I don’t get to bake much these days. I used to hate baking, because whatever I made came out a terrible mess. Then I made cupcakes a few years ago for the nth time and they came out… not bad. With even more practice, they actually got good.
Then I realized gluten was an insidious little bastard who liked to give me panic attacks. I was back to square one. Except, not quite. My years of baking had given me the confidence I needed to start over and learn a whole new slew of ingredients and measurements and substitutions and amended baking times. And by then I actually liked baking. So what if the first few attempts were unmitigated disasters? I still learned something.
I’ve been baking gluten free for just about two years now, and I’ve learned when to use brown rice flour and when to use almond, when to up the tapioca starch and when to use arrowroot instead, when to up the xanthan gum and when to avoid coconut flour (always). Gluten free flours are their own language, and they say different things in different amounts and different mixes.
With the AIP and TTC and subsequent attempt at weightloss this year, I’ve been baking less than ever. I still enjoy it. But now I need a really good reason to bring out my bowls and various flours. Like a birthday.
Lady’s birthday is Thursday (tomorrow), and she requested cinnamon rolls. Now this being me, I can’t just go and buy gf cinnamon rolls from the store and call it good (they probably have potato starch anyway – fucking nightshades). And I can’t just select the recipe that only takes an afternoon. No, crazy me has to modify a recipe that has three separate rising times.
But I like doing it. Even when it means I have to mix the dough at 5am so it’ll have enough time for its second rise. In that moment of measuring and stirring and tasting and adding another dash of flour, a dash of sugar, stirring some more, and watching it come together, I’m in my zen.
I miss baking. Chopping vegetables isn’t quite the same. Please, someone else have a birthday soon. 🙂