I have been thinking a lot lately about my dear Nana. It has been 4 years since she passed and probably a decade since she baked me anything. But those memories of cake, real cake, that Nana used to make, are always on the tip of my tongue.

Everybody loves cake. Who doesn’t love cake, seriously?

If you told me you didn’t like cake, I would think two things straight up – a) you’re probably a very mean and possibly psychotic human, and b) why am I even talking to you??

My Nana was a grand ol’ dame. A true Victorian lady; firm handed, warm hearted, strong willed and bloody great in the kitchen. She was a member of the CWA (Country Women’s Association) in South Australia, which meant she baked a very decent everything.

 

 

(These photos were taken the last time I saw my Nana, in her nursing home. We had a cup of tea and a cake in the tea-room and she was so darling, although the cake was a frozen SaraLee treat, she still remarked at how delicious it was – she did suffer from a little dementia toward the end, so I can forgive her that skewed judgment, bless xox)

Although I love cake, I struggle to find anything that compares to my Nana’s. Her ginger fluff, orange buttercake, traditional Victorian sponge with jam (jam that she made, of course) and cream, cornflake cookies, Swiss roll, her famous cockles (Victorians: see Yo-Yo or Melting Moment). Ummm, Drooltown– population me and all of you guys. While she also did a mean roast and other savoury delights, my Nana was all about the cake.

So every now and then I think of her and her talcum powder smell and her big warm hugs and almost immediately my tongue starts shaking for the soft crumble of her buttercake upon it – impossible to satiate…until now.

Nothing compares to you, Nana, but running a close second in the great cake race is Beatrix.

Beatrix the tiniest little cake shop in Melbourne. Jam-packed full of treats and good vibes.

You’ll find it in North Melbourne, a suburb that has always had its place in the ‘slightly cool suburbs of Melbourne’ chronicles, but never really launched its own series. North Melbourne, an old and trusted town, with everything you need and no pretension and a lot of space for growth, that is still quite peaceful. Just like Nana’s house. Perfect for eating cake in.

On the day I finally met Beatrix, after creeping and salivating all over her Instagram for more than a year, it was a cold and grey and super dull, typical Melbourne Winter’s day… but inside the Beatrix wonderland, as I pushed open the the door of the corner store, I was greeted with sunshine and style and much cake.

The shop was vibing, in a very chill way.  A few non-threatening hipsters, a sprinkle of middle-aged newspaper readers, a table of pretty blogger-types – sharing one piece of cake between 4 forks and a half a dozen iphone6s…and then there was me. Drooling over a shag.

Beatrix is cute and cosy and perfectly styled, with a decent cuppa to accompany your cake and friendly staff to help snap you out of your cake-catatonia, that will undoubtedly strike when you see their celebration of treats on display.

I bought a piece of that coconut shag, layered with strawberry jam and the most amazingly silky, sweet cream, and covered in shredded coconut – because I think I actually manifested that cake in my dreams. I also bought a yo-yo with passionfruit cream, because yo-yos – right?

It was busy inside and we had limited time, so I got my treats takeaway…also I thought I would take it home and share with my sister later that day. Before I left I made note of the details ( it’s all about the details) – the egg-beaters hanging from the ceiling (which apparently grants you a free piece of cake if you donate one!),  sweet little vintage plates and teacups, enamel water jugs, handwritten signs (on doilies, no less), the wonderfully dressed, smiley staff. Everything is just so spot on. I was also pleasantly surprised by the takeaway wooden cake forks, because we all should by now accept that plastic is wrong town.

I skipped to the car with my cake haul, tripped over a little, because the road was wet and I am old and shouldn’t be skipping. And when I reached the car, before my friend had even started the ignition, I was all in. Half the cake gone. Cream all over my lips, Nana in my mind – um that sounds badder than I wanted.

Heaven.

And I did save some for my sister, like a mouthful – of a slice bigger than a small cob loaf – how generous. And she loved it. And we mused about our darling Nana. And life was perfect for a sweet minute.

God bless you Beatrix, and Nana.