bake - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
"We would bake every afternoon after school, me and Mike and Jess. It seemed like such magic at first, taking that flour and butter and eggs and sugar and making something we could eat. Perhaps that's how we got on the road to where we are now, opening our bakery on the street corner of our old neighbourhood."
"Bake" used to be a four letter word to me. It was that thing which created all the dirty dishes and pans to scrub. In my teenage years it was how mother trapped me in the kitchen, gently prodding out the details of my life I never intended to share. Another ten years later and the same things, the exact same things, that used to be such a chore are the shining emeralds in my week. Arriving at mothers with a fresh pack of her favourite coffee and a bag of flour now feels like going to the movies used to - a total treat.
If I could bake I'd make you the best cinnamon buns, the kind that are soft with more cinnamon than makes sense, drizzled with icing that never quite sets. If I could bake I'd fashion you a tall birthday cake with enough frosting to send us more hyperactive than our puppy. If I could bake we'd embark on a culinary world tour from our own tiny kitchen, our mouths exploding with flavours vibrant enough to rock us out of the stupor our office lives bake into us. For sometimes I feel that way, like it is us in the heat of the oven, us being consumed by a life that demands more than we should give. I want us to be the bakers, the makers, the ones bursting with creativity. I want us to be the ones to dance in the sun and turn it into something wonderful. So, my love, one day, I promise you I will learn how to bake.
To bake was to find my peace. In the chaos of creation comes order; from raw ingredients comes something of beauty. No matter the troubles that swirled in the grey cloud or lingered in the winter-chilled grass, the kitchen held the keys to serenity. Where else can you create and know what you make will be so loved by the ones you adore most? I know there are those who see it as silly, less worthy than almost every other thing I could do. But I can't live my life pursing the gold of others, I've found mine between the flour and the salt...
Anja baked with more precision than a NASA engineer. Not once did I ever see her use cups or spoon, every single thing was weighed precisely to a fraction of a gram on her electronic scales. No matter what she made, at no point was there any mess to be seen. The kitchen counters were as spotless as her apron and neat combed hair. Always in the background was the community radio station with talk or music and the aroma of her freshly baked goods. She got so many jibes for her "German precision," but she was a more generous fräulein than any other woman in the neighbourhood. When people saw her coming, arms laden with her pastries, they knew their day was about to get a whole lot better...
Lila would bake in waves, for a week or more we'd eat like royalty, gaining pounds faster than the pigs in the yard. Then baking would fall out of favour and knitting or quilting would be all she was interested in. I wasn't that the sweaters and warm covers weren't amazing, everything Lila did was great. It's just that eating cereal for a fortnight gets old real fast. We just had to live with it though, love her for who she was. If she could have found a balance of everything, a little bit of this and a little bit of that, she's have done it already. Her mind was like the fields outside, kept healthy by a good rotation of crops.
Baking supplies littered the usually well kept kitchen and an empty pad lay in the middle of it, a pencil at the ready. Joe just didn't believe in recipes, to him baking ideas just rolled out of the ether demanding to be discovered - and he was the man for the job. Before the mayhem began he'd be in a meditative state, letting the spirit of the food flow into his mind. When his eyes opened the creating began. Everything was an experiment, some wonderful, some not so much, but I can honestly say we never ate the same thing twice.
There you are! I was wondering if you’d come; but I messed up, I’m really sorry. Can we do this Monday? It’s just that I can’t see you on weekends. My husband is home and he needs things to be just family, you know how it is. Plus my daughter is thirteen years old today, a teenager, eh? Now there’s something to celebrate. I forgot to put the yeast in the cinnamon buns though. Can you believe it? Me of all people - I make them as beautiful as any baker three times a week and when it really matters I forget something as basic as that. They came out like a pre-school cooking project, you know, the ones where the moms eat it and fake a smile for the sake of their little one. They should have been delicious, all that butter and sugar, but they look and taste awful. So I’m not in the best of moods to be honest. Oh, well, I can whip up a batch of macaroons and have them baked in twenty minutes so that’s what it’ll have to be instead.
She might prefer them anyway. I’m sorry, you’re not really here for all that are you? Where are my manners? You aren’t interested in knowing these boring mundane things. We’re off out to lunch at my daughter’s favourite Italian restaurant. I’m so looking forward to it, fresh pasta and creamy sauces. Love it. Oh, I’m side tracking again, I do that a lot. Stop me anytime, I’ve always been a bit of a gabber. You look serious, what’s up?
Found in Are you awake yet? - first draft, authored by .
kitchen in chaos, flour plumes, eggy drips, batter splatters, mixture on walls, on forks, on spoons, mixing bowls unwashed, cupcakes on cooling rack, crumbs underneath, crumbs in the gap between cooker and counter, chocolate chips spilt on the floor, half drunk cup of cold tea, breakfast dished still in the sink, time to make frosting.
Mixing cake batter on high speed, noisy, exhilarating, fluffy and light, licking the beaters, spoon into crinkled cases, set the timer, watch them rise in the oven, homely aroma, memories evoked, childhood birthday parities, cupcakes, fairy cakes, share with family and friends, a little bit of love in a paper case.
Bake with love, Delia, and you'll never go wrong. Put love in your pasta, in your curry, in your breads and pies. Every-time you bake you learn something and all those things go into making you better. Just promise me one thing my De-de, never stop baking, ever.