I love it when it rains at night. It set the mood right for baking and it doesn’t matter what there is to bake be it cookies, brownies, bread or tarts. There’s something soothing about mixing flour and sugar together, kneading the dough. I’ve wanted to bake something for a few weeks now. I bought the ingredients, simple items on the list that make the staple of every pantry and it is only tonight when the time is right.
There’s something soothing about baking, an art that has been practiced and perfected and dare I say, invented by, women for centuries. I wonder. I wonder if it’s encoded in our chromosomes, like a biological clock that overrides self conviction of being something else. There’s something soothing about the scent of cookies in the air. I think that something soothing is a sense of home.
My aunt, 大姑媽 (
Tua Kow), passed away suddenly one morning in July this year. She was a great woman, a kind person, how loving and giving she was. There was always a space for chance in her eyes to start over no matter how awkward a girl I was.
It is through seeing conviction in others that one often finds the faith to believe and to achieve a better self. She upheld a wholesome and true sense of justice in her that neglected even herself. She was loving and warm, a great many things that I could only aspire to be. There’s a something soothing about baking, the memory of her words, “
chip yi… chip yi kin khe” (knead it, keep kneading). There’s something soothing. There’s something soothing about baking and grieving.
I love it when it rains at night. It set the mood right for baking and it doesn’t matter what there is to bake be it cookies, brownies, bread or tarts. There’s something soothing about mixing flour and sugar together, kneading the dough. I’ve wanted to bake something for a few weeks now. I bought the ingredients, simple items on the list that make the staple of every pantry and it is only tonight when the time is right.
There’s something soothing about baking, an art that has been practiced and perfected and dare I say, invented by, women for centuries. I wonder. I wonder if it’s encoded in our chromosomes, like a biological clock that overrides self conviction of being something else. There’s something soothing about the scent of cookies in the air. I think that something soothing is a sense of home.
My aunt, 大姑媽 (Tua Kow), passed away suddenly one morning in July this year. She was a great woman, a kind person, how loving and giving she was. There was always a space for chance in her eyes to start over no matter how awkward a girl I was. It is through seeing conviction in others that one often finds the faith to believe and to achieve a better self. She upheld a wholesome and true sense of justice in her that neglected even herself. She was loving and warm, a great many things that I could only aspire to be. There’s a something soothing about baking, the memory of her words, “chip yi… chip yi kin khe” (knead it, keep kneading). There’s something soothing. There’s something soothing about baking and grieving.
