Baking

Baking is an interesting rant because I always thought I hated baking. But maybe that was because I never really did any.

My mum is an excellent cook, so while I lived at home I was well fed and never felt the urge to try my hand in the kitchen. However, I mustn’t neglect to mention my brief foray into the kitchen. When I was younger I wanted to help with some cake or other. So, with my mum cooking up a storm in the background, I poured all the carefully measured ingredients into the mixer bowl and turned the Kenwood on. Full speed. It turns out that this is unwise, seeing how I ended up covering myself and the kitchen in clumps of slightly eggy white flour.

Another time I bravely volunteered to make a cake from a packet. I say volunteered, I mean my mother ordered me to “get off my *** and do something helpful for once.” It should have been so simple. You pour the stuff from the packet into a bowl, add an egg or two, mix it and stick it in the oven. And that’s what I did. Strangely, after an hour, the cake came out in almost the same liquidy state as it had gone in. It was swiftly chucked out by my more cuisine-astute (younger) sister, Zulu. She will eternally blame my baking skills; I blame the cake mix.

If I’m being honest, the most annoying thing about baking is the fact that I keep kosher. You see, we only have one dishwasher and it’s meaty. However, in anticipation of me making a cheesecake someday, I’ve kept my mixer and appliances parev. So, baking always ends up with me cleaning those pesky whisk attachments by hand, which, I’ll tell you, is really not fun.




look - I made a pie!