Why I bake

This weekend I spent quite a bit of time developing a craft of mine, one I engage in for many reasons — baking.

I took up baking partly because I really love baked goods, and love sharing and gifting the nourishment and sensory pleasure (provided they're good ...!). But I also took up baking because I saw that I had a lot to learn from baking as a practice.

For as long as I can remember, I've been able to get by by just kind of winging it. In school I'd pay attention in class, take notes, do the homework — but I don't feel I was ever really pushed to prepare diligently, to follow through carefully. I've enjoyed cooking for many years, partly because of its artistry — generally, rules are more like principles, and flexibility usually still yields delicious (or at least edible) dishes.

Baking, however, is as much a science as it is an art. Precision matters immensely; using the exact ingredients specified in a recipe holds great bearing on the quality of the outcome, and so preparation and planning are essential. Timing matters — process matters. To successfully bake requires us to adhere to a much more rigid pattern than cooking — while still using all of our senses to perceive the nuances of this particular process, the peculiarities of how we bring the matter and energy and environment together in this moment.

In order to be so exacting, baking requires focus and follow through. I could listen to a podcast or have a drink or otherwise multitask while I was cooking. In picking up baking, I decided I wanted to use it as a mindfulness practice, as a way to develop my attention to detail and process, and to cultivate a respect for those who came before — to learn from masters. To follow rules, and to follow through. (This connects to something I've been reflecting on in Dukkha — the importance of settling into the present moment rather than straining toward some imagined future.)

All along my ultimate goal — which was actually more like a fantasy, since I had no plan or even intention of ever actually doing it, other than in some very distant future version of myself — was to bake the ultimate, the notorious: croissants. From scratch, in my kitchen. Three days, yeast (omg), acting and resting and acting and resting.

Sometimes the people we love hold us accountable to our dreams even if we won't. In this case, my wonderful partner played that role — she gave me a croissant-making workshop as a Christmas present last year. I went to the workshop in January, and really enjoyed it, but hadn't tried again at home on my own until this weekend.

In any case — yes, this weekend I'm making croissants from scratch at home, for the first time. They're proofing right now — they'll go in the oven later this afternoon. I don't have high hopes that they'll be exceptional, but that is not why I made them. I made them because I loved the making — loved the doing. And yes, maybe we'll have a nice treat in my house this afternoon ...

Not bad, but a bit underproofed, I think, and maybe in need of better temperature control ...