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Addicted to Baking – My Favorite Essay on Baking as a Hobby

If you’re like me, you are probably obsessed with baking, to the point that it’s your every-day hobby.

Below is an essay example about “Baking as my hobby” written by Lauren Bradshaw from CustomWritings – personalized essay writing service established in 2008. You can learn from this sample and write perfect college essays.

As the only boy with five sisters, it wasn’t common that I was attracted to the kitchen. I didn’t particularly enjoy cooking except for when I am doing the steaks with my dad. However, there is just one part of cooking that I am attracted to, baking .

Growing up, I used to love cakes. I would cry for hours unending until my parents got me a piece. I was so addicted to chocolate cake, and my mum used it against me. She would tell me to do the dishes, fold my laundry, or even water the garden for a piece of chocolate cake.

I would gladly do all that and more to get my piece, and my mum is great at baking. Her cake is always near perfect, and she knows how to spice them up with fruits and other sweet additives. Watching her bake in the kitchen at special occasions like Christmas, birthdays and Thanksgiving brought me so much happiness. While some of my sisters didn’t like the idea of baking, I was glued to my mum whenever she baked and asked her many questions about the process then, although some of them were annoying.

As a little boy of seven, I could attempt to bake a simple carrot cake. My love for the chocolate was, and carrot cake became my new cool. On my 10th year, I baked my first cheesecake for the family and got plenty of positive feedback from my mum, sisters, and my dad too.

As I grew, my interest in cake decorations intensified. I would go to parties and carefully observe the decorations on the cakes. Then, I would come home and ask my mum what she thought about it. I got my first camera and took tons of cake pictures I found interesting. As my curiosity grew, my family adopted the idea that I was the chief baker. I took up that position with so much joy as I looked forward to pleasing them. I baked all kinds of easy cakes for deserts. I bought cookbooks and learned new ways to make a great cake without fuss.

From cakes to pies and delicious bread, my love for baking grew with me to my teens until I had to get to college. My mum was crying because since I took over the baking responsibility, she has been free and had not baked for years. My family was sad, but I was devastated because I may have to focus on my studies and lose my passion for baking.

Dad didn’t want me to go into the confectionary business without at least getting a professional certificate, and I correctly understood his plight. I got to college, and my first year was hectic, so I had no time for my hobbies, especially baking. I made new friends and found some that lived around. Made a few visits and found out one of my close friends lives with his family and they were open to my visits.

One day we were all having dinner, and I talked about my baking expertise and how I missed doing what I love most. The family suggested I come around and bake for an upcoming birthday. I was so excited to get another opportunity to display my talent. I showed up very early on the day before the celebration and got down to work with the help of my friend’s family. They were skeptical at first because I was a boy, but when we were halfway into the process, they were amazed at my knowledge and skills on baking.

The cake turned out better than they expected, to my amazement. I did a unique decoration, and the celebrant never stopped thanking me. I got a few recommendations and did other side baking gigs while in college, and I was happy with the chance I got.

Baking was my way of relaxing. I loved the smile and people’s faces when they taste my cake or pie, and it gave me a strong push to come up with something better. I loved the compliments I get from mum and dad anytime I bake something extraordinary. They were proud I found something I love and could keep to it.

Each time I bake, I feel a spark of joy in my soul. It felt like I was born to mix flour and make magic from it. I have other hobbies, no doubt, but none can compare to my love for baking.

At the end of college, I took to another profession but will always bake whenever I got the chance. Baking will always be special to me, and I hope to pass down my skills to my children.

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Follow YES! For Teachers

Six brilliant student essays on the power of food to spark social change.

Read winning essays from our fall 2018 “Feeding Ourselves, Feeding Our Revolutions,” student writing contest.

For the Fall 2018 student writing competition, “Feeding Ourselves, Feeding Our Revolutions,” we invited students to read the YES! Magazine article, “Cooking Stirs the Pot for Social Change,” by Korsha Wilson and respond to this writing prompt: If you were to host a potluck or dinner to discuss a challenge facing your community or country, what food would you cook? Whom would you invite? On what issue would you deliberate?

The Winners

From the hundreds of essays written, these six—on anti-Semitism, cultural identity, death row prisoners, coming out as transgender, climate change, and addiction—were chosen as essay winners. Be sure to read the literary gems and catchy titles that caught our eye.

Middle School Winner: India Brown High School Winner: Grace Williams University Winner: Lillia Borodkin Powerful Voice Winner: Paisley Regester Powerful Voice Winner: Emma Lingo Powerful Voice Winner: Hayden Wilson

Literary Gems Clever Titles

Middle School Winner: India Brown

A Feast for the Future

Close your eyes and imagine the not too distant future: The Statue of Liberty is up to her knees in water, the streets of lower Manhattan resemble the canals of Venice, and hurricanes arrive in the fall and stay until summer. Now, open your eyes and see the beautiful planet that we will destroy if we do not do something. Now is the time for change. Our future is in our control if we take actions, ranging from small steps, such as not using plastic straws, to large ones, such as reducing fossil fuel consumption and electing leaders who take the problem seriously.

Hosting a dinner party is an extraordinary way to publicize what is at stake. At my potluck, I would serve linguini with clams. The clams would be sautéed in white wine sauce. The pasta tossed with a light coat of butter and topped with freshly shredded parmesan. I choose this meal because it cannot be made if global warming’s patterns persist. Soon enough, the ocean will be too warm to cultivate clams, vineyards will be too sweltering to grow grapes, and wheat fields will dry out, leaving us without pasta.

I think that giving my guests a delicious meal and then breaking the news to them that its ingredients would be unattainable if Earth continues to get hotter is a creative strategy to initiate action. Plus, on the off chance the conversation gets drastically tense, pasta is a relatively difficult food to throw.

In YES! Magazine’s article, “Cooking Stirs the Pot for Social Change,” Korsha Wilson says “…beyond the narrow definition of what cooking is, you can see that cooking is and has always been an act of resistance.” I hope that my dish inspires people to be aware of what’s at stake with increasing greenhouse gas emissions and work toward creating a clean energy future.

My guest list for the potluck would include two groups of people: local farmers, who are directly and personally affected by rising temperatures, increased carbon dioxide, drought, and flooding, and people who either do not believe in human-caused climate change or don’t think it affects anyone. I would invite the farmers or farm owners because their jobs and crops are dependent on the weather. I hope that after hearing a farmer’s perspective, climate-deniers would be awakened by the truth and more receptive to the effort to reverse these catastrophic trends.

Earth is a beautiful planet that provides everything we’ll ever need, but because of our pattern of living—wasteful consumption, fossil fuel burning, and greenhouse gas emissions— our habitat is rapidly deteriorating. Whether you are a farmer, a long-shower-taking teenager, a worker in a pollution-producing factory, or a climate-denier, the future of humankind is in our hands. The choices we make and the actions we take will forever affect planet Earth.

India Brown is an eighth grader who lives in New York City with her parents and older brother. She enjoys spending time with her friends, walking her dog, Morty, playing volleyball and lacrosse, and swimming.

High School Winner: Grace Williams

Apple Pie Embrace

It’s 1:47 a.m. Thanksgiving smells fill the kitchen. The sweet aroma of sugar-covered apples and buttery dough swirls into my nostrils. Fragrant orange and rosemary permeate the room and every corner smells like a stroll past the open door of a French bakery. My eleven-year-old eyes water, red with drowsiness, and refocus on the oven timer counting down. Behind me, my mom and aunt chat to no end, fueled by the seemingly self-replenishable coffee pot stashed in the corner. Their hands work fast, mashing potatoes, crumbling cornbread, and covering finished dishes in a thin layer of plastic wrap. The most my tired body can do is sit slouched on the backless wooden footstool. I bask in the heat escaping under the oven door.

