close a door, open a window, bake a cake

on the importance of tasks and contentment (plus a recipe)

“The true secret of happiness lies in taking a genuine interest in the details of daily life.”

— William Morris

The day before last, on the final, excruciating inset day of what I am pretty certain was the longest recorded Christmas school holiday in the history of Christendom, I cleared my diary and baked a cake.

I’m a lazy baker. Erratic at the best of times. On the rare occasion I manage to muster up the energy, I keep things simple and flavourful, steering clear of anything involving spun sugar, layers, sprinkles or candied decorations. I don’t enjoy sticky fingers. Icing is an irritant. Baking, for me, is all about maximum validation for minimum challenge. I tend to make the same things over and over again because I know they are guaranteed to a) work and b) get eaten. So I picked an old favourite, a cake I knew from experience the boys would love: the sunken chocolate soufflé cake from The Violet Bakery Cookbook.

The sunken soufflé is an indulgent slut of a cake — a saggy old broad who’s at her best when she’s caving and oozing. She’s the zaftig aunt who folds you against her warm bosom before slipping you a fiver without your parents noticing. She always look a bit of a mess, it’s part of her charm. The sunken soufflé’s imperfections are what make her so generous, decadent and failsafe.

I didn’t have all the ingredients, so Frank and I walked to Tesco together where we bought eggs and sugar and CeeBeebies magazine for him. We walked home in the drizzle, and then for two hours as the boys watched a blue-haired guy on YouTube narrating a game of Minecraft while I put on a podcast and made the cake. A couple of hours later, I took the old girl out of the oven, let her cool then scattered some raspberries over top.

Then the three of us sat down at the kitchen table and each had a big slice with a glass of milk. And that was it. That was my whole afternoon.

I could have done a thousand other more pressing, practical and urgent things that afternoon but instead I baked a cake. And let me tell you, it was entirely worth it.

Lately I’ve had a shit-ton of stuff to grapple with. For weeks on end my daily To Do List has looked more or less like this:

1. email lawyer re: plan

2. call social worker re: future

3. exercise (optional)

4. email school pastoral care liaison re: everything

5. call GP/111 re: Frank’s epilepsy meds

6. book after school clubs

7. find stuff that needs to be returned and return it

8. start taxes

9. arrange playdates

10. if nec go to St. Mary’s A&E and demand emergency refill of epilepsy meds

11. call AA re: broken down car

12. figure out absent husband’s logins in order to pay bills, parking permits/tickets and check insurance/everything else

13. work on draft novel

14. figure out alternate life plan (if poss)

15. pick up kids

16. cook dinner

17. sleep

18. no crying

What I’m trying to say is that “bake a cake” hasn’t been a line item on my list for a long time now, if it ever was.

And lately, for reasons I am about to go into, that’s become a big problem. But it’s one I solved by baking a cake I didn’t need to bake.