Sticky and Warm
The Foxes had dined that evening on crushed root vegetables, with plenty of butter and two seared duck breasts. They were replete. Sated. Recumbent in their fullness, even. But something was missing.
Mr Fox had crushed meringue nests hopefully with blueberries and sour cherries from deep in the Foxes’ freezer supplies. Something sweet would be bound to bridge the gap to their late night foraging, he thought to himself as he hummed his way out of the store-room and back to the warm farmhouse kitchen.
“Mrs Fox!” he exclaimed. “Whatever are you doing? Is that…? Are they… ? Are you…?!”
Mrs Fox turned, her paw clasping a chocolate covered spoon, whilst her nose also sported a large dollop of the sticky mixture. “I just thought that I should make sure that I can still bake…” she started, by way of explanation, fixing her foxy grin brightly across her long foxy snout. Rice flour and cocoa, sugar and egg shells trailed across the wooden worksurface, betraying her haste to secretly prepare her favourite snack whilst Mr Fox was busy elsewhere attending his inventing tasks.
“Still bake? Are you mad? Fox?” Mr Fox put down the bowls of frozen berries and meringue and rubbed at his furry eyebrows in disbelief. “Mrs Fox, Sit down, this won’t take a minute. Let me explain to you…”
Mrs Fox allowed herself to be led to her chair at the end of the long pine table. She sat patiently down and waited for Mr Fox to explain things to her. She knew the routine. He would explain, She would listen. He would wait for her reply, and then realise that she had known all along. It was a ritual between them, she thought, fondly.
“Mrs Fox,” started Mr Fox, looking lovingly down at his vixen. A twinkle had wrinkled her eyes as she looked back up at him. “Mrs Fox! Are you laughing at me, again?”
“Oh no, Mr Fox, of course not, do go on…I am keen to know why you think I should not practice baking before our summer guests arrive?” She raised an eyebrow and reached over to pat Mr Fox’s round belly. “Is this the problem, Foxy?”
“Ahem! Absolutely not, erm, no! Bake away, Mrs Fox, bake away!” Mr Fox sucked in his long foxy belly, stood tall, and strode off and out of the kitchen, muttering about quality control and the importance of ensuring consistency.
Mrs Fox reached into the oven and drew out the pan oozing stickiness and chocolate at its edges. Mrs Fox’s Fantastic Chocolate Brownies, she thought to herself, ready for testing in ten…. There would be plenty of time for her and her faithful hound to taste them before that silly old Fox came back to complain about his waistcoat buttons again!