As a child, I enjoyed Thanksgiving and the preparations that came with it, but it seemed like more of a bridge between my birthday and Christmas than an actual holiday. Now, it’s a time of year I look forward to, dedicated to family, memories, and, most importantly, food. What I realized as I grew older was that my homemade Thanksgiving apple pie was more than its flaky crust and soft-fruit center. This American food symbolized a rite of passage, my Iraqi family’s ticket to assimilation.

Some argue that by adopting American customs like the apple pie, we lose our culture. I would argue that while American culture influences what my family eats and celebrates, it doesn’t define our character. In my family, we eat Iraqi dishes like mesta and tahini, but we also eat Cinnamon Toast Crunch for breakfast. This doesn’t mean we favor one culture over the other; instead, we create a beautiful blend of the two, adapting traditions to make them our own.

That said, my family has always been more than the “mashed potatoes and turkey” type.

My mom’s family immigrated to the United States in 1976. Upon their arrival, they encountered a deeply divided America. Racism thrived, even after the significant freedoms gained from the Civil Rights Movement a few years before. Here, my family was thrust into a completely unknown world: they didn’t speak the language, they didn’t dress normally, and dinners like riza maraka seemed strange in comparison to the Pop Tarts and Oreos lining grocery store shelves.

If I were to host a dinner party, it would be like Thanksgiving with my Chaldean family. The guests, my extended family, are a diverse people, distinct ingredients in a sweet potato casserole, coming together to create a delicious dish.

In her article “Cooking Stirs the Pot for Social Change,” Korsha Wilson writes, “each ingredient that we use, every technique, every spice tells a story about our access, our privilege, our heritage, and our culture.” Voices around the room will echo off the walls into the late hours of the night while the hot apple pie steams at the table’s center.

We will play concan on the blanketed floor and I’ll try to understand my Toto, who, after forty years, still speaks broken English. I’ll listen to my elders as they tell stories about growing up in Unionville, Michigan, a predominately white town where they always felt like outsiders, stories of racism that I have the privilege not to experience. While snacking on sunflower seeds and salted pistachios, we’ll talk about the news- how thousands of people across the country are protesting for justice among immigrants. No one protested to give my family a voice.

Our Thanksgiving food is more than just sustenance, it is a physical representation of my family ’s blended and ever-changing culture, even after 40 years in the United States. No matter how the food on our plates changes, it will always symbolize our sense of family—immediate and extended—and our unbreakable bond.

Grace Williams, a student at Kirkwood High School in Kirkwood, Missouri, enjoys playing tennis, baking, and spending time with her family. Grace also enjoys her time as a writing editor for her school’s yearbook, the Pioneer. In the future, Grace hopes to continue her travels abroad, as well as live near extended family along the sunny beaches of La Jolla, California.

University Winner: Lillia Borodkin

Nourishing Change After Tragedy Strikes

In the Jewish community, food is paramount. We often spend our holidays gathered around a table, sharing a meal and reveling in our people’s story. On other sacred days, we fast, focusing instead on reflection, atonement, and forgiveness.

As a child, I delighted in the comfort of matzo ball soup, the sweetness of hamantaschen, and the beauty of braided challah. But as I grew older and more knowledgeable about my faith, I learned that the origins of these foods are not rooted in joy, but in sacrifice.

The matzo of matzo balls was a necessity as the Jewish people did not have time for their bread to rise as they fled slavery in Egypt. The hamantaschen was an homage to the hat of Haman, the villain of the Purim story who plotted the Jewish people’s destruction. The unbaked portion of braided challah was tithed by commandment to the kohen or priests. Our food is an expression of our history, commemorating both our struggles and our triumphs.

As I write this, only days have passed since eleven Jews were killed at the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh. These people, intending only to pray and celebrate the Sabbath with their community, were murdered simply for being Jewish. This brutal event, in a temple and city much like my own, is a reminder that anti-Semitism still exists in this country. A reminder that hatred of Jews, of me, my family, and my community, is alive and flourishing in America today. The thought that a difference in religion would make some believe that others do not have the right to exist is frightening and sickening.

This is why, if given the chance, I would sit down the entire Jewish American community at one giant Shabbat table. I’d serve matzo ball soup, pass around loaves of challah, and do my best to offer comfort. We would take time to remember the beautiful souls lost to anti-Semitism this October and the countless others who have been victims of such hatred in the past. I would then ask that we channel all we are feeling—all the fear, confusion, and anger —into the fight.

As suggested in Korsha Wilson’s “Cooking Stirs the Pot for Social Change,” I would urge my guests to direct our passion for justice and the comfort and care provided by the food we are eating into resisting anti-Semitism and hatred of all kinds.

We must use the courage this sustenance provides to create change and honor our people’s suffering and strength. We must remind our neighbors, both Jewish and non-Jewish, that anti-Semitism is alive and well today. We must shout and scream and vote until our elected leaders take this threat to our community seriously. And, we must stand with, support, and listen to other communities that are subjected to vengeful hate today in the same way that many of these groups have supported us in the wake of this tragedy.

This terrible shooting is not the first of its kind, and if conflict and loathing are permitted to grow, I fear it will not be the last. While political change may help, the best way to target this hate is through smaller-scale actions in our own communities.

It is critical that we as a Jewish people take time to congregate and heal together, but it is equally necessary to include those outside the Jewish community to build a powerful crusade against hatred and bigotry. While convening with these individuals, we will work to end the dangerous “otherizing” that plagues our society and seek to understand that we share far more in common than we thought. As disagreements arise during our discussions, we will learn to respect and treat each other with the fairness we each desire. Together, we shall share the comfort, strength, and courage that traditional Jewish foods provide and use them to fuel our revolution.

We are not alone in the fight despite what extremists and anti-semites might like us to believe. So, like any Jew would do, I invite you to join me at the Shabbat table. First, we will eat. Then, we will get to work.

Lillia Borodkin is a senior at Kent State University majoring in Psychology with a concentration in Child Psychology. She plans to attend graduate school and become a school psychologist while continuing to pursue her passion for reading and writing. Outside of class, Lillia is involved in research in the psychology department and volunteers at the Women’s Center on campus.

Powerful Voice Winner: Paisley Regester

As a kid, I remember asking my friends jokingly, ”If you were stuck on a deserted island, what single item of food would you bring?” Some of my friends answered practically and said they’d bring water. Others answered comically and said they’d bring snacks like Flamin’ Hot Cheetos or a banana. However, most of my friends answered sentimentally and listed the foods that made them happy. This seems like fun and games, but what happens if the hypothetical changes? Imagine being asked, on the eve of your death, to choose the final meal you will ever eat. What food would you pick? Something practical? Comical? Sentimental?

This situation is the reality for the 2,747 American prisoners who are currently awaiting execution on death row. The grim ritual of “last meals,” when prisoners choose their final meal before execution, can reveal a lot about these individuals and what they valued throughout their lives.

It is difficult for us to imagine someone eating steak, lobster tail, apple pie, and vanilla ice cream one moment and being killed by state-approved lethal injection the next. The prisoner can only hope that the apple pie he requested tastes as good as his mom’s. Surprisingly, many people in prison decline the option to request a special last meal. We often think of food as something that keeps us alive, so is there really any point to eating if someone knows they are going to die?

“Controlling food is a means of controlling power,” said chef Sean Sherman in the YES! Magazine article “Cooking Stirs the Pot for Social Change,” by Korsha Wilson. There are deeper stories that lie behind the final meals of individuals on death row.

I want to bring awareness to the complex and often controversial conditions of this country’s criminal justice system and change the common perception of prisoners as inhuman. To accomplish this, I would host a potluck where I would recreate the last meals of prisoners sentenced to death.

