Today, I’m a mean, (not so) lean, baking machine. On the menu? Brownies. Full fat, full butter, full everything Brownies. The chocolately, vanilla smell emanating from the kitchen as I type is indescribable. Oh, except, I did just describe it. What I mean is … smellavision is the only thing that will do these bad boys justice.
This time, I made sure I remembered to add the sugar (remember the raspberry cheesecake debacle?), and I ticked everything off the ingredients list as I went so we weren’t faced with the disappointment of a sah-weet looking pud, that, quite frankly, tasted rank.
As a kid, Sundays were all about the baking. We always had a traditional tea on a Sunday. Invariably egg sandwiches or spaghetti hoops on toast – followed up with one of Mum’s delicious cakes. Coffee, pink icing topped apple squares, fruit loaf. Delicious!
Since Mum died, I’ve shied away from keeping old traditions. Some things, like Christmas, just aren’t the same as they used to be, and it’s just a case of inventing new traditions. However, there are some traditions I’d like to carry on, and Sunday baking is one of them. I don’t have daughters – and my sons are much more interested in eating the finished product than making it – but I think I now understand what Mum got from creating a tradition like this – giving pleasure, routine and a whole heap of ‘me-time!’
I’ve always cooked but lately, I’ve been finding pleasure in cooking. I’m trying out new recipes and finding that I’m actually a much better cook than I ever thought I was. Sundays, though, are for lazy baking, and as much as I’m not averse to doing a Better Crocker (figuratively speaking,) and cheating, today I chose the long route. After all, forty minutes is a whole lot longer than twenty – but some things are worth the wait.
However, there’s always a cost. And tonight – I run. A lot.