I appreciate the art of bakery. I like the science behind it. I like knowing exactly what I have to do next in order to get the perfect rise from my cakes, or elicit the sweetest taste from my frosting.
I see the surprise cross people’s faces when I tell them this is what I left university for, and I know they doubt me. I doubt myself. Baking is the only thing I see myself doing when I imagine my future, and that’s terrifying because there is a chance I will never be good enough to do it. I don’t have a back up plan, but right now I’m kind of getting tired of proving all the people who are doubting me right.
Sometimes I think baking is the only outlet I have that stops me from going completely insane. I am not very good at talking about things in general, and putting everything I have into a cake is sometimes the only way I can show someone how much I care. Baking is therapy. I have so much in my head sometimes if feels as if it will burst, but then I make something, and everything has poured out into what I have created. So if I give you a cake and it tastes like self-doubt and the frosting leaves the after taste of anxiety in your mouth, I can only apologise.