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itsloriel

Coming home by neuralpsycho

utwo

Bacelona Spain

julienroubinet

santa cruz - julien roubinet

soillseach

my-aeipathy

酸酸甜甜 by Tai

effacentatious

I used to be an avid baker. Wait, let me rephrase that. I used to bake things like my life depended on it. Every week, I’d spend hours at the bookstore pouring over cookbooks and writing down recipes that interested me. On the weekends or late at night instead of studying or partying I’d bake new creations. Baking became my soma, my addiction. I considered dropping out of the prestigious university I attended to attend culinary school to become a patisserie chef. Box recipes? Never. When I was stressed, I’d bake angel food. If I needed to procrastinate, I’d bake three batches of cookies. If I was in a celebratory mood, I’d set out to fill the table with cupcakes. Of course, when I lived in the city, this abundance of desserts wasn’t a problem. One of my five roommates or their boyfriends would eat the desserts for me. However, when I moved and lived alone, the amount of sweets laying around in my apartment soon became a problem. So, I’d trudge to class with shopping bags full of cookies and cupcakes to hand out to classmates. Gradually, I lost interest in baking, having no one in particular to feed. Now, I bake only rarely. I miss that passion that I once had for baking. Maybe I should start up again.