I don't get it. Give me a cookbook, show me a spatula or turn on a baking show and I'm captivated. It's comforting, like putting on your favourite pyjamas and slipping into much-loved slippers.
Yet I don't feel any compulsion to actually bake myself. Many moons ago, I delved into this sugary underworld to bake my then boyfriend a birthday cake to marvel at. In my naïve way, I equated the success of that cake with floury-egg-y proof of my devotion to him.
We needn’t relive the nightmare and it will come as no surprise that alas young love didn’t run smooth.
Am I the only one. A cake fan, a baking show fiend who doesn’t actually dabble herself? I can’t help but wonder if maybe, now, I should go over to the Dark Side. After all, I hear they have cookies!
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