In front of each plate, there would be a place card with the prisoner’s full name, the date of execution, and the method of execution. These meals could range from a plate of fried chicken, peas with butter, apple pie, and a Dr. Pepper, reminiscent of a Sunday dinner at Grandma’s, to a single olive.

Seeing these meals up close, meals that many may eat at their own table or feed to their own kids, would force attendees to face the reality of the death penalty. It will urge my guests to look at these individuals not just as prisoners, assigned a number and a death date, but as people, capable of love and rehabilitation.

This potluck is not only about realizing a prisoner’s humanity, but it is also about recognizing a flawed criminal justice system. Over the years, I have become skeptical of the American judicial system, especially when only seven states have judges who ethnically represent the people they serve. I was shocked when I found out that the officers who killed Michael Brown and Anthony Lamar Smith were exonerated for their actions. How could that be possible when so many teens and adults of color have spent years in prison, some even executed, for crimes they never committed?

Lawmakers, police officers, city officials, and young constituents, along with former prisoners and their families, would be invited to my potluck to start an honest conversation about the role and application of inequality, dehumanization, and racism in the death penalty. Food served at the potluck would represent the humanity of prisoners and push people to acknowledge that many inmates are victims of a racist and corrupt judicial system.

Recognizing these injustices is only the first step towards a more equitable society. The second step would be acting on these injustices to ensure that every voice is heard, even ones separated from us by prison walls. Let’s leave that for the next potluck, where I plan to serve humble pie.

Paisley Regester is a high school senior and devotes her life to activism, the arts, and adventure. Inspired by her experiences traveling abroad to Nicaragua, Mexico, and Scotland, Paisley hopes to someday write about the diverse people and places she has encountered and share her stories with the rest of the world.

Powerful Voice Winner: Emma Lingo

The Empty Seat

“If you aren’t sober, then I don’t want to see you on Christmas.”

Harsh words for my father to hear from his daughter but words he needed to hear. Words I needed him to understand and words he seemed to consider as he fiddled with his wine glass at the head of the table. Our guests, my grandma, and her neighbors remained resolutely silent. They were not about to defend my drunken father–or Charles as I call him–from my anger or my ultimatum.

This was the first dinner we had had together in a year. The last meal we shared ended with Charles slopping his drink all over my birthday presents and my mother explaining heroin addiction to me. So, I wasn’t surprised when Charles threw down some liquid valor before dinner in anticipation of my anger. If he wanted to be welcomed on Christmas, he needed to be sober—or he needed to be gone.

Countless dinners, holidays, and birthdays taught me that my demands for sobriety would fall on deaf ears. But not this time. Charles gave me a gift—a one of a kind, limited edition, absolutely awkward treat. One that I didn’t know how to deal with at all. Charles went home that night, smacked a bright red bow on my father, and hand-delivered him to me on Christmas morning.

He arrived for breakfast freshly showered and looking flustered. He would remember this day for once only because his daughter had scolded him into sobriety. Dad teetered between happiness and shame. Grandma distracted us from Dad’s presence by bringing the piping hot bacon and biscuits from the kitchen to the table, theatrically announcing their arrival. Although these foods were the alleged focus of the meal, the real spotlight shined on the unopened liquor cabinet in my grandma’s kitchen—the cabinet I know Charles was begging Dad to open.

I’ve isolated myself from Charles. My family has too. It means we don’t see Dad, but it’s the best way to avoid confrontation and heartache. Sometimes I find myself wondering what it would be like if we talked with him more or if he still lived nearby. Would he be less inclined to use? If all families with an addict tried to hang on to a relationship with the user, would there be fewer addicts in the world? Christmas breakfast with Dad was followed by Charles whisking him away to Colorado where pot had just been legalized. I haven’t talked to Dad since that Christmas.

As Korsha Wilson stated in her YES! Magazine article, “Cooking Stirs the Pot for Social Change,” “Sometimes what we don’t cook says more than what we do cook.” When it comes to addiction, what isn’t served is more important than what is. In quiet moments, I like to imagine a meal with my family–including Dad. He’d have a spot at the table in my little fantasy. No alcohol would push him out of his chair, the cigarettes would remain seated in his back pocket, and the stench of weed wouldn’t invade the dining room. Fruit salad and gumbo would fill the table—foods that Dad likes. We’d talk about trivial matters in life, like how school is going and what we watched last night on TV.

Dad would feel loved. We would connect. He would feel less alone. At the end of the night, he’d walk me to the door and promise to see me again soon. And I would believe him.

Emma Lingo spends her time working as an editor for her school paper, reading, and being vocal about social justice issues. Emma is active with many clubs such as Youth and Government, KHS Cares, and Peer Helpers. She hopes to be a journalist one day and to be able to continue helping out people by volunteering at local nonprofits.

Powerful Voice Winner: Hayden Wilson

Bittersweet Reunion

I close my eyes and envision a dinner of my wildest dreams. I would invite all of my relatives. Not just my sister who doesn’t ask how I am anymore. Not just my nephews who I’m told are too young to understand me. No, I would gather all of my aunts, uncles, and cousins to introduce them to the me they haven’t met.

For almost two years, I’ve gone by a different name that most of my family refuses to acknowledge. My aunt, a nun of 40 years, told me at a recent birthday dinner that she’d heard of my “nickname.” I didn’t want to start a fight, so I decided not to correct her. Even the ones who’ve adjusted to my name have yet to recognize the bigger issue.

Last year on Facebook, I announced to my friends and family that I am transgender. No one in my family has talked to me about it, but they have plenty to say to my parents. I feel as if this is about my parents more than me—that they’ve made some big parenting mistake. Maybe if I invited everyone to dinner and opened up a discussion, they would voice their concerns to me instead of my parents.

I would serve two different meals of comfort food to remind my family of our good times. For my dad’s family, I would cook heavily salted breakfast food, the kind my grandpa used to enjoy. He took all of his kids to IHOP every Sunday and ordered the least healthy option he could find, usually some combination of an overcooked omelet and a loaded Classic Burger. For my mom’s family, I would buy shakes and burgers from Hardee’s. In my grandma’s final weeks, she let aluminum tins of sympathy meals pile up on her dining table while she made my uncle take her to Hardee’s every day.

In her article on cooking and activism, food writer Korsha Wilson writes, “Everyone puts down their guard over a good meal, and in that space, change is possible.” Hopefully the same will apply to my guests.

When I first thought of this idea, my mind rushed to the endless negative possibilities. My nun-aunt and my two non-nun aunts who live like nuns would whip out their Bibles before I even finished my first sentence. My very liberal, state representative cousin would say how proud she is of the guy I’m becoming, but this would trigger my aunts to accuse her of corrupting my mind. My sister, who has never spoken to me about my genderidentity, would cover her children’s ears and rush them out of the house. My Great-Depression-raised grandparents would roll over in their graves, mumbling about how kids have it easy nowadays.

After mentally mapping out every imaginable terrible outcome this dinner could have, I realized a conversation is unavoidable if I want my family to accept who I am. I long to restore the deep connection I used to have with them. Though I often think these former relationships are out of reach, I won’t know until I try to repair them. For a year and a half, I’ve relied on Facebook and my parents to relay messages about my identity, but I need to tell my own story.

At first, I thought Korsha Wilson’s idea of a cooked meal leading the way to social change was too optimistic, but now I understand that I need to think more like her. Maybe, just maybe, my family could all gather around a table, enjoy some overpriced shakes, and be as close as we were when I was a little girl.

Hayden Wilson is a 17-year-old high school junior from Missouri. He loves writing, making music, and painting. He’s a part of his school’s writing club, as well as the GSA and a few service clubs.

