The baking lessons

This article was first published in the Williams Lake Tribune community newspaper (British Columbia, Canada) last year. I received an honourable mention as an out-of -province submission. As we wind down to Christmas and finish our shopping, wrapping and baking I wanted to share it with you. Wishing you a very Merry Christmas/Happy Holiday season and a Happy New Year.

Mom was a gifted cook who threw things together in perfect harmony. Her baking, though, was another story. She despised using measurements and found baking too precise for her creativity.

Each Christmas season, however, Mom made an exception.  She took out her pastry sheet, donned her apron, dusted off her cookbook, and transformed our kitchen into a baking laboratory. The fruitcake ingredients were soaked with rum in every color of dried fruit imaginable.  The cherry nut loaf with a touch of lemon, the savory and sweet mincemeat pies, pudding-like lemon squares, and button size shortbread cookies with candied cherries- all of these and more were assembled, mixed and baked with military preciseness.

Through this all, I was Mom’s dutiful assistant, the slicer, the dicer, the decorator, menial jobs, I then thought for someone who hoped one day to repeat the well-orchestrated symphony of holiday baking. It was Mom’s kitchen, though, and I was told many times over the years, “You’ll have your time before you know it. Just enjoy your role as my helper.”

And I did. Over the years we must have produced dozens of fruitcakes and hundreds of cookies, squares, and tarts.  As I got older, Mom would hold off on baking until after I’d finished my exams so that we could bake together. We had many conversations as we gathered together for our annual marathon, which usually lasted a few days, pacing ourselves as we rolled the dough and mixed ingredients for those decadent treats. I finally got entrusted to make the miniature shortbread cookies, maybe a sign that Mom had confidence in my skills, but more likely that it relieved her of those duties.

To this day, I am still amazed that Mom could accomplish what she did in the tiny kitchen that she and dad had. There was barely any counter space except to the left of the sink and stove, a couple of square feet at most, so the workspace usually got extended to the kitchen table and our dining room. We giggled as we moved past each other, carrying baking trays to the oven. And we tidied and cleaned as we prepared the area for the next set of treats, reinforcing the cliché that busy hands really do make light work.

The years passed, and even when I moved away, I still returned home, shortbread cookies in hand. Mom had pared down her baking to a few of her favorites, but I was always eager to continue our mother-daughter holiday ritual with whatever help she needed. Even when I took over all the baking and eventually Christmas dinner, Mom still hovered around me in my kitchen and never missed the chance to lighten my load. Now that Mom’s gone, I am still so grateful for the Christmas baking we did together in that teeny kitchen.  It was not so much for the lessons I learned from her, but the time we spent together. The perfect slice of a moment with someone whom you love is lasting. As I continue the same tradition with my own daughter, I can only hope that our time together in my kitchen reflects the love and company that I shared with my Mom.