the short and sweet stumble

All of this caught me off guard. I didn't go to culinary school. While I was a creative teenager, the uncertainty and exhaustion that came with taking up art, design technology and drama in high school made me reluctant to go any further. I decided it would be far more pleasant and secure to go down the intellectual route, so I chose to pursue my interest in History.

I got into one of the best schools in the UK and finished both my Bachelor's and Master's degree in the London School of Economics. Don't get me wrong, I loved and still love History. I can talk, read or write about cause and effect for hours. But that's not all I got from London.

I was exposed to so many bakeries, so many cafes, so many cultures. There was such a diverse amount of food in front of me. From nut-filled, rose-scented Turkish baklavas, to Ottolenghi's gargantuan raspberry meringues and Borough Market's slabs of dark chocolate, wholesome, gooey brownies, I developed a passion for food. My experience with food in London triggered a colourful and creative passion already simmering within me.

I'm in the process of fully settling into it. You see, I grew up with the belief that a white collar job would grant me more security. My mind and heart still engage in debates about the "correct" path to pursue. It's happened many times. I'll be preparing a cake, blending the butter and sugar, watching the two merge until creamy and fluffy. If I have no patience with adding the icing sugar in segments and decide to toss a whole pound of it at once into the mixture (patience is not a virtue of mine), a powdered white cloud immediately puffs up and encircles me.

It feels sweet, for a while. Then, an agitation creeps up. How typical. The mind finds it hard to keep quiet and wants to play a little game with me. I'll indulge it, I say to myself. Just this once. "You studied International Relations and History at LSE. Do you really want to go down this slippery slope with the buttercream, why don't you go apply for more jobs, something that will give you a bit more security. Cakes aren't prestigious". The noise of the electrical beater now sounds like a nuisance more than anything. I lose control and the whisks sharply hit the edge of the mixing bowl, sending to the microwave door a small but messy dollop of buttercream. It was a trap. Yet again. The trappings of an old, narrow minded belief system. "Enough", my heart commands. "It's getting old now". I wipe the buttercream off the microwave door gently, taking a decision to let the thought go, and continue mixing.

My mind's ability to win this debate with me is waning over time. The more and more I say enough, the less it has anything to say at all. It seems to shrug its shoulders with a sigh and sit back in silence as I regain control and retreat back into doing what I love. And usually what I love is engaging creatively with lots of things; like baking for someone dear to me. Even if i'm baking for someone I don't know, I have to be in a space of positive, wholehearted, happy energy. Otherwise my cakes just fall apart. Literally.

That's why baking is one of the few things that are sacred. I can't afford to be unhappy doing it and since I enjoy it, smiling isn't exactly hard work. Consequently, the more of my life it takes up, the less I have to pout about. Pretty convenient, huh? That's what happens when you do what you love.