Baking
My brother-in-law and my sister are both very good cooks. Eating at their house is always a treat. While in the midst of cooking recently I phoned them up--as I often do--to ask a question about something I was making. My sister answered and for some reason I didn't pose the question to her, but asked to speak with Tim. He wasn't at home. I wondered aloud why I always seem to ask him my cooking questions and not her.
"Because," she piped up, "I don't like to cook."
"What?" I was shocked.
"I don't like to cook. I prefer gardening to cooking. But of course I do like to bake."
It did make sense. She's a great baker and had I been baking something I'm sure I would have asked her and not Tim. I have thought about this exchange with my sister often. I love to cook everything, anything, in any and every way; but there is something particularly satisfying about baking. The warmth. The pleasant aromas. The feeling of flour & butter between one's fingers. The blending of sugar and spice.
There is something especially pleasing about baking for and with children as well. My mother likes to bake and was always happy to let us help her. Growing up, the cookie jar was pretty nearly always filled. The week before Christmas at our house was a veritable cookie factory where we regularly made 7 or 8 different varieties every year. Mom also made loads of pies and cakes and muffins and cupcakes. It is only in recent years that I truly understand what a sweet and abiding gift it is to have a mother who bakes. I hope I can pass it on.
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