About six years ago I said to my children that if they wanted cakes or biscuits at home they had to make them themselves. Same for ice-cream (O, WitchyMummy!). This decree was partly in response to the phenomenal amount of money that I was spending out each week on sweet stuff, partly because I would feel a little queasy when I read the ingredients’ lists, and partly to encourage any creative baking genes that might be lurking in my off-springs’ DNA.
These days, Witchy Mummy is happy with her move. Although Alex and Sophia are not kitchen whizzes (we have a store of Sophia-in-the-kitchen tales, including the one where she roasted the chicken upside down and including the giblets – though not fortunately, in a plastic bag – “But I didn’t realise that I had to put my hand inside it!” – and the time that she baked the Dukissa instead of freezing it), Zenon and Leo are well on the way to so becoming. Monday is our baking day, and they are reasonably competent at pizza, brownies, chocolate chip cookies, Victoria sponge, and lemon drizzle cake. In the summer we get first class ice-cream – though I usually have more to do with that.
“Can I start making bread?” Zenon asked me the other day (music to my ears). “Then we don’t have to buy it any more. I could do white for us and brown for Alex. I just love kneading.”
They fight over who makes what each week and are happy to try new recipes and ideas. Clean-up still presents a few problems, but a few dirty dishes and some flour on the floor are a small price to pay for a selection of fresh goodies for the next few days.