or until a wooden toothpick comes out clean. Cool in the pan on a wire rack.
Play with it: You can add a half-teaspoon or so of ground allspice, or a pinch of ground cardamom or clove. You can top this with powdered sugar, a cream cheese frosting, or of course, French vanilla ice cream. Some people like sprinkling ground-up peppermint candy canes on top.
