I hate baking. There. I said it. I hate baking.
Despite my loathing of cake mixes and biscuit dough, I love to cook. I read cookbooks for leisure. I shop for weird ingredients at ethnic food shops. I make a mean curry. So WHY can't I bake?
Tomorrow is the school gala. And, well, I'm sure you know what comes next.
A couple of days ago one of the school mums cornered me and said "So, Rebecca, you'll make a cake for Saturday won't you." Not, "Won't you?" No. This wasn't a question to be answered. It was a matter of fact. I kind of admired her at the time for being so direct.
Yesterday I did the weekly shopping and I remembered the gala as I approached the baking aisle. We don't have any wheat flour or eggs because of allergies and intolerances so if I have to bake something, I need to buy a whole pile of ingredients. It rubs me the wrong way, because after I'm done buying everything they end up selling my sad looking slice at a serious loss. So this time, I thought I'd be smart. I bought a 0.67c packet of cake mix and planned to make some muffins with chocolate chips.
This morning as I woke up I remembered that the oven repair guy was coming today. Apparently. This is the third time I've waited at home for him to arrive. The first day was on my birthday. Hmmpf. They don't give you an arrival time either, you just wait all day for the call that's meant to come 30 minutes before he gets here. Apparently. If the oven guy was going to appear at any moment I just knew that he'd come as soon as I put the muffins in the oven.
I bounded out of bed, threw some cereal at the kids, and started making the muffin mix in my pyjamas. I thought if I could get them done early, then I wouldn't have to worry about the oven being hot when the repair guy arrived. I was making lunches, tidying the kitchen, making muffins for the bake sale, getting stuff out to make some bread. It was a school morning Martha Stewart style.
An hour later my muffins were cooling on the bench and I was out the door to do the school run and then some errands afterwards. When I arrived home I thought I'd arrange my beautifully risen golden little muffins on a tray ready for icing. The first extraction from the muffin tin didn't go well. Never mind, I'll eat that one, I told myself merrily as I went to get another one out of the pan. The second one was also stuck. I'd forgotten muffin papers and even though I'd greased the tin well, none of them would budge. And the chocolate chips? They'd all descended to the bottom of each muffin, gluing them down tight.
So. I hate baking. And you know what? Life is too short to be spending time doing something you really hate. There are plenty of other mothers out there who love doing it, and do it well. So I've decided that they can take care of the bake sales from now on. I'll sew you something, bake you some bread, pick up your kids, and make you a meal. But please, oh please, don't ask me to bake.
Muffins were yummy, despite the lack of chocolate chips and the fact that it looked like someone had been gnawing on the underside of all of them.