Poison Poond Keek

I was at a very ritzy (overpriced) cafe having dessert after giving in to a craving for angel food cake.

images My mother used to make a lemon version that was so moist it would melt in your mouth. Try to replicate that in your twilight years. I had to settle for a plain, a bit past its prime, pound cake, whose best feature was the doily it sat on.

I figured I’d dunk it in my cafe au lait peasant style until I noticed something unusual. It had a blue tint along the side. At first I thought it could be the light, but on closer inspection realized it was mold…bluish green mold.

“Um, waiter, could you…yes…please,” I said, waving him to my table. images He and his attitude sauntered over clearly annoyed to be summoned. He was French and my tab was small after all, so what did I expect, good service?

“Tis semthing rrr-ong with your poond keek?”

“I’ll say…it appears to be moldy?” I said, holding it up to the light.

“Maldy did ju zay?”

“Yes, it’s the color of a bowling ball I once had.”


“Never mind. How can you serve something old like this. If I hadn’t noticed I might have gotten sick.”

“But ju deed not geet zeek. ”

He looked his nose down at me as of to say, es tu fou (are you crazy?)  Reminded me of the scene in the film Victor Victoria when the waiter after being told there’s a bug in Julie Andrews’s salad says, “I’d be zurbrised if there wo-sn’t woon.”

“Would ju leek to zee our pees-tree cheef?” images-2

“Yes, as a matter of fact I would.”

“Ah, hee ezz out…too bod. May I ba-ding you semthing olse?”

“Yes, how about the number of the health department.” He pissed me off with his lack of real remorse. There were quite a few older women having their afternoon tea. I’m sure none of them knew their systems, later that afternoon, might be under siege.

“I will schanze your or-der Ma-dom…what olse would you hove me du?”

Soak your head?

I’m not sure what possessed me, but I asked to see the manager. Andre, who looked like a flamenco dancer, oiled his way to my table with even less charm. He too looked exasperated at my reaction.

“Ma-dom, I az-zure you’, this neva hoppens. It tis our err-er’ how-evar.”

“You don’t say…how big of you.”

I finally let it go.

Remarkably there was no check. Makes you wonder what might have been in the coffee.

Who said a French tickler?



About Susannah Bianchi

I'm just a girl who likes to write slightly on slant. I've had a career in fashion, dabbled in film and to be honest, I don't like talking about myself. Now my posts are another matter so I will let them speak for themselves. My eBooks, A New York Diary, Model Behavior: Friends For Life and Notes From A Working Cat can be found on Amazon.com. Thanks.
This entry was posted in dessert, Health, humor, New York City, Women and men and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

18 Responses to Poison Poond Keek

  1. AF says:

    This is a brilliant post. And of course, glad you didn’t get sick.


    • I was very disappointed it was green…if you knew how much I wanted pound cake, preferably lemon. Now when I think about one of my few happy childhood memories…it will have mold around it. But I thank you very much for such a compliment.


  2. skinnyuz2b says:

    Susannah, this sort of thing happens every now and then, but the reaction, or lack thereof, was inexcusable. For what it’s worth, the angel food cake at our local supermarket is always moist and quite acceptable. It may not be homemade, but the entire cake costs less than your moldy slice.


    • I know…Entemanns (sp) makes one…so does Sara Lee. I was into the whole cafe, clad in a little dress, pumps pound cake moment. I’m not supposed to be spending money, so maybe the God of debt was speaking to me.


  3. micklively says:

    Are you sure it wasn’t pre-administered penicillin, to combat the clostridium botulinum within?
    You’re not likely to suffer much from eating mouldy cake but it’s piss-poor customer service, just the same. I congratulate you on bending their ears.


  4. Andre and his sidekick had no idea how close they were to having a baguette inserted into their nether regions. I LOOOOVVVVEEE lemon pound cake, but I do not indulge unless it’s amazing, so I feel your pain.


    • And they sold baguettes too…behind the counter like weapons of floured destruction…until I have good pound cake again, lemon laced or otherwise, I will have this awful taste in my mouth…and what’s up with the French. They’re so rude. Not since the Marquis de Lafayette came back to visit have they been polite or courteous. Monsieur Lafayette is rolling in his dust there Top.


  5. I would have been pretty pissed too. That’s way worse than a fly in the soup, since mold takes a while to grow, so how long must that cake have been there. At least they didn’t charge you for it.

    By the way, sorry I’ve been absent so much these days. I have been insanely busy with so many things that I’ve barely been on WordPress at all for the last week or more. I’ll be back though, at some point. Three weeks until moving.


  6. katecrimmins says:

    At least you prevailed and did not pay a check! I get yearnings for some things my mother baked. I try them but it’s just not the same. Zis ees gooda pooost! (I’m just not as good at accents as you are!)


    • I just read a quote by Anne Lamott who said, dialects should be avoided. Uh-Oh…I have so much regard for her that I almost took all that bad French out.

      Yeah, the highlight was not being charged but it ruined a perfectly good craving.


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