cling wrap is evil. Period.
I went out and bought a bunch of pastry making stuff today. While I’ve always enjoyed baking, not once in the four years that I’ve been in this apartment have I used the oven for anything more exciting than heating up left-over pizza. Over the holidays, while I was at my parent’s house, I baked nearly every night. I had completly forgotten how soothing I find the act of baking. I like that it’s slow, I like that it’s delicate, I like the physical nature of kneading dough, I like that it’s the finished product is as unique as the person who made it. So because I’ve been such a mess in the head lately, I’ve decided to try to get back into the kitchen. While at first I was a bit disheartened to realize that I didn’t have a single piece of appropriate baking equipment, today’s shopping trip turned out to be a lot of fun. It reminded me a bit of when I was little and my parents would take my brother and I to buy completely new wardrobes before the first day of school. In addition to all the kitchen equipment I also bought a cookbook. My mother has a collection of old southern cookbooks from the 20s that originally belonged to my great-grandmother Grace, but because she stole them from her mother she keeps a sharp eye on them to make sure I don’t do the same. I’m still looking for a way to pinch one, I love that the recipes are simple and old-fashioned and I love that the books themselves look well used and loved (one of them even has my great-grandmother’s notes scribbled in the margins).
So sometime in the next 24 hours I’ll properly christen my oven. I am a little concerned that the experience won’t take on the same qualities in my tiny kitchette as it did in my mother’s designer kitchen, but I’m determined to plow ahead. Wish me luck!
