The Baker’s Bested

The fire alarm screamed to life as my kitchen filled up with smoke. “Not again” I ran towards the kitchen, the room had filled with smoke. I ran to the oven and opened the door quickly, smoke eveloped from the small space. I coughed as I grabbed the pan of what looked like screaming monsters, they were supposed to be cookies. I grabbed a towel quickly to hush the fire alarm that was still screaming. I looked at my poor cookies, and could feel the scrutiny of hate coming from them. This is a skill that I just did not have. I came from a family of bakers and I couldn’t bake a small batch of cookies. I could feel my family’s gaze on me from miles away. I had always been the brunt of the joke when it came to baking. I could cook for days but I could not bake to save my life. As I sat at my counter with the smell of burnt cookies feeling my nose, I knew I needed to learn how to bake. My family would be coming to visit for dinner and they would bring their own desserts. 

I grabbed my laptop and began looking up baking classes, I was determined to learn by this weekend. I found the perfect one and decided to register for the class. The lady on the phone was polite and gave me directions to the location and the time. I was ready that evening for my class and praying this class would help me. The class was full with eager bakers, some were young and some were older. I found an empty seat next to an older woman with the bluest eyes and grandmotherly smile. “Good evening child, I am Greta.” Her ascent was thick but I could not place it. I sat and waited for the instructor to come in to the room. Greta stood up and went in front of the class and introduced herself as the instructor and gourmet baker from Germany. She looked at me and winked, was she aware of how terrible of a baker I was and was letting me know she saw me. I lowered my head to the recipe on the table and it was a simple sugar cookie recipe and it seemed like maybe I could not mess it up. 

All the ingredients were laid out in front of me and I read the instructions carefully and followed the step by step. Greta would go around the room and instruct each student on something to help them with the recipe. When she came to me, she whispered “don’t think to hard and just have fun.” I looked at her and she patted my hand and walked on to the next table. The first batch turned out overcooked and I tried again. This time I tried to relax, this was not brain surgery maybe I was overthinking baking. I made the next batch but this time I didn’t think about anything but the taste of fresh baked cookies. I watched them rise in the oven and watched my time carefully. Almost everyone had left already except a couple talking with Greta about her favorite holiday dessert. I was waiting for my cookies to finish but as I heard the ding of the oven, Greta came to stand by me and took in a breathe. “They smell good, don’t they”, she smiled at me as she said this. I was afraid of her disappointment when she picked up a cookie and took a bite. The joy on her face was evident, but as she took another bite, a tear ran down her face. Great, now I was making a gourmet chef cry because of my horrible baking. When she was finished she wiped her mouth and took my hand in hers. This was it she was going to tell me to not come back and there was no hope. 

She looked at me smiling from ear to ear, she spoke softly then and told me that I reminded her of her younger self. “Child when I was just a young woman my mother and grandmother tried to teach me to bake, bless them both. I could not bake and they both knew it but they tried to teach me. One day I decided to go into my kitchen and just try for myself and not anyone else. In no time I was baking and I became one of the best bakers in my small town. I was so proud of myself and when I saw you enter this classroom, I saw that same determination in your eyes.” I looked at her and the truth was in her eyes and her voice. This was my new beginning and I know it sounds weird but baking was in my blood and I just needed a push. Baking was a skill that should have been easy for me but for me it was a skill I had to work hard to master and overcome. I left the class with a new sense of self and I was determined more than ever to prove to myself that I was a baker.

I got home with my cookies in hand and as I sat down on my couch I decided to take a bite and to my surprise they were good. The next day I woke up with this vigor and eager feeling to bake. I picked up my recipe book and turned through the pages and found the recipe I was looking for, with Greta in mind I choose a German chocolate cake, this was something I loved as a child and wanted to bake it and take it to Greta as a thank you. All morning I worked hard to prepare the cake and again I did not stress and I enjoyed my time. This was a skill I would have to learn and work on it. I carefully watched my time and temperature, 4 hours later and a couple of mistakes later my cake was done and looked pretty good. I packed it up and dialed the number that Greta had given to me before I left her class. 

We planned to meet at a coffee shop, I did not tell her I was bringing her cake. I saw her sitting in a chair and gazing out the window. I gently tapped her shoulder and she smiled at me as I sat across from her. I presented her with the cake and ordered a coffee. We talked for hours and ate the cake together. 

Everything went well at my dinner with my family and I ended up baking another German Chocolate Cake and it was a hit. I still meet Greta every week at the same coffee shop and I bring a new dessert each week. Thanks to her I am opening my own bakery and I am naming it “The Baker’s Bested.” Greta will be my first customer and I hope our friendship continues to grow. To think this started because of a skill I didn’t think I had but it was just hidden away. I tell others that just because you are not good at a skill does not mean that you cannot master that skill with just a little hard work and determination.