Life at 350°

Chocolate espresso cookies. Rustic apple tart with salted caramel sauce. Gooey, chewy brownies. Cream cheese-stuffed pumpkin muffins with pecan streusel. Coconut chocolate chunk blondies. Most of us like to think we're good at something, great even. I'm good at baking. I even have two professional series ovens in my house. One is a stainless steel convection number. And thanks to a recent visit to my childhood bedroom, the other is avocado green, powered by a lightbulb, and 35 years old. But damn it, if I wanted to make teeny tiny cakes right now, my Easy-Bake Oven by Kenner is good to go. Seriously. It is. I tested it.

My love of baking can be traced to my grandmother. She was like Yoda with a rolling pin; she'd show me the way, but I had to find the baking force within myself. As a "that's not what the book says to do" kind of kid, I couldn't in good conscience just go all freestyle in the kitchen. Could I? Nanny showed me I could. She'd say "oh you know - just mix it until it's ready" or "add a little more". But how much more? " Some," said Nanny. She taught me to follow the rules, but to have the confidence to break them. I know experts say baking is scientific and all about precision, but I don't remember her ever owning actual measuring spoons - a tablespoon was the big spoon, a teaspoon, the little one. And even with her imprecise, often arbitrary, way with a recipe, everything came out wonderfully.  Nanny was an alchemist in an apron, but science be damned, she did it by instinct. And my kitchen is the better for it.

I've been on a bit of a baking bender these last few months. Not sure why. It's either boredom, some sort of mixing bowl-centric OCD or, according to the internet,  a batter-based substitute for the kids I haven't had. Care for a brownie, Mr. Freud? It figures I'd pick a hobby that can expand my ass. I bet those guys who make sci-fi monster models in their basements don't have to worry about that; they worry about whether they have enough snacks for the "Battlestar Galactica" marathon and whether they're ever going to get laid. Hey - wait a second...

As confident as I now am when it comes to going off (cook) book, it hasn't all been smooth sailing. There were the blueberry muffins that resembled nothing so much as little purple hockey pucks. Who swaps the salt and sugar canisters around after months of them being in the same order? Who?! There was the sour cream banana bread that just did not play by the rules. I'd made this recipe dozens of times. But this particular loaf just would NOT cook in the middle. For someone with a serious overripe banana issue, the thought that I'd touched them for nothing was inconceivable.  I kept baking and testing, testing and baking. And still, still this bitch stayed nearly raw in the middle. It would have taken an act of nuclear fission to finish it off.  Then, just last weekend, there were the tiny, seemingly perfect, mini apple pies. It was my first time making pie dough from scratch, and they showed such promise - the top crust was a beautiful, glistening, flaky gold, the filling was a cinnamon/butter/apple symphony. But then, then there was the traitorous bottom crust. Still doughy, too thick,  not completely cooked through. Disappointment, with an egg wash. I knew, instantly, the reason, and I learned a valuable lesson: don't drink wine with the neighbours and then come home and expect to roll out perfect 1/8 inch pie dough. But you know what?  Eating just the tops of three tiny apple pies is still a pretty successful way to spend a Sunday evening.

There are so many things I want to try. On my short list: chocolate blackout cake, cinnamon pull-apart bread, a coconut chiffon concoction so tall I'll need a step-stool to frost it, a lemon meringue pie for my Dad.  I'd also like to try my hand, just once, at baking without the kitchen looking like a sugar-coated crime scene afterwards. On apple pie weekend, you'd swear the Pillsbury Doughboy had met his end is some sort of ritualistic killing. There did seem to be a LOT of Saran Wrap, so maybe Dexter did it.  I don't know what happens; I get all my ingredients out ahead of time, I  have those little prep bowls, I have a cookbook stand. And then, before you can say "beat until smooth", it happens. Cream cheese on my glasses, a nutmeg-scented cat, melted chocolate on the ceiling. Every damn time, it's like Flour-pocalypse Now...

Despite my less than Martha-esque methods, I've still learned many things over the years. Sometimes, I don't even realize I know how to do something until I'm doing it, and then it's as though Nanny's hands are there, on the rolling pin or the wooden spoon along with mine, reminding me of a lesson long ago. And while I'll always tweak and change and try new things, when it comes to baking, some things will always be true: it's vital to turn off the mixer before you lift it out of the bowl, even the worst day can be made a little bit better with the smell of vanilla and brown sugar, and my colleagues will eat just about any baked good I can come up with. Oh, and not only does the Easy Bake Oven make excellent teeny tiny cakes, it's a stylish avocado green addition to any kitchen.