Stress baking has led to stress eating and I hate myself
Far too many things have stressed me out these past months. This has led to panic-baking and subsequent eating – no, devouring. What follows is the inevitable self loathing, as I cram stale cake into my mouth and realise with a shock it is July and my body is definitely not ready for summer.
So, of course, I bake again.
Maybe it was the horrible winter that still hasn’t left Scotland yet, even in July, that had me down. Or perhaps the two large spiders I’ve lost in my room (I sleep with my eyes open and 3 cans of bug spray beside me now). It seems wherever I look I get more stressed.
Even as I write this, I see one of my fish has died. I can’t even take it out the tank because the other fish are eating it now. I would probably call them monsters or animals or something, but then I remember how I ate that apple pie last night…
I received news last week that my sister was having a bake sale. I could almost feel the blood vessel burst in my eye as I filled with joy.
I could cook to my heart’s content – and have a reason to NOT eat.
And then… my body took over.
After being told to bake a single, solitary cake, I had blacked out and woke up 8 hours later with 24 cupcakes, a tray of chocolate bark and a triple layered chocolate drip cake.
Alright, I’m being dramatic. I didn’t black out, I knew what I was doing.
It’s like an addiction, or when you promise yourself you’ll only have one biscuit from the packet. Somehow I just kept going. I would finish one and then immediately start the other without thinking. I don’t know where the voice in my head that tells me when to stop went. Although, to be honest, with my appetite recently I had probably eaten it.
The kitchen was a bombsite and I was so covered in a mixture of flour, icing and chocolate that I resembled my creations – but there they were. I won’t lie, I was proud. I had even gotten a little experimental, adding lemon cream into the center of the cupcakes and trying a marble glaze on the chocolate cake.
It was as though all the stress had built up inside me and eventually manifested into a giant cake that exploded into my kitchen. Whatever had happened, I felt less stressed out.
I’m not sure what happens when I bake. Usually, if I’m stressed or anxious, I feel guilty doing anything. During exams, I would feel ridiculously guilty in any break, not matter how small. But baking, for some reason, is different.
It's fun, I can experiment, it has a logical step-by-step process I can follow without it being too strict – baking just does it for me. Also I get to eat.
Which is always a bonus.
Except during Summer.
Damn.
Whatever. To quote my girl Taylor, “haters gonna hate.” And there’s always next year.