Literary Gems

We received many outstanding essays for the Fall 2018 Writing Competition. Though not every participant can win the contest, we’d like to share some excerpts that caught our eye.

Thinking of the main staple of the dish—potatoes, the starchy vegetable that provides sustenance for people around the globe. The onion, the layers of sorrow and joy—a base for this dish served during the holidays. The oil, symbolic of hope and perseverance. All of these elements come together to form this delicious oval pancake permeating with possibilities. I wonder about future possibilities as I flip the latkes.

—Nikki Markman, University of San Francisco, San Francisco, California

The egg is a treasure. It is a fragile heart of gold that once broken, flows over the blemishless surface of the egg white in dandelion colored streams, like ribbon unraveling from its spool.

—Kaylin Ku, West Windsor-Plainsboro High School South, Princeton Junction, New Jersey

If I were to bring one food to a potluck to create social change by addressing anti-Semitism, I would bring gefilte fish because it is different from other fish, just like the Jews are different from other people. It looks more like a matzo ball than fish, smells extraordinarily fishy, and tastes like sweet brine with the consistency of a crab cake.

—Noah Glassman, Ethical Culture Fieldston School, Bronx, New York

I would not only be serving them something to digest, I would serve them a one-of-a-kind taste of the past, a taste of fear that is felt in the souls of those whose home and land were taken away, a taste of ancestral power that still lives upon us, and a taste of the voices that want to be heard and that want the suffering of the Natives to end.

—Citlalic Anima Guevara, Wichita North High School, Wichita, Kansas

It’s the one thing that your parents make sure you have because they didn’t. Food is what your mother gives you as she lies, telling you she already ate. It’s something not everybody is fortunate to have and it’s also what we throw away without hesitation. Food is a blessing to me, but what is it to you?

—Mohamed Omar, Kirkwood High School, Kirkwood, Missouri

Filleted and fried humphead wrasse, mangrove crab with coconut milk, pounded taro, a whole roast pig, and caramelized nuts—cuisines that will not be simplified to just “food.” Because what we eat is the diligence and pride of our people—a culture that has survived and continues to thrive.

—Mayumi Remengesau, University of San Francisco, San Francisco, California

Some people automatically think I’m kosher or ask me to say prayers in Hebrew. However, guess what? I don’t know many prayers and I eat bacon.

—Hannah Reing, Ethical Culture Fieldston School, The Bronx, New York

Everything was placed before me. Rolling up my sleeves I started cracking eggs, mixing flour, and sampling some chocolate chips, because you can never be too sure. Three separate bowls. All different sizes. Carefully, I tipped the smallest, and the medium-sized bowls into the biggest. Next, I plugged in my hand-held mixer and flicked on the switch. The beaters whirl to life. I lowered it into the bowl and witnessed the creation of something magnificent. Cookie dough.

—Cassandra Amaya, Owen Goodnight Middle School, San Marcos, Texas

Biscuits and bisexuality are both things that are in my life…My grandmother’s biscuits are the best: the good old classic Southern biscuits, crunchy on the outside, fluffy on the inside. Except it is mostly Southern people who don’t accept me.

—Jaden Huckaby, Arbor Montessori, Decatur, Georgia

We zest the bright yellow lemons and the peels of flavor fall lightly into the batter. To make frosting, we keep adding more and more powdered sugar until it looks like fluffy clouds with raspberry seed rain.

—Jane Minus, Ethical Culture Fieldston School, Bronx, New York

Tamales for my grandma, I can still remember her skillfully spreading the perfect layer of masa on every corn husk, looking at me pitifully as my young hands fumbled with the corn wrapper, always too thick or too thin.

—Brenna Eliaz, San Marcos High School, San Marcos, Texas

Just like fry bread, MRE’s (Meals Ready to Eat) remind New Orleanians and others affected by disasters of the devastation throughout our city and the little amount of help we got afterward.

—Madeline Johnson, Spring Hill College, Mobile, Alabama

I would bring cream corn and buckeyes and have a big debate on whether marijuana should be illegal or not.

—Lillian Martinez, Miller Middle School, San Marcos, Texas

We would finish the meal off with a delicious apple strudel, topped with schlag, schlag, schlag, more schlag, and a cherry, and finally…more schlag (in case you were wondering, schlag is like whipped cream, but 10 times better because it is heavier and sweeter).

—Morgan Sheehan, Ethical Culture Fieldston School, Bronx, New York

Clever Titles

This year we decided to do something different. We were so impressed by the number of catchy titles that we decided to feature some of our favorites.

“Eat Like a Baby: Why Shame Has No Place at a Baby’s Dinner Plate”

—Tate Miller, Wichita North High School, Wichita, Kansas

“The Cheese in Between”

—Jedd Horowitz, Ethical Culture Fieldston School, Bronx, New York

“Harvey, Michael, Florence or Katrina? Invite Them All Because Now We Are Prepared”

—Molly Mendoza, Spring Hill College, Mobile, Alabama

“Neglecting Our Children: From Broccoli to Bullets”

—Kylie Rollings, Kirkwood High School, Kirkwood, Missouri

“The Lasagna of Life”

—Max Williams, Wichita North High School, Wichita, Kansas

“Yum, Yum, Carbon Dioxide In Our Lungs”

—Melanie Eickmeyer, Kirkwood High School, Kirkwood, Missouri

“My Potluck, My Choice”

—Francesca Grossberg, Ethical Culture Fieldston School, Bronx, New York

“Trumping with Tacos”

—Maya Goncalves, Lincoln Middle School, Ypsilanti, Michigan

“Quiche and Climate Change”

—Bernie Waldman, Ethical Culture Fieldston School, Bronx, New York

“Biscuits and Bisexuality”

“W(health)”

—Miles Oshan, San Marcos High School, San Marcos, Texas

“Bubula, Come Eat!”

—Jordan Fienberg, Ethical Culture Fieldston School, Bronx, New York

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How An Essay About Food Landed Me at My Top College

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May 1st is fast approaching, and the time for the high school class of 2019 to make their final college decisions is dwindling. Choosing which college to go to is overwhelming, but the dozens of essays one has to write to merely apply is even more daunting. It also doesn't help when you apply to way too many schools (13 to be exact), nearly all of which want you to outline what makes their school stand out. It was all too easy to get trapped in the cycle of repetitive phrases and "smart-sounding language."

However, when it came to writing my actual college essay which was to be sent to every school, it seemed to just flow onto the paper. Despite not choosing a specific Common App prompt, I knew exactly what I was going to write about—food.

Unlike fellow applicants, I did not have an incredible story to tell, nor an obstacle that I overcame worth a college admission officer's time. What I did have standing behind me was a passion for peanut butter and jelly , the best desserts in New Jersey , and outlandish food gadgets that probably no one needs .

I am a massive foodie. By definition, I am a person who really appreciates a good meal. It also makes me the person who makes dinner reservations for a vacation before the plane tickets and hotel rooms are booked, and one that celebrates a ten mile run with a slice of Cheesecake Factory’s Ultimate Red Velvet Cheesecake . Is it the most healthy hobby? Probably not. But fun? Of course.

I am not sure what drew me to food, but maybe it is the fact that my earliest memories are of grabbing every sample possible at Sam’s Club, eating holiday dinners of kugel and brisket, and standing on the countertop making a batch of Toll House Chocolate Chip Cookies. I learned to read a nutrition label before I could read a book and I learned the basics of food before I could count to ten. From childhood until now, although my taste buds have changed, and I have grown a liking for broccoli and lasagna, my infatuation with food remains constant.

Or maybe it is because I love how food is a social event. My family makes a point to eat our dinners as a unit. You can even count on my dog joining us in the kitchen when dinner is served. Whether we are eating one of my mom’s extravagant home-cooked meals or scarfing down a delivery pizza before we have to run out of the house, my family congregates at the table to catch up with each other.

