I could not imagine that when I reblogged, “Date A Girl Who Reads,” and then wrote and posted my response, “Date A Man Who Reads,” that the response would be as monumental as it has been. It’s been huge and I couldn’t be more thrilled! As many who follow me on Twitter and visit the blog frequently will know, I love to cook, but as much as I love to cook I love to bake even more. There is nothing better than the smell of a cake baking or fresh bread. So, in my confident, assertive, I am a woman who embraces my Third-Wave-proud-to-be-in-the-kitchen-kicking-ass-and-taking-names attitude, here’s Date A Woman Who Bakes:
Date a woman who bakes. Date a woman who has a subscription to bon appétit and Martha Stewart. Date a woman who wishes Chocolatier Magazine was still available on newsstands or that Gourmet hadn’t been shuttered. Date a woman who buys French baking books online from specialty vendors just for the glossy images and diagrams for sugar flowers. She’ll be the one salivating over a recipe in a food magazine at a coffee shop, or reading a cookbook like others read novels on the subway. Her bucket list is full of restaurants to eat at and “foodie” towns to make pilgrimages to. Chefs are her celebrities. She has no time for the Kardashians or Justin Bieber, she’s too busy experimenting with new ways of using meringue or finding new crannies in her kitchen to stuff French rolling pins and pie stones.
Date a woman who knows the difference between granulated, powdered, sanding, and demura sugars. She’ll be the one lingering slowly through Williams-Sonoma, running her fingers gently over the bottles and boxes of baking supplies, food products, and specialty pans. She’s carrying a dog-eared food magazine with a new recipe she’s dying to try. She’ll be the one reading the box of Scharfenberger, making sure she has the right cocoa percentage for her ganache. She’ll squeal over a new cookbook or a copper beating bowl. Crack a joke about an 11 inch French whisk and she just might coyly tell you what you can do with your frosting.
Date a woman who bakes. Come to her house one afternoon and let her show you how to bake a cake. Lick the bowl clean with her. Wipe the batter from the corner of her mouth with the pad of your thumb. Relish the scent of vanilla on her fingers, and the silky softness of her fingertips from all that butter. While that cake is baking, ask her about the soft pink scar on her wrist; listen to her war-stories of touching a hot pan or a knife slip that cut her finger. Ask her about being 4 and standing on a chair stealing dollops of cookie dough while her mother wasn’t looking. Brush the flour from her cheek, lean in for a kiss just as the timer goes off. Whip frosting with her. Offer up a taste on your fingertip to check the chocolate ratio. Watch how smoothly her wrist flicks her frosting knife around the cake, coating the whole thing seamlessly. Feed her. Revel in her slow spreading smile from the satisfaction of that perfect bite of cake.
Date a woman who bakes. She knows that baking is about more than just baking, it’s about the joy of being in the kitchen; about taking sensuous pleasure from the entire process and relishing the outcome. Date a woman who bakes, a domestic goddess who leaves nutmeggy fumes of baking pies in her languorous wake. Date a woman who knows it’s not about being a Sophia Loren, Debbie Reynolds hybrid in pink cashmere and gingham, but about feeling like a domestic goddess. Date a woman who knows that the 30 minutes it takes to make and bake a tray of muffins is just enough to crack the hardened shell of office drudgery and awaken the spirited, fresh imp inside her.
Date a woman who bakes, a woman whose thighs, like those of a 17th century courtesan, have the creamy, firm consistency of panna cotta. She isn’t afraid of a little flour in her hair or a chocolate stain on her cuff. She has work aprons and dress aprons and she knows how to coordinate her shoes with all of them. She has the confident sexiness of a woman who knows if she serves you a slice of her signature pie you’re not going anywhere anytime soon. She’ll offer you a breakfast of fresh muffins or a dinner of banana pudding after a languid, luxurious afternoon in bed. Date a woman who bakes, because her milk-fed hips will have you hanging on for dear life.
Date a woman who bakes. She knows that sometimes all she can manage is skin-of-her-teeth efficiency, brisk cooking with little to no pleasure. But other times, other times she can unleash, let go of the reins and create glory with simple ingredients. Date a woman who knows that her power as a woman – as a proud, strong woman – is defined equally from the strength she shows as it is the happiness she creates. She doesn’t have to alienate herself from her domestic sphere in order to carry forth the cause. She reclaims the kitchen with aplomb, because she isn’t frightened of the challenge of a soufflé.
Date a woman who bakes because you deserve to discover the forgotten Eden of the kitchen with a fearless domestic goddess. Date a woman who bakes because you deserve to be her guinea pig. Because a cake is just a cake unless it’s made by someone you love. Food has a way of cutting through things, and to things, that have nothing to do with the kitchen. This is why food matters, why a passionate, thoughtful cook makes a world of difference. Date a woman who bakes and she’ll feed your soul with the warmth of her efforts and accept your adoring glances with a soft kiss and a second serving. Date a woman who bakes because you deserve to be nourished.