November 4, 1996

There are some things in life we insist on; some traditions that, although we are living sparsely and on the road, we can not be denied. A birthday cake is one of them. John, with his somewhat eccentric imagination, his uncanny ability to make something out of nothing, his unparalleled determination - and an egg - will attempt a feat as yet unknown to man. He will build a birthday cake in a frying pan. To insure the authenticity of this trick he will now remove his sleeves. He is showing me the front of his hands, now the backs. I assume you ladies and gentlemen there is no birthday cake being palmed here.

He has demanded total silence while he lays the ingredients on the counter - a bag of powdered milk, a pouch of chocolate pudding mix, salt, flour, baking soda and the egg. The tension is mounting in the van tonight as John (aka Ali Baba) performs his magic.

Magic requires patience and while the master chef mixes his potions, I will turn your attention to another magic trick, one that John and I have yet to figure out. It has to do with being found and involves any stretch of land in Morocco. We have observed this trick three times now and truly believe that there has been no slight of hand. Imagine, if you will, an area of land void of life. There are no animals, no people. The land spreads in all directions, flat, silent. There are no houses, no tents, no rock formations to distract the eye from endless sight. We pull our van off the single land road. Tires hit dirt, sand and rocks spray behind us. We begin to prepare lunch. Three minutes maybe four pass; then it happens. A pair of feet approach the van. A man, a boy, someone materializes from nowhere. He stands there, looking, watching us.

Mirages in the desert I can understand. A lack of water, of food can distract the mind, allow it to wander, to hallucinate. But our water bottles has been drained and re-filled. Besides, do mirages speak French? No, we can't possibly be suffering hallucinations. Black box or no black box, this trick is for real.

We interrupt this report to whisk you, at speeds matched only by a mouse click, to the kitchen of Ali Baba. The batter has been mixed, the birthday cake completed. Will the stage hand please extinguish the lights? Pssshhht, a match is lit and pushed into a plate of brown spongy disks. "Make a wish!" Ta da - birthday...pancakes? Yes, ladies and gentlemen I have here in my bowl a disfigured clump of brown. The shape may be imperfect but the taste can not be mistaken; it is heavenly. Remember, you saw it here first - birthday cake in a frying pan. Ali Baba will now take a bow.