Fridays are our nights out to dinner to celebrate the fact that we made it through another week. The choice of restaurant depends on whoever’s turn it is. My brother, not at all a food fanatic, always says anywhere. My dad loves to joke that Anywhere is too far or too expensive or whatever excuse he could make to get a chuckle out of me. To this day, I can always count on Friday night plans, even if it means eating dinner out with my parents. After dinner, you might discover my sister and I binge-watching the latest documentary about the juice cleanse (we’ve seen all three) while munching on a bag of Chex Mix.

This communion continues with my friends. You can find me on any given Saturday night chatting about the latest gossip and sharing our opinions on last night’s Bachelor in Paradise episode. This conversation isn’t complete unless we are chowing down on a smorgasbord of chicken chow mein , mozzarella sticks, and Pringles. Our way of celebrating our gratefulness towards one another is by hosting a Friendsgiving. Our annual feast boasts piles of our favorite foods. Luckily, when you are with friends, calories do not count.

I adore food. Not in the way where I don’t have a limit, but in the way that food just so happens to be a vital part of so many happy moments. I’m not a glutton, I just really like to smile. I cannot remember a time when food did not in one way or another make me or someone else happy. Even during the saddest or most stressful of situations, spending some quality time with Ben and Jerry can make it all better. Food is one of the most basic human needs, but it has grown into an integral aspect of our society where people look to it for comfort. When you are surrounded by foods and people who care for you, you don’t need much more. Although, extra dessert never hurts.

Where the Essay Led Me

After a few rejections, long college road-trips, and some delicious college cookies as seen in the photo above, I have officially committed to Northeastern University. I am so excited to start the next journey of my education as a Husky. Although my time at Spoon High School comes to a close, Spoon Northeastern awaits.

So no one told you Thanksgiving was gonna be this way.

I'm lovin' it., adventurous, no time to wine. buff it out with your ro-say cheeks..

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Bakery College Essays Samples For Students

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TABLE OF CONTENTS PART ONE: COMMUNITY PROJECT- GROUP 1. BRAINSTORM 3 2. MINUTES OF THE MEETING 3 3. PROJECT PLAN 4

PART TWO: REVIEW LOG AND REPORT-INDIVIDUAL

1. WEEKLY DIARY 6 2. POSITIVE EXPERIENCES 9 3. NEGATIVE EXPERIENCES 9 4. OUTCOME OF THE PROJECT 11

REFERENCES 11

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<Name> <Professor> <Subject> Analyzing Two Poems: Money Won’t Change It (But Time Will Take You On) and A Small Moment by Cornelius Eady

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Pesonal Narrative Essay about Baking

Baking has always been something my momand I do together. Looking back, I can see how patient she always was with me in the kitchen. My small hands would take forever to mix the batter, and I always wanted to be held up so I could see the over the countertop. As I got older, my mom would teach me more and more about baking. I learned to separate eggs using the shell, how to make sure a cake was cooked through, and how to frost a perfect cupcake. Baking had become more than something my mother and I did together: it had become a part of me.

Eventually, I was able to do lots of the baking myself, and I was determined to show her that I had no need for her assistance anymore. The truth was, she had taught me so well, that I was and still am perfectly capable of baking on my own. In fact, I'm pretty good at it. However, I quickly learned just how much I really needed her.

Because of my love for baking and an upcoming school field trip to Washington DC, I decided that I would bake and sell treats to pay for the trip. Now, those who know me know that I am both extremely optimistic and even more forgetful. This unfortunate combination led to me completely panicking one morning when I received a call from a woman who had ordered cupcakes from me. The phone rang, and a voice asked, "You can still deliver the cupcakes today right? Three dozens carrot cake with cream cheese frosting by 11:30 like we discussed?" My heart sank. It was already 10:00 and cupcakes were the furthest thing from my mind. If not for the phone call, I would have forgotten them completely. Of course I was determined to fill the order though, so I replied with a cheery, "Of course! I'll have them decorated and ready!" I spent the next hour baking like a madwoman and begging my brother to fetch me ingredients from the store. I finally got the cupcakes into the oven, but I knew I couldn't possibly decorate them in time. Under stress and covered head to toe in flour, I sat on the floor of our kitchen and cried. Baking was supposed to be something that I loved, but now it was the last thing I wanted to do. As I sat there, I felt my mother's hand touch my shoulder and then lift me from the floor. My mom, whose help I had rejected in the past because I wanted to prove that I could bake by myself, stood there wearing her apron, ready to help me. Together, we were able to complete the order and get it delivered just a few minutes before the deadline.

The whole event, while it felt horrible at the moment, reminded me of why I fell in love with baking in the first place. I love it because it's something that I do with my mother. The little girl who was determined to prove that she was independent now cherishes her mother's presence. I may love frosting cupcakes and getting souffle to rise just perfectly, but more than that, I love spending time in the kitchen with my mom.

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Personal Essay About Baking

Baking has been a passion of mine since I was 12 years old and baked my first cake for my mum’s birthday. I found the calm, peaceful process of baking very therapeutic and the achievements I am most proud of stem from this passion of mine. When I was in Grade 10, what started out as my Personal Project program turned into something more meaningful. I decided to use the Personal Project as a platform to further pursue my love of baking and wrote my own recipe book for teenagers. I found that love baking as I may, consuming the high calorie, high fat baked goods I produced regularly was not a sustainable practice. I loved to bake, but had to prevent myself from baking too often due to the unhealthy product. I found that I was not alone in this …show more content…

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Anzia Yezierska's book, "Bread Givers," offers readers a concept of immigrants' experiences in the US during the early twentieth century. Yezierska presents three concepts—identity and gender roles—through the progression of Sara's story. Sara Smolinsky's journey unfolds as a young Jewish immigrant challenges social norms to pursue her aspirations and achieve independence. Sara struggles to balance her desire for liberty with her obligations to her family and culture. She also grapples with the conflict between her Orthodox Jewish upbringing and the opportunities provided by the American Dream.

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This ongoing has been a large discussion for many people. He exemplifies that through Eric Schlosser of the “Dark Side of the All-American Meal” (2001) and how San Franciscans, fretted largely about, “the nutritional dangers to their children’s health, began the last century by banning “roving pie vendors” who catered to the “habitual pie-eating” habits of schoolchildren and prohibiting the sale of soft drinks on school campuses.” (Leitcher) The question then becomes at the center of all the health promotions advertised, the advice spoken, and advocacy, to what lengths do one literary novel change the social fabric of how Americans look at food

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After countless hours of baking, my group and I were able to raise $1250 which we used to purchase basketball hoops, plates, beds, silverware, cups, schooling for the children, and uniforms. Although we were not able to directly deliver these goods to the family ourselves, we were able to see pictures that were equally rewarding. Their faces and gratitude made the many nights of little sleep well worth

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but now we use it as more of a way to show our creativity. We have evolved to the point in our existence that we use food for many things than just eating. My mom is not a professional cook but in my opinion she still makes amazing food. She does it to feed us while other people due it show creativity. The cake shown is known as a galaxy cake.

