I remember back in Melbourne, the only thing that I wish to do on a rainy day is to bake. You know, when clouds hung over the sky like a giant scoop of whipped cream, showering us on Earth with sweet little dew drops, there's nothing more comforting than warming up the kitchen and having aroma of butter and milk waft through your home (and/or neighbourhood..).
Pecan pie would be nice. And so are my Rainy Day Coffee Cakes if you still remember..
Our move to a different continent has surely changed a lot of our habits, but I'm still very shocked (and not pleasantly so..) that even my baking escapades have to take a halt. Not because I can't, but because I won't. It doesn't feel right. And I know this because I don't wake up in the morning thinking, "Oh, I'm gonna make cherry brownies today!" or.. or.. "The best way to whip egg whites is..."
Yea, that.
Well, I'm not sad. I really ain't. I have a different routine now. It's not the same as it used to be, but it's slowly becoming a part of me.. and I guess Missy adapts good.
Sure, someday, I'd love to find back the passion. Find back my can't-do-without in the baking world. When that day comes.. when I fire up the oven again, I'll be sure to let you smell it :)
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