Roses Ice and Chariots of Fire
Dear Nicla,
I'm thinking of taking up Gingerbread Making but Pinterest and Instagram are sort of putting me off. I tried once and the whole house caved in, despite listening to instructions left right and centre on youtube. It's hard to fail these days. There's always someone better all thanks to Mr Google. I was thinking of trying again, but for what purpose? Have we lost our purpose do u think? Is all purpose flour with purpose at all if any attempt might make it to one of those kinds of television shows such as "Nailed It." Are those kinds of shows a deterrent in themselves or all in good fun to make the everyday chef feel ok? It's just I can remember a time when baking was a little more free somehow. I was wondering on your thoughts.
Ms. T. R.Y. Nomore`
Dear Ms Nomore` Plus Roses,
As a matter of fact I've made some gingerbread houses in my time but I'm also no expert darling and the one before this one I've posted you, which is standing up, albeit a little wonky here and there, collapsed too but all the pieces still tasted pretty good. Sometimes life is a little like that or people are at least. I mean many of us lug around broken pieces from the whole heart in a bit of a cart and life can feel heavier that way and then they might try again and the pieces feel less heavy or something. When I think of my own attempts with baking gingerbread, I try and remember the story behind each attempt and not as much the outcome or if that was a fail. . The first story for me was making gingerbread men with someone when I was recovering from an illness as a child. It was something that became a ritual and the recipe was tweaked a little here and there and we learnt how to get the right consistency and thickness over time while talking and playing with the dough. I can still feel the depths of the memory, the sounds, the smells, the carrying of my little gingerbread person off in a lunch box and looking forward to the treat all the morning through to lunch. I made some houses later on and once with someone I met as we were both recovering from an injury, someone I later forgot and remembered again. She helped me to make a house and I strangely covered it in roses because I had done that earlier as a child, though a rose wouldn't grow in the snow. I was euphoric in the supermarket, just at the idea of making something, the buzz of having a go at it, is worth something even if it doesn't end perfect. The first "Ice Rose" house was with someone else and was, a story we made when I was very small, about a magical girl that could keep roses alive in the snow. The legend was of a girl, part bird who might find sick or strange or crying children, wrap them in feathered arms and show them how the roses grew back on homes, even in the snow. It was rather idealistic of course, but the story still feels warm for me. The story is more important to me, the trial and error to the process, the wonkiness of having a go at something, even when you're sure to find someone better out there, is all valuable and important. We didn't have any Instagram to show it off, so the process was all the more important. There was never going to be a number of likes or comments from strangers or distant, distant friends or relations far away. That kind of way might even have encouraged people to invite other people over in person to share in the outcome in a more intimate way. I made one of these for someone at Christmas time once. I was hoping for roses in the snow for everyone that day.
Sometimes the stories of food are sad, sometimes lovely. A burnt shrivelled up chop can even remind one of someone who stood up and said, ok, we can really do better than that, best we try again even in our private ways, even in our smaller steps or in the gentle turning of the wheel. If someone throws you a load of Safeway cakes, some icing and a bunch of flowers, with the right storytellers, the brave Princess, the Loyal Knights, the beautiful Seamstress, you might still roll out the bumps, laugh your way through a challenge and come out with a three tiered Royal triumph. You will still remember the stories, more than anything, even the embarrassing parts as the reason for cooking at all.
I think you should try again. Keep baking if it's something you set out to do. Learn from the Internet but mostly, just give it a crack and be your own personal best at whatever you do. It's like the Little Athletics of Baking idea. Nobody got to the a Chariots of Fire champion without a good lot of practice. Not everyone gets to be a chariot of fire either. What they do get is a book of stories. That's not such a bad consolation prize. Maybe it's as much as the prize too.
All the best darling.
Nicla xx
I'm thinking of taking up Gingerbread Making but Pinterest and Instagram are sort of putting me off. I tried once and the whole house caved in, despite listening to instructions left right and centre on youtube. It's hard to fail these days. There's always someone better all thanks to Mr Google. I was thinking of trying again, but for what purpose? Have we lost our purpose do u think? Is all purpose flour with purpose at all if any attempt might make it to one of those kinds of television shows such as "Nailed It." Are those kinds of shows a deterrent in themselves or all in good fun to make the everyday chef feel ok? It's just I can remember a time when baking was a little more free somehow. I was wondering on your thoughts.
Ms. T. R.Y. Nomore`
Dear Ms Nomore` Plus Roses,
As a matter of fact I've made some gingerbread houses in my time but I'm also no expert darling and the one before this one I've posted you, which is standing up, albeit a little wonky here and there, collapsed too but all the pieces still tasted pretty good. Sometimes life is a little like that or people are at least. I mean many of us lug around broken pieces from the whole heart in a bit of a cart and life can feel heavier that way and then they might try again and the pieces feel less heavy or something. When I think of my own attempts with baking gingerbread, I try and remember the story behind each attempt and not as much the outcome or if that was a fail. . The first story for me was making gingerbread men with someone when I was recovering from an illness as a child. It was something that became a ritual and the recipe was tweaked a little here and there and we learnt how to get the right consistency and thickness over time while talking and playing with the dough. I can still feel the depths of the memory, the sounds, the smells, the carrying of my little gingerbread person off in a lunch box and looking forward to the treat all the morning through to lunch. I made some houses later on and once with someone I met as we were both recovering from an injury, someone I later forgot and remembered again. She helped me to make a house and I strangely covered it in roses because I had done that earlier as a child, though a rose wouldn't grow in the snow. I was euphoric in the supermarket, just at the idea of making something, the buzz of having a go at it, is worth something even if it doesn't end perfect. The first "Ice Rose" house was with someone else and was, a story we made when I was very small, about a magical girl that could keep roses alive in the snow. The legend was of a girl, part bird who might find sick or strange or crying children, wrap them in feathered arms and show them how the roses grew back on homes, even in the snow. It was rather idealistic of course, but the story still feels warm for me. The story is more important to me, the trial and error to the process, the wonkiness of having a go at something, even when you're sure to find someone better out there, is all valuable and important. We didn't have any Instagram to show it off, so the process was all the more important. There was never going to be a number of likes or comments from strangers or distant, distant friends or relations far away. That kind of way might even have encouraged people to invite other people over in person to share in the outcome in a more intimate way. I made one of these for someone at Christmas time once. I was hoping for roses in the snow for everyone that day.Sometimes the stories of food are sad, sometimes lovely. A burnt shrivelled up chop can even remind one of someone who stood up and said, ok, we can really do better than that, best we try again even in our private ways, even in our smaller steps or in the gentle turning of the wheel. If someone throws you a load of Safeway cakes, some icing and a bunch of flowers, with the right storytellers, the brave Princess, the Loyal Knights, the beautiful Seamstress, you might still roll out the bumps, laugh your way through a challenge and come out with a three tiered Royal triumph. You will still remember the stories, more than anything, even the embarrassing parts as the reason for cooking at all.
I think you should try again. Keep baking if it's something you set out to do. Learn from the Internet but mostly, just give it a crack and be your own personal best at whatever you do. It's like the Little Athletics of Baking idea. Nobody got to the a Chariots of Fire champion without a good lot of practice. Not everyone gets to be a chariot of fire either. What they do get is a book of stories. That's not such a bad consolation prize. Maybe it's as much as the prize too.
All the best darling.
Nicla xx
Comments
Post a Comment