My Happy Place

I'm a baker. From the time I won the school wide cooking contest in the 5th grade with a decadent Cherry Coke Cake with Chocolate and Cherry Coke frosting, to the time I decided to tackle the mysteries of bread, I have known that is my core. I cook, I saute, I have even deep fried on occasion, but in my heart of hearts I'm a baker. Maybe it started before 5th grade. Maybe it was making cookies with my great gramma, or kneading masa with my abuela, or watching my Mom make perfect buttercream roses on scraps of wax paper. Whatever else is happening, I am usually thinking about what I can bake next.

We have been renting houses for the last seven years, feeling a bit rootless and at loose ends, but now I know where I truly want to live.

Inside the pages of the King Arthur Flour catalogue. BAM!

There ya go. Do little Easter people holding eggs not do it for you? Okay, how about this?

The gorgeous organization of it all, a place for all of your flours, see through storage with labels. Oh my gosh. I feel faint.

Oh, hello gorgeous, are you flour flavorings? Come to Mama.

I just want to live in a world where there are organized shelves, containers for every possible type of flour or ingredient and possibly a pizza stone, ($54.99 shipping not included) to call my very own.

Running Face

Running Face, a haiku

Sweaty, pores glisten
Chernobyl tomato face
Running sucks so bad