the secret baker

First there was the gathering of what was needed, a round up, a collection, and there is joy even in this part, which seems like it is nothing, but yes, even here there is joy. They fill the table and it pleases me. I buttered the muffin tins with a pat of butter between my fingers. They still smell of butter, and I wish I could describe in words what that smell is, but it is a very pleasant smell and it makes me happy when I raise my hand up to sweep my hair behind my ear and that smell wafts out even though I've washed my hands a dozen times since.

I find the paper sack of the flour feels dusty from prior use. The sugar is organic and hasn't been opened before and has a pinkish hue. The salt is sea salt and its crystals are like diamonds. The baking powder is the whitest white ever, like ground chalk. Somehow, in this new light, when poured on top of each other, the variations are all I can see.

The wet ingredients are next, and they too take on special significance, as if they cannot be outdone by the dry goods. The cage free brown shelled egg cracks obediently against the glass bowl, but the shell is strong and does not splinter into a million pieces the way the shells I've used before had. The soy milk stands in for milk and fortifies the mix with vitamins...adding a slightly healthy tinge to the muffins. The melted butter (not just any butter, but Kerry's Irish Gold butter which is like the purest tastiest most delicious butter I've ever tried) slips into the milk and egg and it all mixes into a soft yellow glow, which foams slightly.

I chop walnuts and dried cherries and toss them into the dry mix before pouring the wet ingredients. Mixing the batter is the hardest part. You cannot mix too much or the muffins will come out too dense. You have to mix just enough so that the flour gets moist. I spoon the mix into my muffin tins and usher them into the oven. I watch them too much, as if it is the first time I have made muffins, because really it's been so long that it may as well be. I turn on the oven light and watch from the table the little mounds grow into peaks.

I never time my baked goods, I simply take them out when the smell of the muffins fills the house, because that is always when they are done. There is a certain pleasure derived from that smell, for me it is the assurance that I got all the elements correct, it is the sign that all is well.

After they cool for a few minutes I ease one muffin out and eat it. It is slightly crunchy on the top and bottom (the buttering of the tins with the good butter means the bottoms of the muffins are deliciously crispy and browned) but inside the muffin is crumbly and airy and perfect. Even after all this time I can still craft a tasty muffin, in a new kitchen with new ingredients.

For me, baking is a physical experience that I enjoy more than the eating of what I make. I love the feeling of all the items, the handling, the hands on aspect. There is so much of the world that is sterile and removed and separate. To bake is to feel and to feel is an opening into feeling good, and it has been too long.