Georgia and I have been friends since birth—well, since my birth. She’s a year older. Our parents met eons ago working together on a film set. She introduced me to almost everything I love today: Baking, homemade lemonade, burrata, evening ocean swims, and Taylor Swift are just a few of the many joyous things this girl has brought into my life. I can still remember the first time we baked together. “Only press down brown sugar, never flour,” eight-year-old Georgia instructed seven-year-old me. Ever since that day, I’ve loved baking.
When Georgia and I were ten and eleven, we went to a cake fair. You may be wondering what a cake fair is, or why it exists in the first place. That’s okay—I did too. Basically, it’s a collection of small businesses that set up stands and sell different peculiar baking materials. Anyways, we went to this cake fair and purchased a bunch of fondant, a gloopy, awful, doughy substance that really fancy bakers put on cakes to decorate them. And since really fancy bakers used it, obviously we did too. Georgia and I bought edible glitter and purple and black fondant before going home to make the least edible cake ever (my parents had to pretend it didn’t taste like sawdust). This memory is one of many that make up a very happy time of my life, and baking is always intertwined with those memories.
When the pandemic hit, I spent nearly every day in the kitchen making something random. Oftentimes my creations would be disgusting, but every once in a while I’d come up with something that actually tasted mediocre! One of my genius ideas was to make a brownie waffle, which sounds heavenly in theory, but in practice it almost burnt my house down. I put brownie batter in a waffle maker and let it sit on the stove for 45 minutes—as long as I thought brownies were supposed to bake. Even though I made some silly mistakes, baking became my favorite way to pass time.
Entering high school was very stressful for me: Everything seemed to be changing faster than I could handle, and my life felt wildly out of my control. As a control freak, that was the worst feeling I could imagine. But I found channeling a scary feeling into a beautiful creation to be a very helpful outlet. I began to learn my loved ones’ favorite desserts, and I would bake them just to see the smile on their face. Bringing joy to others when I felt anxious became the most gratifying feeling.
Even now, as my schedule gets more full, I still try to carve out the time to bake every weekend. Whether it be lemon bars for my dad, carrot cake for my mom, or brookies for my friends, baking has always been both a way to decompress and connect with my loved ones.