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A talent is defined as something that comes natural to you and you enjoy doing. A talent is something you grow on and develop and always work towards strengthening and improving in. Everyone, no matter how different or unique, has a talent. However, most people do not incorporate their talent into large aspects of their life and keep it as something minor. Ever since I was little, I enjoyed being in the kitchen with my mom, dad and other family members. As long as I can remember, I was always there, trying to help out in whatever I could and what my family members would let me. When I was eight, I baked my first batch of chocolate chip cookies and ever since then I developed a passion and dedication for baking that has helped to teach many

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I vividly remember the day my mother screamed across the house “Cindy, come to the kitchen!”. My best friend and I were having a conversation over the phone, I was laying comfortably on my bed. When my mother noticed I did not respond, she angrily shouted again, “Cindy, today I will be teaching you how to cook”. I hung up the phone and rushed to the kitchen, surprised and scare about my mother had planned for me. From that moment, my life changed forever. My mother waited until my 15th birthday to teach me the way around a kitchen, I assume she saw that it was time to acquire more responsibilities for the well-being of my future. It was a lesson that was insignificant to me at the time that became one of the most valuable lessons in my life and future.

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Baking an Imaginary Cake

“Our greatest natural resource is the minds of our children.”-Walt Disney As a seven year old girl, I was proud to be a “tomboy”. I never played with dolls, preferring to use the computer as my source of entertainment. In my house, any Barbie dolls were found buried in the corners of the closets rarely seeing the light of day. So when I babysat a little girl ten years later, I was forced into very unfamiliar territory. After her mother left, she immediately ran over to a large toy chest, that was big enough to fit four small children, and dumped its contents all over the floor. “Here, take this one…and this one…and…this one! He’s my favorite but you can be him today.” She handed me a plastic sheep, a blue bear with a star on its stomach and a doll whose head was bigger than its body. “And I’ll be Teddy, Honey and Ellie. They’re all sisters and they live together in that pink house over there. OK? Alright, so let’s go!” Immediately, she slipped into the characters of her plastic creatures, doing their voices and personality as naturally as I would brush my teeth. “Well aren’t you gonna play?” she asked turning to me. I realized I was still standing where she handed me my toys. “Yeah,” I said with uncertainty, “Umm…” I was stuck. What name and personality could I give to a plastic sheep? ‘Sheepy’ the sheep? Well, it was worth a shot. “This is ‘Sheepy’” I said slowly, judging her reaction to the predictable name. “And he umm… likes…apples.” That was the best I could come up with? He likes apples? To my surprise, Mary enjoyed it. “Ha-ha that’s perfect! Honey likes apples too! Her and Sheepy can be friends!” She said smiling. “We’re going to have a birthday party for Ellie today. Sheepy and Honey can bake her cake okay?” Before I knew it an hour had passed and the toys had to be put away. Secretly, I wanted to play with them some more. Never would I have thought that a seemingly boring plastic sheep could turn into a culinary legend, baking the tastiest birthday cake in the universe. Walt Disney was right. Within a child’s mind the possibilities are endless. Without imagination, the world we know today would not exist. Steve Jobs used his imagination to create Apple just as Walt Disney used his to create America’s beloved cartoon mouse. Even though some people associate imagination with children, it is something that as adults we should embrace as well. From babysitting, I have learned that imagination is a necessary tool to succeed in today’s technology based society. As technology advances, the demand for new ideas will increase dramatically so we can remain competitive. Although I never used it as well as Mary did when I was a kid, I am confident my imagination is something I will need in the future. Who knows, I might even become an Imagineer.

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Baking Essay

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I've written my common app essay about baking, is it okay that I've mentioned my eating disorder? Answered

My essay is about how my love of/relationship with baking has changed over time. Part of my essay describes the way it changed once I developed an eating disorder. I don't mean to make it the focus of my essay and I know writing about these kinds of topics can be tricky/taboo. Any advice?

Earn karma by helping others:

So don’t be all dark and gloomy but mentioning a ED is perfectly acceptable but don’t for lack of a better term seek sympathy. An essay is about yourself so if you talk about what makes you you you should be fine. Typically I’d say to not write about ED directly but as you talk about your relationship with baking an ED will definitely fit/okay to mention.

Hope this helps and please comment if you need clarification as I’d be happy to help clarify!

@DebaterMAX gave really good advice here and I just wanted to add my point of view. How you talk about the eating disorder (how long you spend discussing it, the tone you use, word choice, etc) will definitely affect how it is received by an admissions officer. It's similar to other "taboo" subjects for an admissions essay like religion or politics. These topics aren't really "off-limits" to talk about, just like writing your essay about a sports injury isn't "off-limits," it's just that most people advise against writing on those topics because it can be difficult to pull off correctly. In terms of an essay which includes religion or politics it's often difficult to not come off as preachy and in terms of a sports injury essay it's difficult to stand out as unique.

In your case, it sounds like your essay focuses much more on baking which I think already puts you in a good position. That's an interesting topic and I bet whoever reads your essay hasn't read too many before which focus on baking. Since you're focusing on your relationship with baking I think talking about the eating disorder will be an important part. First, because it no doubt had an impact on your relationship with baking and second, if you've overcome the disorder I would bet your relationship with baking improved and that makes for a good story. Similar to what @DebaterMAX said, as long as the eating disorder isn't the sole focus of your essay it's OK to mention.

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I went to college at 40 while raising my 5 children. I had to make some parenting sacrifices.

I decided to go to college at 40 when I was busy raising 5 children.
My schedule was chaos, and the kids had to skip some events because of my studies.
Years later, I got my degree and have created the career I always wanted, and my kids look up to me.

My college journey began at 40 years old when I enrolled in a community college .

Not only was I starting college later in life, but I was also doing it as a mother of five children — ages 8 to 14. I decided it was time to start my education again because I wanted to prove my father wrong. When I was young, he told me I wasn't smart enough to attend college . I finally had the confidence to give it a go and majored in English and communications. I wanted to prove to myself and my children I could do it.

As my schoolwork ramped up, my family obligations didn't let up. I was finally a student, but I was also the taxi driver, the laundress, the cook, the teacher, and the religious educator. I drove my children to three different schools each morning.

With the help of my husband , here's how I got my college degree and raised my kids.

My schedule was chaos for years

Motherhood is a full-time job, but I had to find a way to fit my classes and schoolwork into my week.

I quickly learned that coursework is performed more outside of class than in, so I had to make time for reading, studying, written work, and research papers. I included the children in my studies, sharing what I learned in the classroom at dinner or while driving them to activities. It helped me to understand if I explained the material to someone else.

I didn't realize most colleges began classes before the public school system started their school year, which only complicated things. Plus, my spring breaks didn't coincide with the children's school breaks either. I used a neighbor to keep the children company while I was in class.

I had all my children help out around the house

From shopping and meal preparation to laundry and cleaning, everyone helped — regardless of their age. I had to discard those perfect housekeeping standards and just accept that my house wouldn't be perfect for a few years.

Whenever I did have to do something around the house, I multitasked. I recorded class notes on tapes and listened to them while doing laundry or preparing meals . When the children got tired of the recording, they left the room.

Food shopping became a family affair — performed only when the cupboards were almost bare. Since I used the time when the children were at school to attend classes and work on group projects with classmates, I had to go grocery shopping when they were all home. That meant they went with me to the store; it wasn't easy.

I'm glad it all worked out in the end

With the children growing up before my eyes, I decided to continue my education after community college. I earned a prestigious scholarship and enrolled at the University of Pennsylvania.

After 10 years, I earned my degree in English. I now write for magazines and anthologies and facilitate writing workshops.

Looking back, I can see my kids definitely looked up to me. They realized how I tried not to let my attending college interfere with family responsibility. For that, they are grateful, especially now that three of them are parents. And I helped all of them get into and excel in college.

I may have started college to help my children and to prove my father wrong, but I finished to help myself. I learned that college is worth the effort.

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domestic Lives

Rebuilding After a Fire. Are Things Really Just Things?

A writer reflects on what it means to lose nearly everything in a disaster, as she moves into a new home.

An illustration of a person standing outside a house on fire. Dark smoke is also billowing from the house.

By Brooklyn White-Grier

Since surviving a house fire in January 2023, Brooklyn White-Grier has interviewed Beyoncé and given birth to a baby girl.

