My first time baking was in response to emergency sugar craving.
The house, bereft of any sweet goods whatsoever, due to it having been holiday season, seemed such a sad and gloomy place. (They say longing for someone often makes one see things as such, but I just think sad people ought to be introduced to a healthy dose of chocolate.)
So, I decided, it was time to take charge of my life, take matters in my hands, and learn to bake.
I’d seen mother do it, it seemed easy enough, mixing a couple of things and tossing it into the oven, and, being the good natured human I am, I decided to give our parents a surprise (holiday for me, working day for them) when they returned.
My sister heartily agreed with the plan, and we decided to make chocolate muffins.
Here, I must state that it is really my sister who is better suited to cooking, for, people like me, who eat to live (and make an exception for a sweet a day) just rely on Google and our general indifference.
We Googled (surprise!) the ingredients, and I being oblivious to what the difference between baking soda, baking powder and cornstarch is, or for that matter, being oblivious to the fact that flour in fact meant refined wheat, not wheat, despite my younger sister (young enough to be ignored) warning me against my tomfoolery, proceeded to cook the way I thought the world ought to, and baked some nice, crusty, mmm-not-too-bad-&-plus-it’s-sweet-&-that’s-what-matters muffins.
The house, unaware of the unorthodox methods I had employed in my endeavor, heartily praised my cooking prowess for a first timer.
I polished off more of it than anyone else (chef’s privilege) and heartily praise my ability to be able to produce something tantalising to the taste buds, if not anyone else’s, then mine, with the aid of nonchalance and a touch of Google.