In appreciation of World Baking Day, I thought a little bit about why I bake....
Baking wasn’t just something I learned—it’s something I grew into, thanks to my grandmother, Hazel. I’ve been baking since I was three or four years old, sitting beside her on weekends, mixing up batches of Toll House cookies. There was nothing fancy about it; just basic ingredients—sugar, butter, flour, eggs—and the simple joy of licking the spoon. It was the kind of baking you do because you’re excited to eat the cookies, not necessarily because you’re a master baker. But in those moments, I learned so much more than just how to bake.
Baking was where I first practiced counting, math, and how to measure ingredients. It was where I learned love, the kind of love that doesn’t need words. I learned that you can take simple ingredients and create something that instantly tells people you care. Whenever the oven door opened, Hazel would exclaim, “You MADE that!” with such excitement, it made me feel like I had just accomplished something huge, even though it was just cookies.
When my parents split, I spent more time at Hazel’s house. More cookies, more love. Hazel wasn’t an expert baker, but she was a world-class caretaker. She baked cookies with me and for me because she was so happy to be my grandmother. As I got older, I continued baking. Nothing fancy, no grand designs—just cookies and treats for my family, especially around Christmas. People knew I liked to bake, and they appreciated the little homemade gifts I would give them.
As Hazel grew older and moved to senior housing, I still visited her regularly, bringing treats to bake together. She seemed sad and lonely in the new place, but not when I was there. We would bake muffins, chat about the Red Sox, and just enjoy each other’s company in the kitchen. One day, she asked me how I learned to measure the way I did. My heart sank because I realized—she had taught me. I told her that she had, and she smiled and said, “That’s a smart way to do it.” I replied, “A smart lady taught me,” and gave her the biggest hug.
She passed away within the year, and my heart broke. For a long time, I couldn’t bake—it just felt too painful. But one day, I stumbled across a recipe for browned butter chocolate chip cookies, and I thought, I’ve got to try this. Hazel had always loved dark chocolate, so I went out and bought some of the best dark chocolate chips I could find, browned the butter, and made the cookies. Suddenly, it didn’t feel sad anymore. It felt like Hazel was there, right beside me, guiding me through it.
The funny thing about the cookies I ended up naming “Hazel’s Chocolate Chip” is that they’re not her recipe. They’re a little more elevated than the classic Toll House, but I didn’t know what to call them. I asked a friend to help me come up with names for the cookies I’d developed, and when I opened her email, I couldn’t stop crying. The answer was so clear: Hazel’s Chocolate Chip. It was perfect. Of course, everyone thought it was Hazelnut (I vastly underestimated how many people would think that!), but I have no regrets.
Baking—and the love I have for it—came from one person. I love that I get to honor her every day by writing her name on a cookie. Now, I own a bakery. And every day, I get to make people smile with little treats, just like Hazel and I did. She’s still with me, in every cookie I bake.
1 comment
This is such a great story!