March 2026 SOLC–Day 13
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Outside, the day is drawing to a close, shadows deepening, and the sun sinking slowly behind the trees. Inside, I pull the ingredients from the fridge and cupboard, and set them on the kitchen island. Butter, sugar, salt, flour, cinnamon, baking soda, baking powder, eggs, sour cream, chocolate. I set the oven to preheat and prepare a pan. Pulling the measuring spoons and cups from the drawer, I feel the day settle. The ever-present worries and stresses fade into the background.

Baking comforts me and connects me.

When I bake, I remember my mom and grandmother. I remember lavish baking sessions with childhood friends. I remember the bright sprinkle and sugar crystal abundance of holiday baking with my children. I think back to those years of early baking hours when I baked from home for a restaurant, and I remember the way-too-early-to-be-up pitter patter of little feet and my middle child, all sleepy-eyed and tousle-haired, joining me in the kitchen. I smile now, misty-eyed, remembering how she would climb on the step stool my husband made for her and contentedly watch me work. All these memories and more swirl about me.

I dump butter and sugar into the bowl of the mixer and turn it on. Its motor starts with a satisfying whirr. I watch the blade rotate and the two ingredients cream into a homogeneous mixture. I add the egg yolks and vanilla, and the batter turns to a deep yellow, testament to the gift of “home-grown” eggs from a friend.

I whisk dry ingredients together, sifting the clumps from the baking soda. Then I alternatively mix that and heaping spoonfuls of sour cream into the mixture. Next, I whip the egg whites to stiff peaks, small mountains of foam, and then fold them gently into the batter. I layer half the batter in the prepared pan then top it with clouds of cinnamon sugar and generous handfuls of chocolate chips. I repeat the process, then place the pan in the oven. After setting the timer, I clean up. There’s satisfaction here as well. Simple steps to create order from chaos.

Soon the air is rich with the scent of chocolate and cinnamon. My mind still lingers with memories.

Tonight, making this new-to-me coffee cake grounds me. When I bake I feel competent and capable. Even when working with a new recipe, I know I can bake. I have decades of experience. I speak the language, and my hands know what to do, moving smoothly and deftly. There is little ambiguity to baking, not too much decision making, but still, there’s room for improvisation. I know there’s science behind it all. I could research and learn about that, and I’d probably be a better baker for it. But I prefer to let the sheen of magic linger.

Tomorrow, I’ll bring this cake to school to share with colleagues at our Lattes and Lit group. We meet monthly to essentially buzz about books. There’s no required reading or assigned book. We just share what we’ve been enjoying, often bringing the books with us to loan out. I usually bring something I’ve baked, too. Making it is a gift to myself and sharing it is a gift to them.

Baking comforts me and connects me.