The cake

She could barely see over the countertops, yet she was still determined to bake a cake. Many times, she had watched her mother whip one together and she was certain she could retrace the steps and make one that would be as tasty. She got out a bowl, eggs, butter and some milk. Surely that was all that was needed, and since her mother never used a recipe, neither would she. After all she had baker's genes in her. She looked at what was in front of her and had doubts, something seemed to be missing. Oh yes of course, flour. She smiled at her forgetfulness and went to the pantry to get it out. Carrying the flour was an event in itself; in fact it was a non-event since she was unable to move the huge bag. She crinkled her forehead in thoughts for a moment and then grabbed a cup to carry flour back and forth to the bowl. Once she had reached what she thought was an acceptable level of flour, she broke eggs into it until the white substance was covered in gooey yellow and white;then she climbed on a chair, took a wooden spoon and started mixing it. When the eggs had all but disappeared, she put 2 sticks of butter and stabbed them into the flour, and finally poured milk in. Still with the wooden spoon, she tried to ensure the flour would absorb all the milk, she stirred and stirred and stirred some more until she had to accept the fact that maybe she had put maybe a tad too much milk in the mixture, but that could easily be remedied. She went back to the pantry and carried and extra cup of flour to the bowl. Much better. There were still some hard butter clusters but she figured the heat of the oven would melt them, so why bother making sure it was evenly distributed now, when it would be done automatically later. She smiled, turned the oven dial to 425, and slid in the cake mixture. She couldn't wait for her family to be impressed with her culinary skills.
She frowned a little when she removed the cake from the oven. It seemed a little flat. Oh well, it probably was because she hadn't made as much mixture as her mother usually did.

That little girl was me; my first baking experience when I was 8. As you can imagine the cake didn't turn out quite as well as I had err hoped. In fact, not even the birds or the chicken would eat it. It was quite a blow to my pride, and is still often brought up by my siblings, especially if I am baking or cooking something. Luckily, I didn't let that experience, or the one after, where my carrot cake turned out green (I still blame it on my sister, she was helping me with it.) stop me from trying again and again. I still am not a great baker or chef, but cooking for me has now become a great part of my life. I find nothing as fun or relaxing as cooking with a certain someone or cooking for people I care for. A lot of us have, at one point or another, fallen in the whole fast food, frozen meal or canned soup meals, so much easier and faster. But I have recently found, so much less satisfying, and all together less healthy.

From that little pigtailed girl to the woman I am today, the pleasure of making something and seeing it turn out great hasn't changed. I still jump up and down clapping my hands in delight (so I'm a little childish, but eh it makes me happy). My goal, make something so good that even the more mature, sedate person will be like me and do a little jig of happiness. Hmmm foood!