Want to Access Love? These Three Things Will Be Your Key
Ok, if you know anything about me then the clickbait title might come as a surprise, so let me uncover the mystery trio right away. It’s flour, eggs, and sugar (or their equivalents).
“The way to one’s heart is through their stomach” is one of life’s most important rules. If for some reason food isn’t one of your love languages, neither on the giving nor receiving end, then I am so, so incredibly sorry for you. Since I understand the struggle for having a healthy relationship with this inescapable aspect of sustaining your existence, I cannot express how much I’ve grown to appreciate its truly magical properties. Believe me, you’re missing out. I wish for you to get there someday.
The case is even stronger when it comes to baked goods specifically. The feeling of providing a treat for someone is hard to beat – it unites, fulfils, and makes the mood just a little more special. First year of college, it also became my way to make friends.
When I moved here, I was one of those lucky ones whose friends from home also came along. But they went to different schools and I happened to live quite a distance away – so soon enough, the comfort of falling back on my safety net of familiar folk began to dissipate. Everyone got busy, expanding horizons and social circles just as they should, and had to deal with another lockdown on top of that. There wasn’t that much to do, nor that many places to be. Enter the glory of baking from scratch.
Whenever the occasion to see people came along, especially those I wasn’t particularly well-acquainted with, I tried to make sure to bring them something sweet. And subsequently win them over. These are the heights of my manipulative practices. I am not sorry.
On top of that, it was both a refuge and a challenge. One, all the worry and uncertainty got put on a backburner for a couple hours, when all that mattered was ingredients and the process, and a clearly specified set of instructions. It was during that time that I learned how blissful it can be to just follow orders, and how dangerously enticing it gets. To think for yourself is an active choice to be made. Luckily, with recipes it’s not that political, so you can mostly follow blindly without questioning. Unfortunately, a lot of the time it’s not the case and even then you have to engage in some critical thinking (it’s the fucking oven types and settings and temperatures, the conversion of units, the baking time, and even the altitude which will be your reminders that conformism is the enemy. Wake up, sheeple). Two, I made a resolution that whenever I make something, it has to be completely new to me, never attempted before, and ideally increasing in complexity each time. Now that was exciting. It was also an exposure to failure, and every now and then I had to come to terms with wasting time and resources (money) on the necessities (fancy ingredients), so I taught myself to handle self-frustration and disappointment. But when I got it right – boy, did I get it RIGHT. Upside down, infused, syrupy cakes. Veganizing recipes. Self-invented ganaches. How do you make a creamy, decadent, and fruity topping very quickly and on a budget? Good quality jam folded into mascarpone cheese. Problem solved. Girl is proud. Go girl.
My newly acquired friends deemed me the cake person. I quickly started calling people “babycakes” as my preferred affectionate term (actually, this wasn’t that new, it was a leftover Paul Banks-phase influence but it only intensified). I was riding the baking wave, until it crashed on the shore.
“Crashed” may be overly dramatic. I just got busier! Lockdown was done and I also no longer felt the need to win anyone over. But my previous endeavours created an expectation for me to keep going. In the past year, I have only baked 3 times. One was a flop (protein-packed 2-ingredient bread). Ok, it got ratings spanning from 3 to 9/10, but to my mind – if it’s polarising, it’s a flop. One was a glorious, collaborative effort whose end result was enjoyed as we celebrated a dear friend (traditional apple pie with a meringue and streusel topping, served warm with ice cream). But the last one felt the most important.
It was only something to bring with me when visiting someone I haven’t seen for a good couple months. I knew I was short on time and couldn’t deliver. The shame of regression was creeping up on me. But the need to make something sweet and express the love was stronger. It was either simple and tested (walnut banana bread), or nothing (chagrin of showing up empty-handed). I chose the first.
Here’s the takeaway: making things is nice, especially if you can share them with others and bring a little sweetness to their day. Progress is nice, but stagnation is not a failure if it means you’re still showing up. But finally, having a true and trusted banana bread recipe that’s easily modified and takes less than an hour to make is just the nicest.
