Growing up, I took homemade for granted. I didn't realize not every mother made pies, cookies, sourdough pancakes, biscuits and bread from scratch. Mom did not like "store-bought" baked foods. I cringe when I think about it now, but as a kid there were times I dreamt of having a box of Suzie-Qs in the pantry.
Mom always had something sweet to serve to us and to visitors. She said she wanted the goodies as much as everyone else and that's why she made them. I know exactly what she means. I love homemade.
Mom's love for baking instilled a love in both my sister and I. My sister is The Master Cinnamon Roll Maker. She fills her rolls with all kinds of surprises. Really good surprises. You don't just get cinnamon in your cinnamon roll unless that is all you want. And of course there's frosting. Yum. Whenever we get ready to go to Unalakleet, Sidney gets excited because she knows she gets to eat one of Auntie Karen's cinnamon rolls.
Karen taught me how to make cinnamon rolls. She showed me the rectangle shape you need to form in order to create a good-sized roll. She showed me how much brown sugar to spread on top of the butter. She let me roll the dough and cut it myself. And she ENJOYED giving me her cinnamon roll knowledge. I could feel her pleasure oozing out while she showed me the ways of dough.
And she said, "Now you're gonna get hooked on making bread." I doubted I'd like it that much, but she was kind of right. The hook didn't sink in right away but I now enjoy making breads. Especially cinnamon rolls.
And Mom made the best pies. And I respect all other people who believe their mom or grandma made the pies. That's the way it should be. I hope Sidney thinks that way of me someday.
Sometimes my crust turns out perfectly. Sometimes it's a little tough. One time I made a glistening-topped apple pie for a pie social and instead of creating the shine with sugar, I accidentally used salt. It was not good. It was terrible. But beautiful. Most of the time my crust is fine, but I'd give my big toe to have one more piece of Mom's cherry pie. I'd have to think about what I'd give to have her exact recipe.
Mom never taught me how to make a pie crust, but I watched her do it so many times, I like to think I absorbed her crust-making skills through some 6th-sense transfer. One thing I didn't absorb is consistency like hers. Her crust was ALWAYS perfect. And she didn't even measure. She'd just kind of dump stuff in, which amazes me. I try to do that, thinking the 6th-sense transfer would suffice, but I find I still need my measuring cups...at least for the fat and the water.
So thank you Mom and Karen. I love to bake. I'm most content when I bake. I'm exceptionally at peace when baking in a clean kitchen. And much of my joy in the kitchen comes from you. You both are with me when my hands are sticky with dough.
