In a way, baking stands both as a useful metaphor for the familial warmth of the kitchen we fondly imagine used to exist, and as a way of reclaiming our lost Eden. This is hardly a culinary matter, of course; but cooking, we know, has a way of cutting through things, and to things, which have nothing to do with the kitchen. This is why it matters.
The trouble with much modern cooking is not that the food it produces isn’t good, but that the mood it induces in the cook is one of skin-of-the-teeth efficiency, all briskness and little pleasure. Sometimes that’s the best we can manage, but at other times we don’t want to feel like a postmodern, post-feminist, overstretched woman but, rather, a domestic goddess, trailing nutmeggy fumes of baking pie in our languorous wake. – Nigella Lawson[The above photo is of my lovely sister and her husband. Most of her adult life we teased my sister about her unwillingness to want to be in the kitchen, but this past year she taken up cooking and baking, and has blown us away with her coffee cake and raspberry tart, her deep dish pizza and Easter dinner. I’m so terribly proud of her.]