It was exhilarating—transforming bland ingredients like flour, oil, and eggs into pure magic. Every rise of the cake felt like a small victory, and every sunken disaster...well, let’s just say there were tears.
I even used my entire maternity leave to dive into this crazy world of baking. Nights were spent reading blogs and recipes from bakers around the globe. There were times I’d literally dream about why a cake didn’t rise or how to make it better next time. I invested in tools like cake rings for softer edges, and let me tell you, I panicked at the mere thought of running out of an ingredient. Substitutions? Oh, no. Not in my kitchen.
Then, Cathy happened. My baking mentor and lifesaver. Cathy, the maestro of cakes, would shrug off my panic with her signature line: “Arey kuch nahi, no tension!” That woman could calm a tornado.
Looking back, it wasn’t just about cakes, it was about the journey, the laughs, the failures, and the family effort that made every bake special. And yes, every cake has a story, even the ones that came out looking like pancakes.
After baking every single cake, I’d sit like a hawk waiting for that ping on my phone. You know, the one that either makes your day or sends you spiralling into “Where did I go wrong?” mode. Stephen, bless him, would have to deal with my relentless questioning. “Why haven’t they messaged yet? Did they hate it? Was it too sweet? Too dry?!” And his calm, wise response would always be, “Relax, it’s their day, not yours. Not everything revolves around your cake!” Spoiler alert: I didn’t listen.
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