It was a day like any other — the day my home was engulfed by fire. No one on earth or above asked me if I was ready for the shoulder shake. The morning started with a buzzy, two-minute car ride to my daughter’s school. It ended with us — me, my husband, our then 4-year old and 1-year-old — sharing a queen-size bed at my in-law’s house. I spent the night gasping for air while on my husband’s phone with my friends and family. My phone had been lost to the blaze.

We know the fire began in our sunroom and quickly spread while my son, grandmother, husband and I were inside. My virtual yoga instructor watched it all via FaceTime, frozen in horror as she watched the fire’s light and thick black smoke fill my living room. She saw us leave out of a door, but wasn’t sure where we’d gone. A fire department investigation deemed the cause inconclusive. So we’ll never know what exactly caused the biggest change of our lives.

In the United States, a home fire was reported every 88 seconds in 2022, according to the National Fire Protection Association. The financial outcome of the fire is contingent on if you were a homeowner or a renter (we were the latter). Your insurance payment also depends on the amount of coverage you had, the cost of the personal items lost, and the deductible. Unfortunately, the process isn’t always so straightforward or timely, insurance companies are slow to pay or a mortgage lender buries homeowners in red tape. Since we were uninsured renters, a former co-worker started a GoFundMe for us, a common go-to for people and families who have recently experienced disasters.

The only items I retained from the fire were a crew-neck shirt, sweatpants and the underwear I was wearing. I never liked the shirt much. It’s teal and I’d bought it during my second pregnancy. I’m not a maternity wear person (too matronly! See: ugly), but I would buy clothes a bit bigger than my size. Now it feels like a spoil of war, or a wedding dress from a first marriage gone sour.

They’re just things . Of course they are. Then I really began missing all of those just things . They were more than that. A year later, we will live an hour away from the empty lot that once cradled our house. It took a few months for the new house to become ours. I squirmed until my mind adjusted to my new bedrooms, backyard and bathrooms. But through the slow acquisition of new things, this house feels like a warm embrace.

Baking Tools

There was overlap between closing on our new home, moving in and my son’s birthday. Between scheduled deliveries of bed frames, mattresses, the living room set and major appliances, I was trying to plan a scaled-back birthday party.

For at least a week, I told myself that I was going to bake the cake. I’ve been baking sweets from scratch for a few years and looked forward to my time in my new kitchen.

But when the big day finally came, I squatted and peered into a few cabinets where you’d expect baking utensils to be. I had tricked myself into thinking we had round baking pans. I ordered a cake from the place that’s now my favorite bakery and called it a day.

In the year since we moved in, I’ve filled those cabinets with cupcake pans, mixing bowls, measuring spoons, a Bundt pan and regular round pans, the works — what I need to celebrate a family milestone.

Christmas Décor

My immediate family has been collecting Black Christmas memorabilia since before I was born. I was ecstatic to continue the tradition with my own growing family, spending a few years making a former bachelor pad feel comforting for the holidays. I was devastated by the loss of the tree and trinkets, especially since some of them were gifts from family and friends.

In the months ahead of the fire, I had also suggested that we get a storage unit for holiday décor, but we never got around to it. I often think back to those conversations and regret not following through. I’m not sure what would hurt more: having nothing or only having Christmas items.

In our new space, we started collecting Christmas decorations and presents for the children last July. For the sake of money, we settled on a real tree that was about $100. The bulk of the ornaments came from my best friend and her mother with additional contributions from my grandmother and aunt.

Christmas Day wasn’t what I imagined. My son had a high fever, my daughter was high energy and I was six months pregnant. Brunch was slightly overcooked. My son’s eczema flare-up and ear infection kept him and I home from the big traditional dinner with family. My grandmother calls any sudden, child-related shift in plans one of “the joys of children.” The warmth of our home kept our spirits level.

Louisiana Hot Sauce

I was born and raised in Shreveport, La. It’s about 3.5 hours north of New Iberia, the city where Louisiana Hot Sauce is made. The sauce is vinegary and not-too spicy, the perfect complement to a bowl of red beans, rice and golden yellow cornbread. It reminds me of eating at my aunt’s house after short bus rides home. I could smell the food as I was cracking her rickety screen door. My ponytails swiveled in the spicy steam of fried chicken and lima beans.

My husband is a Texas native, so he prefers Cholula. We’re both fans of Tabasco, too (made in Louisiana). But I just don’t feel right unless I have Louisiana in the cupboard.

We have a 12-ounce bottle that’s empty. I opened its replacement this week, but I haven’t allowed myself to toss the old one. I’m trying not to hoard or give sentiment to the mundane. I don’t think I’m doing it right.

Rocking Chair

The listing for our home said it was “perfect for a growing family,” so I think this pregnancy came with the house. Since the extra bedroom in our previous home became our son’s bedroom, we were excited to have an office space and a guest bedroom. I used to have to take calls standing up in my bedroom or in the living room. Though I wrote some of my best stories in my old bed, it was nice to have a designated work area. My husband’s aunt sold us a bed for $100. We got a little shelf and an inexpensive TV to help the room feel more comfortable. My mother came and stayed with us for a month as we settled in. There was an after-fire groove for us, and we were nestling into it. Then I got pregnant with my third child, a girl.

On Black Friday, a children’s furniture site had a sale on nursery fixtures. We got a crib, mattress, mattress pad, sheets, dresser, and gliding rocking chair for just under $800. I’d wanted a rocking chair for months and they were on the more costly side, so it was a win-win. When I need to collect myself in a room that is transforming as I am, I go to the chair. It’s a symbol of the rhythm of life and the new experiences that await.

The Playroom Sofa

My family has movie nights on Friday or Saturday nights. We grab several throws, let out the indigo sofa/bed in the children’s area and munch on popcorn and pizza. Sometimes I think my daughter enjoys it most — she constantly asks if we’re going to watch a movie and eat popcorn, even though I’ve clarified we don’t do that on school nights. I don’t know if it’s possible that it could bring her more joy than it gives me.

The sofa came from IKEA. It’s stained from hair gel because my son smeared it into the interior one busy morning. It also has toys, felt, and hair pins in every crevice. We fluff and braid hair and soothe tears. It’s part jungle-gym and part bed. The day after a movie night, it’s covered in popcorn kernels and tiny buttery bits that my 3-year-old tries to eat.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

China From My Grandmother

My grandmother was living with us at the time of the fire. She had some of her things in storage near her previous home in Shreveport, including her mother’s china, as well as some of her own. She’s a meticulous collector of things and memories. She prides herself on keeping the same clothing for decades. More than once, she talked about giving some china to me, as well as the cabinet the pieces perch in. I didn’t take the trip to get it. I’m glad that didn’t pan out, because it wasn’t lost in the fire.

I’ve since inherited a few pieces of the gold-trimmed dinnerware. The plates rest on our dinner table, waiting to tell me about all they’ve seen. I don’t see myself eating off them, but I desperately want to know the stories they hold. What memories do they have of me? I lived with my grandparents on and off throughout high school and in some of my adult years. I know they saw me typing my first play, a school assignment, until the sun inched into the sky on the play’s due date. Maybe they were paying attention when I proudly carried my first baby girl to the living room. They’re certainly watching me now as I dig my heels into life and bring the love of family, living and dead, with me.

The State of Real Estate

Whether you’re renting, buying or selling, here’s a look at real estate trends..

Courts allow co-op boards significant power over building finances, including assessments — if the fees are in “good faith.” Do you have to pay what they say?

Agents in South Carolina, the fastest growing state in the country last year, say that many newcomers are Republicans eager to leave the Northeast and West Coast.

