I love baking. Not in some 1950s retro throwback, “I’ll just whip up a soufflé whilst my husband has an affair with his secretary, but it doesn’t matter when you’ve got such amazing pastel coloured bakeware” kind of way. But in a passionate, once I start I can’t stop kind of way.
Cupcakes, cookies, macaroons – the mere sight of a laden cake stand is enough to send me into raptures.
I’m not sure quite how it happened. My Nan always…how can I put this…tried hard, it is just a shame her outcomes never matched up to the effort. Whilst my Mother is the only person I know who can make a chocolate pudding less appetising than a bowl of arsenic soup with razor blade croutons.
I’ll never forget the day my sister came home with a copy of Nigella Lawson’s ‘How to be a Domestic Goddess’. It was baking, but not as I knew it. It wasn’t baking of the ‘jam and Jerusalem’ kind. It was chic and (apologies for slipping into Nigel Slater food pornese here) sexy. The front cover was the epitome of understated glamour, matte black with gold embossed lettering and single ivory cupcake taking pride of place. Inside it got even better: sponge cakes with rich chocolate icing drizzling down the sides, delicate pastel coloured biscuits dusted with icing sugar, crème brulees glistening with gold leaf…I was in love.
I soon learnt that a love affair with baking was by no means cheap. I needed exotic extracts and unusual tins. In this new and glamorous kitchen a tub of Stork margarine didn’t pass muster – you needed pale unsalted butter. My little bottle of supercook vanilla essence was looked upon with scorn, it had to be pure Madagascan vanilla extract all the way.
At this point you may well be thinking it was all a shameless waste of money, but don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. Unsalted butter gives cakes and biscuits a beautiful melting richness and the vanilla – it needs to be smelled to be believed, it has an almost alcoholic tang and a deep brown tinge, not to mention to deep, warm vanilla flavour.
Baking even became an integral part of my travels – macaroons from Ladurée in Paris, c’est parfait! Churros from a street vendor in Barcelona, olé! Chocolate and peanut butter cream pie in a New York diner, awesome!
Years have passed and my passion for baking is still going strong. In the back of my mind I harbour a desire to open my own French style patisserie, where I serve my customers with the easy Gallic charm of Amélie Poulain (actually, in my daydream I am Amélie Poulain and have an amazing collection of vintage tea dresses). A frivolous daydream it may be but it really helps get me through my darkest days in the office.
When I began my blog I set myself a challenge to find a hobby. I thought that hobbies had to be unusual, adrenalin filled or extreme, or at least involve leaving the house. In fact, a hobby can be something as simple as piling some flour, sugar, butter and eggs into a bowl and mixing them together (I’d also recommend putting them in the oven as a bowl full of raw cake mix is a challenge for even the sweetest tooth – I know because I’ve tried).
Baking can be extreme, as anyone who has ever attempted to make puff pastry from scratch will confirm. To get good at it takes time, effort and practice.
A lot of hobbies are solitary pursuits where only one person derives satisfaction. Baking is all about sharing the love. You get to watch someone’s eyes light up as you offer them a small treat then see the look of pleasure as they take the first bite.
It feels good to make things for other people.
Its all wicked lies! Never had a recipe for arsenic soup but am thinking of looking for one!
Gah! How did you work out how to leave comments? The blogosphere be warned!
As a reasonable and fair person, I shall honour your right to reply.
Anyway, I’m not too worried about the arsenic soup as you’d probably forget to add the arsenic. Love you!