baked

It started with boysenberry pie. Then brioche rolls. And especially the cinnamon bread. Her hands...how they so easily moved with grace, precision and the perfect amount of recklessness. My grandfather was an artist. He painted. My grandmother was an artist. She baked. In the kitchen, she moved effortlessly and without a recipe in hand, she knew exactly what to do. Once her baked goods made their debut from the oven browned, sugared and risen to perfection, our mouths watered until they were cool enough to savor their goodness.

One summer before she passed, I made the drive to Fresno to learn how to make her pies. Her boysenberry pie was my favorite. We would always take a few frozen home with us to bake throughout the year. And oh how I licked each plate clean. Truly the best pie ever. She showed me how to make the perfect crust and I watched in awe how she could measure exactly one cup of flour in the palm of her hand. I forced her to pour the flour in a measuring cup because I didn't believer her at first. Sure enough, exactly one cup. (I'm still trying to master this, I figure it must take a life time.)

It was watching her and most likely tasting her dishes growing up that instilled in me a love to bake. I simply can't go a week without making some sort of dessert, dinner or breakfast in the oven. And I love it. I love the feeling that I inherited a desire to bake the way she did. I love being covered in flour and sugar and of course, licking the mixing bowl clean. I love sharing my love through baking too. Just like her. I still feel a sense of home, warmth and love whenever I make her dishes. And I hope one day people will feel that way too when I share one of my dishes with them.

This Christmas I made her brioche rolls for the first time. They turned out almost as delicious as hers. Brioche are fairly easy to make as long as you have patience. They take 11 hours to make, but are well worth the wait.




Thanks Grandma!