I bake for a living, but I secretly like cooking more. Let's just keep this between you and me, okay? If you blow my cover, I'll find you. I'll find you fast. And you'll soon regret the day your mother decided to pop you out.
Cooking is more fun for me. You can just make a lot more mistakes; you can improvise and experiment with a little more freedom than you can with baking. I think I love that aspect the most. My job as a cookie baker and decorator, which I love with all my heart, is pretty redundant. Sogi's Honey Bakeshop offers one cookie flavor, and at this point, I can measure out and prepare the dough with my eyes closed, my hands tied behind my back, and a gag in my mouth (too much?). A baker's got to let loose every once in a while, y'know?? Cooking at home lets me make a bit more of a [controlled] mess. "WHAT THE HELL ARE WE GOING TO EAT FOR DINNER?" has been my favorite question/challenge/project over the last few years*. It's genuinely exciting. Most of the time. Sometimes, I really could care less and would eat our sofa cushions if Rory didn't need a place to sit and watch football.
But most of the time, it makes me really happy. I’ll draft next week’s meal ideas at bedtime; drum up a checklist for groceries along with the specific stores to find them; and obviously, I’ll scour the internet like a frickin psychopath detective on the hunt for the next big break in her murder mystery (except I’m just looking up how to make a proper Persian frittata. Fabulous recipe here.) I mess up a lot, and sometimes it sucks and sometimes it doesn’t. I’ll probably be documenting both of those occurrences here. I don’t think anyone’s actually going to read this. And if someone does, bless their precious heart.
This if for you, future Sogi. Girl, you take so many goddamn pictures of all your food and even put them on your Bakeshop Insta page, this is a healthier outlet. Plus, look how big the photos are on here! Isn’t that neat?
Wise, wise words.
This is my recipe diary, for cooked meals and dishes and some baked sweet things that aren’t iced sugar cookies thank the lawd.
*To clarify, my main squeeze and future husband, Rory, does not actually yell this at me. Nor do I yell it at him. I yell it internally to myself. Like I do everything else.