Baking

I've taken up baking relatively recently. I really enjoy it.

I can't entirely remember why I started. I've been finding myself increasingly craft oriented for quite some time. Never was a hugely creative person growing up. Or I can't remember being. But as you get more interested in art and music, you want to start creating yourself. In the last couple of years I've definitely tried to embrace that. I've started playing music more, and have tried to dabble in various other creative activities. It's fun to make things, and to use your hands for something. Baking certainly works for me on that level.

I tend to find myself drawn to creative people too, including a number of people who are good bakers or cooks. Not people who do such things professionally, but people who enjoy it and have a talent for it. One friend in particular is a very good baker, and I enjoyed hearing her talk about baking. One occasion in particular, where she spoke about making brownies and improvising based on what she had in her kitchen, stands out as something that made me think; "I want to do that."

There was also a TV programme called The Great British Bake-Off to which I found myself somewhat addicted. I really loved how passionate these people were about their baking, and how much it mattered to them. I can't remember if I'd started baking before I saw the programme, but even if I had I'd say it must have encouraged me.

For the most part so far baking has been something I enjoyed doing, something relaxing and satisfying and something I could share with my friends. But, in the past few days I've found myself thinking about it differently.

I think this was triggered by an e-mail my mum sent me. I'd previously e-mailed her with a picture of some bread I had baked. A little visual proof of my activities. Her reply included this:

"Your bread looks delicious, nanny would have been proud of you she loved making her own bread. I remember when I was little and there was a bread shortage (I can't remember why, maybe a baker's strike) loads of people in the village asked her to make them some and the smell of fresh bread seemed to fill the house for days. My favourite was a fadge which was round and not too deep."

I'm sure my mother did not intend to induce any particularly profound reflection in me, but it did a little bit. I was really touched by the idea that my nan would have been proud. I've never been very good at family. I don't dislike any of them, but I certainly don't make as much effort as I should to stay in touch. I very rarely saw my nan over the last decade of her life, and even when I did I can't say I made much of an effort to engage with her. So, even if it comes too late, I'm happy to think that we share in a common love of baking. I think I'm going to try and find some of her recipes (I've already made an apple cake of her devising, which is delicious).

I'm also rather touched by my mum's brief story of her memories of baking. It occurs to me that baking is something to which a lot of memories must find themselves attached. Sense memory is a powerful thing, and smells in particular are very good for evoking them. And baking is, among other things, an olfactory delight. Hopefully baking memories are mostly good ones; brownies and discord don't go well together. It'd be nice to think that someone might one day come to associate the smell of baking bread with a happy memory involving me.

Not that I'm really sure what all this thinking is going to achieve. Here's just to hoping I keep making bread.