Victorian Sponge: The Queen, the Cake, and the Pimento Panic

The Queen, the Cake, and the Pimento Panic

Lizzie Henley had lived in Alabama for exactly three months, two weeks, and five afternoons, and she still wasn’t sure whether “fixin’ to” meant about to do something or threatening to.

Back home in Surrey, “picnics” meant gingham blankets, gentle banter, and a nice Victoria Sponge if the weather held. In her new Southern neighborhood, picnics were full-blown catered affairs with pimento cheese in crystal bowls, coconut cakes that could double as wedding centerpieces, and monogrammed coolers big enough to house a medium-sized pony.

Today’s event was the “Preppy Picnic,” held under the weeping willow by the river, hosted by the Ladies Auxiliary and coordinated by Mrs. Trudy Pickens — a woman with a bouffant so high Lizzie was fairly certain it had its own barometric pressure.

Eager to contribute, Lizzie baked her best Victoria Sponge: two golden rounds, light as a sigh, sandwiched with raspberry jam and whipped cream, dusted with icing sugar and dignity. She nestled it in her wicker basket and braved the heat, mosquitoes, and suspicious glances from a man who looked personally offended by her straw hat.

At the picnic, long folding tables bowed under the weight of Southern classics. There were deviled eggs in formation, congealed salads in every shade of pastel, and no fewer than four coconut cakes, each taller than a toddler and glistening like snow on a humid afternoon.

Lizzie cleared her throat and placed her cake delicately between a stack of cheese straws and something labeled “Peach Pretzel Surprise.”

“Whatcha got there, hon?” asked Mrs. Pickens, eyeing the cake like it had a British passport and questionable intentions.

“It’s a Victoria Sponge,” Lizzie replied with her most cheerful tone. “Very traditional. Bit of a British classic.”

Mrs. Pickens blinked. “Well isn’t that… refined.” She said it like one might say “off-brand” or “too many cats.”

The women mingled. The pimento cheese was worshipped. Someone sang a hymn while slicing lemon squares. Lizzie stood by her cake like a debutante at her first ball, smiling politely while everyone walked straight past her sponge in favor of things topped with crushed pecans or suspicious gelatin.

Then a small hand reached up.

“I want that one,” said Betsy Lou, age five, dressed in head-to-toe prep and a tutu.

She took one bite, froze dramatically, and shouted, “IT’S LIKE EATING A CLOUD FILLED WITH LOVE!”

You could’ve heard a deviled egg drop.

Soon, forks flew. Slices vanished. The sponge was declared “delicate, yet sassy” by one lady who had never before said anything kind about European desserts.

Mrs. Pickens took a dainty bite, nodded once, and said, “Well. That’ll do.”

Which, in Southern, was a standing ovation.

And from that day on, Lizzie was no longer the British girl who brought that pale cake. She was Miss Victoria Sponge. (Betsy Lou called her Queen Victoria!)

And honey, you better believe she was invited to every picnic after that.

ORDER ‘Victorian Sponge’ fine art print here.

COPYRIGHT 2007-2025 Patti Friday b.1959.