Why I Bake

First, phew.

Second, don't anyone come by my apartment for a while. Did the Annual Christmas Monster Baking Session this weekend, and the place is a disaster of boxes, crumbs and bubble wrap. The Boyo can vouch for this. He can also attest that I made 936 cookies (not including those that got broken, snitched, or sacrificed for quality assurance testing). I really wanted to hit the 1,000-cookie mark, but this was not the year. Still, I broke my own personal best record (700-something in a weekend), so I'm pleased.

I'm also a bit cookied-out. It is a lot of work, even with a boyfriend helping. This is the point in the project where I rethink its scale, wondering if I shouldn't cut back next year. It's also the time when I have to remember why I do this in the first place.

Because it's fun. And work. And art and science.

Because I like the feel of flour on my hands.

Because sugar, butter and vanilla are their own kind of Trinity.

Because I'm getting better at it.

Because when I bake, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. No one would think to eat just flour or just vanilla--but put them together with a few other things, and...wow.

Because when I'm baking, no one asks me when their report will be ready.

Because it's one more new thing to do with The Boyfriend.

Because it's easier than it looks.

Because it's something I started doing on my own. My parents weren't really into baking. Like photography or traveling solo to London, it started with the simple thought, "I bet I could do that..." 13 years later, I'm still at it.

Because when I pull the dough off the mixer paddle, it's lovely in its softness and simplicity.

Because my brother-in-law told me that my almond cookies were the best cookies he'd ever eaten.

Because my aunts bake, and my grandmothers and great-grandmothers did.

Because when I was young, receiving the big box of cookies, strudel and walnut roll from my great-grandmother was one of the markers of the Christmas season.

Because I make my cookies on a table where that same great-grandma once made apple strudel. She made it the only way she knew how--by taking a ball of dough and gently pulling it until it covered the entire table in a thin sheet. The table is blessed that way.

Because if you can make something people enjoy eating, you've given them a unique memory.

Because when you're in Osco on a Monday night buying 22 canisters to ship cookies in, and the lady in line behind you hears how many cookies you made, all she will be able to say is, "I ordered a box of those ones you get through the school..." You will have to smile sheepishly because you don't bake to hurt anyone or make them feel small, but still...bragging rights.

Because next Christmas, they'll be perfect.

Comments

[Reverend H.L. Spork]

She's not kidding. There were freezer bags full of cookies *everywhere*. And if she thinks I'm going to tote all these boxes to the post office, she's going to have to deal with the reality that I FORGOT HONEY I'LL DO IT TOMORROW PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE FORGIVE ME, etc.