I had 8 bananas that were going bad, faster than we could eat them. For whatever reason, all the members of our house were thinking "banana [baked good]" and since I was the one to follow through, Cookies are what the bananas became.
I had to find a recipe, and looking through old cookbooks, finally came across one that looked reasonably simple.
As I baked, in the quiet of the evening, I thought.
My mind wandered back to my high school cooking class. It was one of the few times that an adult actively encouraged me in the kitchen. My mom hated having me or my sister in the kitchen, and rarely allowed us to participate in making meals, etc. My grandmas allowed it occasionally... When my mom left, I was thrilled to be able to take over the kitchen and not be pestered over every little mess.
I really liked my high school cooking class because I liked the teacher. In my very small high school she also taught Spanish, a Bible-study class, and a home economics class. She did all those things tidily and well. I admired her organizational skills and the orderly and reasonable way she handled every class. Her expectations and rules were clear. I liked that, and I excelled under her direction. But in cooking class, I rebelled. For her, cooking was an exact science. She showed us how to measure out each ingredient precisely, emphasizing the importance of spooning in the flour and carefully leveling it with the back of a knife. But, by the time I took this class, I'd developed my own baking and cooking methods, primarily through trial and error. And mathematically exact science was not how I worked.
For me, a recipe is made to be toyed with, tweaked, contorted to fit what I have in my cupboards. Necessity is the mother of invention. How do you think all those recipes were made in the first place? Why, if I did an internet search, would there be 10 different ways to make banana cookies? I'm sure each recipe would produce an edible result... Undoubtedly, one or two would suit my palate more than the others, and become my favorites, but other people may vastly prefer other recipes.
That's what makes cooking or baking fun though. Variety is the spice of life. Doing something familiar with a new twist. Trying something new, that contains a hint of the familiar.
A part of my mind defends: "if you make it exactly according to recipe, it will turn out precisely as it was meant to". Yes, perhaps. But the recipe does not necessarily account for inexperience, interruptions, human error, poor utensils, missing supplies, malfunctioning equipment... in short, Life.
In my mind, this is an expansive metaphor. It's helping me understand, what is true, what is good.
It's healing. Slowly.
I feel privileged to call my teacher friend, these days. Life has changed for both of us, in many ways, since my high school days. I wonder what she would say now? Are cooking and baking still an exact mathematical science for her? I know Life isn't, for either of us.
I have fond memories of cooking class, because of the time we spent together. My friends and I: eating and laughing and hugging, learning and creating, sharing.
There's a recipe. For happiness...
PS. It's just started snowing! and sticking! Won't Yosie be surprised, when she wakes up from her nap! ...when it snows, ain't it thrillin'?...
Winter Wonderland
Let It Snow