When St. Francis College moved to its modern Brooklyn Heights campus in 1963, giving up an older South Brooklyn location, its yearbook heralded the new site with pomp and self-satisfaction. Here’s how eight feet jolted a $180 million real estate deal.

David Saint, a theater director and a producer of the 2021 film version of “West Side Story,” is selling his duplex with a wraparound terrace in the East Village.

A new version of the Pritzker Prize-winning architect’s Paper Log House is on display at the Glass House in New Canaan, Conn.

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COMMENTS

Addicted to Baking
Below is an essay example about "Baking as my hobby" written by Lauren Bradshaw from CustomWritings - personalized essay writing service established in 2008. You can learn from this sample and write perfect college essays. As the only boy with five sisters, it wasn't common that I was attracted to the kitchen.
Six Brilliant Student Essays on the Power of Food to Spark Social
Grace Williams, a student at Kirkwood High School in Kirkwood, Missouri, enjoys playing tennis, baking, and spending time with her family. Grace also enjoys her time as a writing editor for her school's yearbook, the Pioneer. In the future, Grace hopes to continue her travels abroad, as well as live near extended family along the sunny ...
How An Essay About Food Landed Me at My Top College
Despite not choosing a specific Common App prompt, I knew exactly what I was going to write about—food. Unlike fellow applicants, I did not have an incredible story to tell, nor an obstacle that I overcame worth a college admission officer's time. What I did have standing behind me was a passion for peanut butter and jelly, the best desserts ...
Bakery College Essay Examples That Really Inspire
Panera Bread Essay. Panera Bread was founded by Louis Kane and Ron Shaich in 1981, as Au Bon Pain Co. Inc. Au Bon Pain rapidly expanded and became one of the leading bakery-cafes throughout the east cost of the United States, in the 1980s and 1990s. In the early 1990s the company purchased Saint Louis Bread Company, which was a chain of twenty ...
I Believe Baking Brings Happiness
Featured Essays Essays on the Radio; Special Features; ... Many incoming college freshman classes are asked to read a This I Believe book to prepare for the transition from high school to college. ... Baking allows me to be just as creative by combining the flour and sugar, adding the milk and eggs, and creating the aroma of the vanilla or ...
My Love For The Art Of Baking [Free Essay Sample], 444 words
This heartfelt essay beautifully illustrates the writer's passion for baking and various art forms, emphasizing the transformative power of engaging in activities one loves. The author skillfully uses sensory details to immerse the reader in the process of baking and creating art, effectively conveying the emotions and joy these activities bring.
College Admissions Essay: My Passion For Baking
College Admissions Essay: My Passion For Baking. Satisfactory Essays. 260 Words. 2 Pages. Open Document. Baking for me is a passion, at times a stress reliver. The passion for baking became stronger over the years from baking for friends and family and watching them enjoy my baked goods, and telling me how amazing they taste.
The Art of Baking a Cake [Admission Essay Example]
A cake for myself would have to be ultimate, all-encompassing; anything less would leave me unsatisfied. Just to imagine it is a daunting task. So this is an essay about baking a special cake for me. First off, flavors need to be chosen. This means, as always, hitting the recipe book shelf.
Pesonal Narrative Essay about Baking
Pesonal Narrative Essay about Baking. Baking has always been something my momand I do together. Looking back, I can see how patient she always was with me in the kitchen. My small hands would take forever to mix the batter, and I always wanted to be held up so I could see the over the countertop. As I got older, my mom would teach me more and ...
History of Baking
Baking has a very long history and it starts with bread. Bread has a history that dates back 8,000 years. ... College Essays; History of Baking; History of Baking . April 16, 2014. By Burnzy ...
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Baking and Business, Writing and Admission. Parke Muth. ·. Follow. 4 min read. ·. Apr 8, 2016. The following essay was submitted to highly selective schools in response to this prompt on the ...
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Personal Essay About Baking. 760 Words4 Pages. Baking has been a passion of mine since I was 12 years old and baked my first cake for my mum's birthday. I found the calm, peaceful process of baking very therapeutic and the achievements I am most proud of stem from this passion of mine. When I was in Grade 10, what started out as my Personal ...
College Admissions Essay: A Passion For Cooking
College Admissions Essay: A Passion For Cooking. Decent Essays. 370 Words. 2 Pages. Open Document. A talent is defined as something that comes natural to you and you enjoy doing. A talent is something you grow on and develop and always work towards strengthening and improving in. Everyone, no matter how different or unique, has a talent.
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This college essay tip is by Abigail McFee, Admissions Counselor for Tufts University and Tufts '17 graduate. 2. Write like a journalist. "Don't bury the lede!" The first few sentences must capture the reader's attention, provide a gist of the story, and give a sense of where the essay is heading.
Common App Essays
Prompt 2: Overcoming challenges. Prompt 3: Questioning a belief or idea. Prompt 4: Appreciating an influential person. Prompt 5: Transformative event. Prompt 6: Interest or hobby that inspires learning. Prompt 7: Free topic. Other interesting articles. Frequently asked questions about college application essays.
Baking an Imaginary Cake
College Guide; College Essays; Baking an Imaginary Cake; Baking an Imaginary Cake . November 6, 2011. By Anonymous "Our greatest natural resource is the minds of our children."-Walt Disney
Should i write my essay about baking? : r/CollegeEssays
If baking is something you like, you should definitely write about it. But show how deeply it motivates or inspires you. Or talk about your first time baking something and how excited you were and why. The more personal your essay is the better. one of my friends wrote an essay about baking when she applied to college. she got accepted for bio ...
Personal Narrative: My Love For Baking
1004 Words. 4 Pages. Open Document. Essay Sample Check Writing Quality. Show More. This love for baking started when I came to live in college dorms with a kitchen because at home I was not able to bake any time for myself or family. I was not able to all the time because my mom did not allow us to bake. She thought we would burn ourselves.
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Baking Essay; Baking Essay. Decent Essays. Improved Essays. Superior Essays. Great Essays. Brilliant Essays. Page 1 of 50 - About 500 Essays ... This love for baking started when I came to live in college dorms with a kitchen because at home I was not able to bake any time for myself or family. I was not able to all the time because my mom did ...
I've written my common app essay about baking, is it okay that I've
In your case, it sounds like your essay focuses much more on baking which I think already puts you in a good position. That's an interesting topic and I bet whoever reads your essay hasn't read too many before which focus on baking. ... Keep posts relevant to college admissions and high school. Don't ask "chance-me" questions. Use ...
Ignario, Ailene Essay about My Experience in Baking as a college
In this essay I will narrate my experience in baking a sponge cake for the first time. At my first try in baking sadly it failed and I had figured out that one of my ingredients was not correct. But I didn't lose hope. ... Ignario, Ailene Essay about My Experience in Baking as a college student. Course: Hospitality Management (BHM01) 305 Documents.
US College Essay Tips for International Students
US College Essay Tips for International Students. Published on September 21, 2021 by Kirsten Courault.Revised on December 8, 2023. Beyond your test scores and grades, the college essay is your opportunity to express your academic and personal character, writing skills, and ability to self-reflect.. You should use your unique culture and individual perspective to write a compelling essay with ...
Mother of 5 Went to College at 40; She Made Parenting Sacrifices
Baking cookies and making bread as a family was a thing of the past for us. I also had to say no to some of the children's activities. Sports, scouting events, and church functions disappeared.
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Mr. Shugerman is a law professor at Boston University. About a year ago, when Alvin Bragg, the Manhattan district attorney, indicted former President Donald Trump, I was critical of the case and ...
What Does It Mean to Rebuild After a House Fire?
When St. Francis College moved to its modern Brooklyn Heights campus in 1963, giving up an older South Brooklyn location, its yearbook heralded the new site with pomp and self-satisfaction.

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