Remembrance of Baked Past
"... in words and hot breads, I have immortalized my memories... "
After my long afternoon nap induced by the summers, I had a deep craving for bread and butter. When situation and circumstances prevent me from accessing it, I fantasize even more about it.
Just the thought of a freshly cut bread with a dollop of butter spread on its crust brings me tremendous joy.
What could be more captivating than the aroma of baked stuff?! Cakes, pies, breads, rolls, cookies- anything that goes into the oven to work magic on our senses.
During childhood, baking was a routine affair at my home. No occasion would be complete without something being baked. Me and my lil sister would crawl up on our big round dining table and settle ourselves around the hot cake that Amma would frost and cut into big triangles.
The oven that sits in my kitchen dates back to my mother's childhood in Tanzania from where it was bought. The oven was later handed down to my mother.
As a small girl, I would stick around the kitchen whenever Amma was on a baking spree. I loved whisking the eggs and stirring it into the dough and watch the hand mixer form beautiful tempting patterns on the cake batter.
It was during this time that Amma would narrate her childhood baking stories ( how she loved eating the cake batter and so on) and I would listen with rapt attention.
The oven made an unfortunately late entry into the 'culinary-rich life' of my paternal grandma,. Oncethe oven discovered her she discovered the oven , baking became a huge craze. At Christmas, she would bake not less than ten cakes, that would go to different people and places. She loved storing the delicacies as much as she loved cooking them. I remember her stacking the cakes one on top of the other before she left for her daughter's house to spend Christmas with them :)
During my college days, the private bus would stop at a particular place where was located the modern Bread factory. The air around the place was always suffused with the warmth of baked fluffy dough. It lifted me from my drowsy stupor and filled me with a very special feeling.
The bus stop soon became my favourite spot- A place where the happiness potion always lurked in the air.
Back then I wondered what it was that gave me that special feeling of happiness. I wished I knew its ingredients so that it could be whisked and stored as a ready-to-use mixture – a magic potion, to be used during times of happiness scarcity!
Years later, I realised that it was the memories of a time gone by that woke me up from my ruminating thoughts. It was my childhood that came knocking at the bus stop. A time when I was as carefree as an appupan thadi.
I do not wish to go back to those times, but I wish I wouldn't miss out on those tit-bits of happiness potion that life offers at times :)
Title credit: Salman Rushdie
"...in words and pickles, I have immortalized my memories..." (Midnight's Children, 459).
After my long afternoon nap induced by the summers, I had a deep craving for bread and butter. When situation and circumstances prevent me from accessing it, I fantasize even more about it.
Just the thought of a freshly cut bread with a dollop of butter spread on its crust brings me tremendous joy.
What could be more captivating than the aroma of baked stuff?! Cakes, pies, breads, rolls, cookies- anything that goes into the oven to work magic on our senses.
During childhood, baking was a routine affair at my home. No occasion would be complete without something being baked. Me and my lil sister would crawl up on our big round dining table and settle ourselves around the hot cake that Amma would frost and cut into big triangles.
The oven that sits in my kitchen dates back to my mother's childhood in Tanzania from where it was bought. The oven was later handed down to my mother.
As a small girl, I would stick around the kitchen whenever Amma was on a baking spree. I loved whisking the eggs and stirring it into the dough and watch the hand mixer form beautiful tempting patterns on the cake batter.
It was during this time that Amma would narrate her childhood baking stories ( how she loved eating the cake batter and so on) and I would listen with rapt attention.
The oven made an unfortunately late entry into the 'culinary-rich life' of my paternal grandma,. Once
During my college days, the private bus would stop at a particular place where was located the modern Bread factory. The air around the place was always suffused with the warmth of baked fluffy dough. It lifted me from my drowsy stupor and filled me with a very special feeling.
 |
| ...where I would unload all my thoughts and take a deep breath |
The bus stop soon became my favourite spot- A place where the happiness potion always lurked in the air.
Back then I wondered what it was that gave me that special feeling of happiness. I wished I knew its ingredients so that it could be whisked and stored as a ready-to-use mixture – a magic potion, to be used during times of happiness scarcity!
Years later, I realised that it was the memories of a time gone by that woke me up from my ruminating thoughts. It was my childhood that came knocking at the bus stop. A time when I was as carefree as an appupan thadi.
I do not wish to go back to those times, but I wish I wouldn't miss out on those tit-bits of happiness potion that life offers at times :)
Title credit: Salman Rushdie
"...in words and pickles, I have immortalized my memories..." (Midnight's Children, 459).
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