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Because of such misadventures, baking took on a magical quality in my mind. I finally learned how to bake in middle school, in a class that used to be referred to as Home Economics. There I learned secrets like how margarine was not the same thing as butter and “1 tablespoon” and “1 teaspoon” were specific measurements and NOT interchangeable with the big and little spoons from our kitchen drawer.
That year, I bought a set of measuring cups and spoons for our kitchen and started baking treats for my little brother and sister. One moment, the pantry would be empty of snacks. Then in the blink of an eye, snickerdoodles! What was that if not magic? I was hailed as a hero!
It’s those memories of sugar and cinnamon and the promise of magic that has my mind wandering toward baking whenever life becomes too hectic. It will be midnight with deadlines looming, but I’ll take a break to mix dough while watching episodes of the Great British Bake Off. I’ve been known to all of the sudden decide the EXACT thing I needed to do before a conference was to making a whole batch of writing-themed cookies to give away.
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