On Sunday, June 12, Mom wanted to go to the pool. It was early afternoon on a warm, cloudless day, beautiful. The pool was a natural choice of activity, of course. But I was not in the mood: I just wanted to bake.
I— like everyone else— had witnessed a weekend of tragedy. On Saturday morning, I saw Christina Grimmie’s portrait at the top of my Facebook newsfeed, and videos too; she appeared singing, full of life, but was accompanied by words like “killed,” “shot.” It seemed almost cruel, a paradox but not at all amusing. The next day, news from Orlando all but softened the blow.
In general, I feel very deeply. I’m overtly sentimental. I get choked me up even by a thoughtfully written card, given on a special occasion, say a birthday. (One year, I even shed a few tears reading a Christmas card, and I’m predominantly Jewish). Notably, I also cried the night before my middle school graduation, while Vitamin C’s “Friends Forever” played repeatedly from the speakers in my room. In past interactions, friends have compared “my essence” to a small latte or a standalone kernel of corn, anything light, sweet, sympathetic.
Out of this sentimentality, I am also [aggressively] caring. Walking a fine, fine line between complete selflessness and theater kid self-absorption, I aspire, in brief, to be a millennial Ina Garten.
All this being said, you can only imagine my reaction to the news of this weekend. After all, a mere corn kernel, with a knack for hospitality to boot, can do little to cure the ills of the world. I hurt badly for the families shattered, the communities that would continue to suffer.
“So, baking,” I thought. “We all could use something sweet.”
I decided to make Giada De Laurentiis’ apricot oat bars. I preheated the oven, then flitted back and forth, from cabinet to cabinet, gathering the ingredients I would need: dried apricots and jam for the filling as well as flour, two sticks of butter melted, oats, cinnamon, one egg, baking soda, vanilla, and sugar for the crust. I placed two bowls on the counter and began to measure and mix, measure and mix to the rhythms of Hamilton.
The whole moment was like my Twitter feed come to life, where less-than-favorable articles from the News are often cushioned between tweets about Broadway phenomena, smoothie bowls, layer cakes, etc.
Despite all literal, edible evidence to the contrary, I, of course, try my best not to sugarcoat things. I like to remain socially conscious and up-to-date on the most pressing of issues, regardless of their tragedy factor. The world, I am well aware, is as flawed as ever. But, even so, no one should give themselves up entirely to mourning. When there comes news of senseless death, we must appreciate the fact that we are living, count our blessings (whether we are religious or not), do our best to create and care. The attitude might sound cheesy, hackneyed, even preachy, but it is oh so true. The somber awareness of a realist must coexist always with the hope of an idealist.
Though it does so on a very small scale, baking to me encapsulates this kind of making good. Baking is inherently optimistic and productive; with it, comes the promise of a creation that is delicious, comforting, and complete. Yet, there is also a level of consciousness involved. Baking is just as much about the process as the product, for bakers never take for granted any steps involved on their road of confectionary pursuits. They approach each direction slowly and conscientiously and choose each ingredient with a sensitivity to quality. When they make a mistake, they retrace their steps until they’ve found error, get up, brush themselves off, and prepare for trial number two. Their mess may have been hot (literally and figuratively), but goodness, they know, will come.
So on Sunday, apricot bars seemed natural, right. Call it a creative impulse. In the two bowls I had placed on the counter, I made my filling and crust, respectively. I kept them separate until the very last step. Finally, in a disposable tin sprayed with Pam, I nestled apricot between two layers of oats, butter, sugar, etc. This, I popped in the oven, and, with 30 minutes on the clock, I looked forward to dessert or at least tried my best.
